Craig In Australia

I've Never Had Dandruff

2011-08-20T16:56:00.002+10:00

Aiva thinks that I am a creature of habit and to prove her wrong I did something that I haven’t done in 13 years. I bought a different brand of shampoo. Admittedly, this change isn’t going to turn the world upside down but it’s important to note that I have used Head and Shoulders shampoo nearly every day for 13 years. This isn’t because I have dandruff. In fact, I’m so grossed out by dandruff that I started using Head and Shoulders as a pre-emptive strike and it seems to be working just fine. You can imagine my hesitation buying different shampoo but I had done significant research (read Men’s Health) and made a decision on American Crew. I had noticed it in every shop that cuts men’s hair as well so it sounded like a safe bet. $20 bucks later I had a bottle of green liquid in my shower. It looked out of place next to the 2L pump of dandruff protection.

Sure, I always walk the same way to and from the train station (it’s the shortest and with the most shade) and I always order Eggs Benedict if I go to a new breakfast joint (good Hollandaise is a sign of a good cook). And I go to the bathroom Monday to Friday at 10:04am (least bathroom traffic) and I apologize every time I order a light beer (seems appropriate). But all of these “habits” are easily explained and make sense. It’s not like I’m buying a copy of Catcher in the Rye every time I pass a bookstore. I can change if I want but there needs to be a good reason and I’m just not sure that having minty-citrus smelling hair is worth the risk of getting dandruff.

Edit: After reading this, Aiva said it's important to note that I haven't actually changed shampoos. I'm now just alternating between two.

Talkin' Subaru Outback Blues

2011-08-11T21:49:00.004+10:00

I would like a new Subaru Outback. I did all this research, priced it out, did the comparisons, checked how much the insurance would be, called three leasing companies, got the best rate, etc etc. This is how the conversation with Aiva went.

Craig - So whaddya think about the Outback. Nice huh?

Aiva - Don't we have enough to worry about?

Craig - The lease is about 500 a month with no down payment.
Aiva - What about the wedding photographer? We still have to pay for that.

Craig - Yep, no worries. We can get a full service lease if we want...all pre tax dollars.
Aiva - I thought you wanted a new backyard?

Craig - I do but we can't afford that right now. $500 bucks a month though is fine.
Aiva - But then we'll never save enough. When are you going to get your residency?

Craig - What does that have to do with a car?
Aiva - If you lose you job, you're punted out of the country.

Craig - What are you talking about?!
Aiva - And then when we have kids, we'll only be on one salary...

Craig - I seriously don't know what you are talking about right now.
Aiva - And has that painter even booked a date yet?

Craig - I'm just saying, we can afford a lease.
Aiva - Why am I the only one looking for wedding photographers?

Craig - Sooo, no new car until we have kids?
Aiva - What are you talking about? I'm talking about the wedding here.

Guest Blogger Aiva - Step Three: Idiots Guide To Finding A Celebrant

2011-08-10T22:25:00.000+10:00

Ask your married Sydney friends for recommendations
Trawl the internet for 3 months and discover that there are over 3000 registered celebrants in Sydney
Put together a criteria list (see below)
Read through the endless reviews, forums and testimonials
Procrastinate for a few more weeks and then reduce the list from 3000 to 10
Make contact with the top 10 via email
Chuckle over the style and content of responses received
Select the top 3 and arrange a time to meet each of them. Travel a total round trip of 100 kilometres for these meetings
Decide that the celebrant that will work for you is the one you met over wine and cheese at the pub.

Aiva’s Criteria

- Be able to pronounce my full Greek name (now that we know this needs to be said at least once for the whole thing to be legit)
- Be able to contain the excitable Greek rello’s
- Avoid any soppy Kumbayah wording
- Make it long enough for those who have travelled to enjoy and short enough not to bore everyone to death.

Craig’s Criteria

- Female
- Older than us but not old
- Memorable yet totally forgettable
- Whole thing done and dusted within 17 minutes
- No poems or readings and for the love of all things holy - No doves.

Next step – Find a photographer

Tour De France Wrap Up

2011-07-27T20:57:00.000+10:00

The 2011 Tour de France was fascinating this year because of the early time gaps, the crashes into barbed wire fences (not joking) and punishing mid mountain stages. In previous years, I wouldn’t bother watching the flat stages and the mid mountain stages would have to have been unusually interesting to make me stay up late (early). This year was different because of the large time gaps among the race favourites very early on in the race. Because of these gaps, riders were forced to try and make up time every way possible including while on dangerous descents. They took risks and pushed the limits, which lead to several spectacular bone breaking crashes.

I was hooked early and decided that I would watch every single stage from start to finish, which I had never done before. This required some significant effort if I wasn’t going to fall asleep so I put a game plan into place. There were a few rules: No laying down on the couch, always drink something so you have to whiz every hour, read the online ticker as you watch, do not watch on the laptop in bed and for gods sake, do not schedule an early morning meeting.

Cadel Evans had my unwavering support throughout this tour and several times I found myself standing in my living room at 2am shouting encouragement at the television. Evans clearly had a game plan and meticulously stuck to it for the whole three weeks despite me repeatedly yelling “Why aren’t you chasing Schleck down?!” His performance was truly inspiring and he was simply the best rider. No dropped chains or PED’s were required…just skill and determination. Australia has their first Tour de France champion.

Later I may write more about the significance of Cadel Evans winning the yellow jersey. How he has overcome challenges, been world champion, lost his trainer to brain cancer last year, and transformed from a disgruntled loner to humble winner. I may even write more about how this significant moment could save lives by elevating the sport of cycling in Australia and bringing more tolerance to our treacherous roads. But now isn’t the time. I’m exhausted and I have a Tour de France hangover. My sleeping patterns are all upside down and I have early meetings every day this week. Still, I can hardly wait to ride this weekend.

Paint Consultant / Marriage Counsellor

2011-07-20T19:36:00.001+10:00

“What colours do you absolutely hate?” Aiva said “yellow” and I said “orange”. Our paint consultant wrote it down. “What colours do you absolutely love?” Aiva said, “purple” and I said, “I don’t really love a colour”. This is when our paint consultant started to realize that she was going to have to earn her money. Aiva piped in right away with “Navy blue. Your favourite colour is navy…his favourite colour is navy”. I looked at Gina and said “Navy”. Aiva is much more observant than I am and after thinking about it – everything I own is navy blue. I have two suits, four t-shirts, two sweatshirts, a bike, two jackets and four thousand pairs of shorts that are all navy blue. Aiva had obviously thought about colour schemes much more than I have. But let’s back it up a bit.

Aiva and I are not going to win any awards for being the most stylish couple. However, we both realize that our house looks pretty barren with its asylum white walls and complimenting bile yellow trim. We bought some paintings and some art when we first moved in but that has pretty much been the extent of our home decorating. We don’t agree on what “our look” should be and therefore nothing ever gets done. That and, if I’m honest, the fact that if we do decide on a colour scheme I may be expected to paint. So to play the role of the paint consultant/mediator/home decorator/marriage counsellor, we hired Gina. I knew she was the right person for us when I opened the door because she was dressed like a fashionable hippy but with black knee high boots. Her outfit was trendy but “out there” at the same time with so many bangles on her arms that she would look right at home with that tribe with the stretched necks. If Gina could pull off that look, she could certainly add some “tones” to our place.

You know when you get your eyes tested and the doctors do that “One or two? Two or three? Three or one?” thing? That’s what Gina did with colour slides with us. Aiva’s general response was to tilt her head sideways and look perplexed while my responses were “ummms” in varying volumes and blinking at different speeds. Eventually Gina figured out our facial ticks and we were moving along quickly. She always found colours we both liked that miraculously matched each other. I only got caught out once saying that I didn’t like a colour the first time and then five “ummms” (blink blink) later said that I really liked it.

So now we have a blueprint for our house that includes the colours: grey pepper, rubble, olive, chintz grey, atlantic, red lantern and purple basil. Every wall, door, railing and bit of trim has a new colour designation. All we have to do is find a painter that does paint by numbers and we are in business. The other bit of good news is that now we both agree that I shouldn’t be doing the painting. Success all around.

Tour De Flu

2011-07-16T16:45:00.000+10:00

It’s that time of year again where 198 professional cyclists ride around France over three weeks. That’s right, it’s Tour De Flu season.

Every year during the Tour De France I get some form of illness. It is a combination of two events that break down my immune system and renders me helpless for a few days (or weeks like the dreaded 06 Tour). Firstly, June has always been the busiest/most stressful month of the year for work. In the Australian corporate world, June workloads are equivalent to three normal months combined. Long hours, tight deadlines and tough negotiations all take their toll on my white blood cells. Then the Tour De France starts in the first week of July and I’m so excited that watch every stage. Unfortunately TV coverage starts at 10pm and ends at 2am so I’m mindless zombie every morning. These two events lead me to get sick in July every year.

It has become such a regular occasion that in June this year, just before the start of the Tour, I went to the chemist in preparation and stocked up on multi-coloured pills, lozenges, chewable tablets, immodium, kleenex, hydralyte, toilet paper and vapo-rub. Annoyingly on schedule, after the first mountain stage in the Pyrenees, I woke up at 4:30am with explosive diarrhoea. By the time I was emailing work at 6:30am, I was laying on the bathmat having just retched my guts out while showering. Since this was my first Tour De Flu season with a new company, I had to be polite in my email otherwise I would have just text “TDF”. That reminds me – probably a good idea to disinfect my phones. Calm down…we’ve all sent a text from the bathroom.

Happily, it appears that the worst is over and I managed to only have two horrible days, which is a new low (one in the bathroom and one with the pounding headache and muscle aches from dehydration). I don’t want to get too cocky because I am currently sipping Hydralyte as I type this but I think it will be all systems go tonight’s for mountainous stage 14.

Go Cadel.

Step Two: Book A Venue

2011-06-26T10:05:00.002+10:00

I started with Step Two because technically Step One is “Get Engaged”. That story won’t be making it to this blog – that one I’m going to keep for Aiva and myself. The important thing is she said yes. So here is Step Two: Book a Venue.

We wondered whether it would make more sense to have the wedding in my hometown Thunder Bay, or Aiva’s hometown Adelaide, but quickly decided to make things difficult for everyone and have it in Sydney. We wanted to get married at the end of April that didn’t sit well for me if the wedding was in Tbay. I thought that if people were coming from Australia to Canada, they would probably want to see snow. Or at least if it was summer it would help remove that general understanding that Canada would be covered with snow all year round. But April is a “meh” month that I could either give or take. The other reason was a sheer numbers game. Aiva is Greek (Australian) so obviously her family handily outnumbers mine. And by handily I mean by 10 for every 1 (bloody Greeks). We have about the same number of friends scattered throughout both countries so that was a draw.

So…Sydney it is, at the end of April. The great part about planning it in Sydney was the variety of options available for weddings. Unfortunately, that was also the down side. If I was thinking about Thunder Bay venues it would be pretty easy – if outdoors, have it at someone’s camp on the lake and if indoors, have it at the Valhalla. Not too difficult and both were reasonable options. But in Sydney…and I’m not kidding here; if you can imagine it, you can have it. While this might have seemed like a good thing for some, Aiva and I are not made of money and don’t actually know Sydney all that well. So where was it going to be – church, beach, sailboat, restaurant, manor, park, gold club, pier, tower, backyard, event centre, cathedral, hilltop, summer home, yacht club, monument, cruise, vineyard, garden, dock, museum, lookout, bridge, field, island or even the damn Zoo (which for the price I could build a house in Thunder Bay!). Too much choice was a problem because every place we went, we liked. Sure, there were things that weren’t perfect and some places were too expensive but we were pretty confident that any place we picked would have been fine. But when I started looking at the price tag, and remembering that people would be flying around the world for this, suddenly “fine” didn’t quite seem good enough. Then something happened to me. I’d heard about this in crappy movies and vaguely remember overhearing women talking about this at the office. The word “Bridezilla” wasn’t correct because, for one, I wasn’t a bride to be and two: I didn’t go berserk on good intentioned relatives. But I certainly got angry, asked very pointed questions and noticed every little detail. At one venue, I said I didn’t like it because the parking was difficult. What?! Another I didn’t like that there was a chance that we could hear the traffic if everyone at the wedding was quiet as a mouse and the music was turned off. The third one nearly drove me to insanity because it didn’t have seat covers and the chair creaked. What was happening?

Then for some reason I can’t remember, Aiva went to see a venue without me. Ahh, I remember now – She probably wanted to kill me by then. Anyway, she loved it and wanted to book the place right then and there but felt bad doing it without me seeing it (God knows why). The next weekend went there together and it was exactly what we were looking for (without ever knowing exactly what we were looking for). Booked it, signed a contract, wrote a cheque, and crossed it off the list. End of April at Darling Harbour. Step two complete.

Getting Up To Speed

2011-06-18T18:55:00.004+10:00

My laptop died. I haven’t had the best luck with computers or phones. Back in 2008, I had that unfortunate incident on a flight to Los Angeles with the tuna casserole vomit that ruined my original MacBook (still not funny). I dropped a Blackberry in the bathtub. I broke an iPhone last year. Now this. Not the best track record if I’m honest.

It turns out that replacing the mainboard on my 3 year old MacBook Pro is a thousand bucks. The “fix it” versus “buy new” conversation happened and the good news is: I’m typing on a brand spanking new laptop. The bad news is: I’m broke as Jesus. But…turning a frown upside down – I have now accumulated enough points on my credit card that I can order Bose QuietComfort 15 earphones for free.

The new MacBook Pro is pretty slick and I’m excited to use it, which is why I’m writing on my blog for the first time in nearly a year. So let’s get up to speed because when I write more later on I’ll probably refer to a few things that haven’t made it to this blog.

So in no particular order: Both Aiva and I started new jobs, bought a house, got engaged, had a few laughs, started running like a madman, tried planning a Sydney wedding, hurt my knee, found out I’m going to be an uncle for the third time, poorly grouted a shower and very recently bought a new laptop.

Yep, that should do it. I think you have all the current events now. So keep checking in because there is more to come.

Photos: Miscellaneous

2011-06-11T15:39:00.000+10:00

Home Decorating...

2010-08-15T21:31:00.003+10:00

It is really surprising that Aiva and I managed to agree on a house at all considering the struggle we are having outfitting it. As it turns out, our tastes in home décor are polar opposites. You’d think that after living together this long we would have figured this out by now, or even had a conversation about style, fashion, art, etc etc, but we haven’t. The reason for this is that before we bought our new house we rented. And because it was a rental property that neither of us particularly liked, we didn’t bother buying anything to hang on the walls, or paint, or put pictures up. In fact, the only thing that I contributed in the way of decorating was when we moved out I tried to scrub all the marks off the walls in an attempt to get our deposit back.

This has led us to, well, every friggin’ home wares outlet, art gallery and fabric store in the Sydney metropolitan area. I’m not kidding; we have been into all sorts of art galleries and still haven’t found anything we like. It’s now at the point when I stopped in an office building lobby yesterday to try and read the scribble of an artist’s signature in the bottom corner of a print…that was entirely red. I’m not sure that’s art but at the same time I’m not sure if McDonalds burgers are beef and I eat them so what the hell.

After weeks of wandering around aimlessly, hoping to find something we like, we are no closer to figuring out how to decorate our new house. I’m sure Aiva is frustrated but I’m almost at breaking point. I nearly lost it on the weekend when an overeager art gallery employee asked me who my favourite contemporary artist was. I nearly set fire to the place.

The easiest solution may be for us to divide up the house. Divide and conquer is normally a tactic reserved for military operations and hostile takeovers but we’re getting desperate. The only foreseeable problem to this plan is that it becomes a patchwork house that looks like two idiots that don’t know anything about decorating, just decorated our house. I’m not sure that’s any worse than where we are now with a lot of blank white walls.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch Changes

2010-06-22T13:41:00.008+10:00

It has been quite some time since my last blog entry but you’ll be happy to know that I have been extremely busy. Quick list off the top of my head: bought a house, got a new job…well, I guess those are the big two.

The first big change was Aiva and I buying a house. As it turns out, it took us 23 Saturdays in a row to find a house. We walked through it at 9am and by 9:30 we were having coffee trying to figure out how much to offer. The next few days were a frenzy of phone calls, signatures and bank transfers. I can honestly say that those three days were a blur and when we finally got word that our counter offer was accepted, I didn’t know whether to jump up and down with happiness or go to bed and settle in for a three day power nap. I settled somewhere in the middle and slept for a whole Saturday with a stupid grin on my face. I was told later that it’s the same face that babies sleep with when they have gas.

It’s now a couple of days before the moving date and our current place looks like a tornado has gone through it. I have asked the question about six times “Why do we have so many shoes?” Aiva is taking a fantastic approach to moving: It’s easier to throw stuff out than pack it. I’m behind in the packing department as my plan is less subtle: Throw everything in the car and hope for the best. To date I have been more “moving stuff” than “packing” per say, but that will have to change soon. And besides, I bought a 300 piece tool kit and a hammer so I might as well take some stuff apart and feel like a grease monkey.

The next big change was deciding to leave my job. This decision was actually harder than the 23-week house search. Let’s be honest here, I’ve had many life changes and they have never been comfortable for me. The idea of walking away from a job that I enjoy, that has a team that I consider friends, and with a corporation that I respect was painful. However, when opportunity knocks you bloody well answer the door because you can never be sure when it will come knocking again. I am going to another highly respected company and to work with some great people that will provide me with plenty of opportunity. They headhunted me and clearly are excited to have me on board. The job itself is very similar to my current one so I should be able to step into it and get straight to work…at the end of July. I had to give notice at my current job and I opted to take some time off before starting back up. Since I lose all my holiday leave, Aiva and I thought it would be ideal to take this time to get the new house in order and visit the niece and nephew in Adelaide. This whole process of interviewing/negotiating/resigning/accepting etc has been stressful and when my body finally relaxed I slept for 19 hours on a Sunday. Unfortunately, that happened to be my birthday and put a kink into any plans Aiva had for me but my body simply wouldn’t go.

So, as you can see I’ve been busy. I hope to get back into the swing of things after the move. I’ll have some time off and can only unpack boxes for so many hours a day. Thank god we don’t have to paint…or worse, drywall.

My "Gift"

2010-04-09T17:09:00.000+10:00

The key to turning a talent into a gift is the ability to make a living from it while enjoying it. It sounds so simple but this is where I struggle. Roger Federer, Warren Buffet and the Stig are a few people that come to mind when you think of someone who has a “gift” that few, if any, other people on the Earth have. These people have transformed their gift into successful careers that they enjoy and excel at. Because of this, they are known worldwide and sleep on mattresses stuffed with $100 bills.

Sure, I have hobbies that I’m reasonably good at but I’m certainly not gifted. I started thinking, if every activity possible had a world ranking system, what activity would I achieve the highest ranking? Cycling, surely not. Sleeping, I wish. Talking about myself…maybe. I thought about this for some time and then in the strangest place I had my epiphany. I’m damn efficient at the grocery store. You see, I hate grocery shopping with the fiery passion of a thousand suns so my grocery store efficiency is loosely based on the band-aid principle. Pull it off fast and get it over with. However, anyone can be quick in a grocery store by purchasing less or skipping aisles but that’s not where my talent lies. It’s a combination of speed and thoroughness. Since my talent isn’t one that I can make a living from or garner worldwide attention, I’m happy to share a few tips with you.

No lists. It’s possible both my mother and Aiva just fell over dead since they rely so heavily on their list-making talents. Lists require looking at, crossing out, double-checking etc etc, and that wastes time. Not to mention the additional time at home to make the list (Aside: I caught Aiva re-writing her grocery list in the order that the food appears in the aisles at Woolworths and that nearly caused me a brain haemorrhage). Lists are for suckers because grocery stores are designed by clever bastards that force shoppers to go up and down every aisle just to find key items. Ever wonder why milk, bread, and fruit are always so far away from each other? Clever bastards indeed.

Every aisle once. This is non-negotiable. If you pass something and forget to grab it, you missed your opportunity. This isn’t Nam so it’s okay to leave something behind. You won’t die if you miss your can of baby corn and unless you buy insulin at Woolies, it can wait two weeks. If you think, “I don’t need to go down the dog food aisle, I’ll skip it” be warned that this is a slippery slope to consistently missing items and getting off track. Those rows are like straight stretches in car racing, it’s a chance to pick up speed and pass slower competitors (lookie loo’s). And besides, the Draino and tinfoil are in that row so be warned.

No reading. If I ever see you holding two nearly identical products in each hand and squinting to read the fine print on the back, you are dead to me. I watch commercials on TV so I don’t lose time at the shop. Consider commercial watching a form of product training. At the shop, the most reading that is acceptable is when selecting the yogurt with the longest expiration date (FYI, the judges would give bonus points for this kind of attention to detail).

One trip unloading. I realize that this isn’t technically at the grocery store but still an important phase nonetheless. This tip follows the “every aisle once” theory but can take significant time from the total process is you get a bad parking spot. One trip unloading was especially important when I lived in Canada because the winter made multiple trips to the car so annoying. Back in ’99, I nearly lost a hand from a rookie combination of no winter gloves and cutting off the circulation by carrying too many plastic bags filled with groceries. That dark day, I couldn’t get the case of Coke inside in the one trip so I left it in the car for a few days out of principle. It was winter and the cans exploded...*shiver* but I digress. Another tip during the unloading is to keep your keys in your mouth and have a car with auto locks.

So there you have it. With practice, these tips should cut your shopping time in half. Those are the key points but future blog entries may address the finer points of which line to get in and cart selection. I agree that Grocery Shop Efficiency isn't the best talent in the world but it’s only one that might get me a decent world ranking. Maybe I should see about starting up some sort of league.

House Hunting Hell Continued...

2010-03-07T17:43:00.002+11:00

Aiva and I went to our first house auction in Sydney yesterday. We weren’t there to bid but more so to eavesdrop and get a feel for the process. The real estate agent had been telling people “offers above $650,000” so we weren’t particularly surprised when the bidding started at $680,000. After several tense moments, the bidding eventually fizzled out at $736,000 and that seemed like the end of it. Oh wait, except the owners had a reserve price of $750,000 so the deal didn’t go through. No sale despite the auction. Something seems very wrong about this whole process. Agents are setting the minimum price way below the minimum that the owners will accept. In this particular case, $100,000 too low.

As I tossed and turned last night, I thought about all the houses that I have walked through for the last few months and couldn’t imagine buying any of them, let alone buying them for $100,000 more than the listed price. The ones in our price range are either so far outside of the city that you might as well not call Sydney home or are described by agents as “renovators delight”. Aiva laughs at me when I even mention buying a hammer so I’m not sure that my ego could withstand a full kitchen renovation even if the price was right. I’m not sure that I even want to look at houses any more that are described as “cozy, humble or rustic” because that actually means a “cramped embarrassing shitbox”. And let’s be honest here (don’t tell Aiva), my renovation skills consist of the ability to call a contractor and even then I’ll just go to either the first in the phonebook or the one with the biggest ad.

So as our imminent move gets closer to reality (calendar wise) we have decided to give things away instead of having to move them later. We gave away 14 bags of books and a few bags of DVD’s to a charity that will sell them and use the proceeds to help fund a suicide helpline. That’s not a truly altruistic move though. The helpline could be a big service when we do buy a house only to realize the size of the mortgage and have a nervous breakdown. I also emptied my closet and managed to find 4 garbage bags of clothes that I either don’t wear anymore or are too big now. Those will go to the Salvation Army so we probably have some good karma for the next little while. Hopefully that helps us find a "charming, period home with potential".

PS – Aiva says my next blog needs to be a happy one.

"My Home Town"

2010-02-10T19:07:00.005+11:00

I have recently received emails from just about everyone I know in Thunder Bay, telling me to watch this video below called “My Home Town”. I had heard about it before and the idea of watching some kid rapper rhyming about T-Bay seemed a little…high school film class. High school has clearly changed since I have been there because this video is very well done and worth seeing.

The first time I viewed it I felt all sorts of homesick. It made me hungry for pancakes, itch for a hockey game and thirsty for a beer…or 10. All my childhood memories came rushing back in an instant; especially the numb toes and crossing of the rickety swing bridge to Chippewa Park. I wanted to sit in a lawn chair and tell stories to friends that we’ve all heard before. That small town feel that is so hard to describe seemed to make more sense to me now than when I lived there. I thought of Sydney and the crowded anonymity of public transport and the pressure of a corporate life. Suddenly, stock charts and global trends had much less importance in my life.

The second time I watched the video was different. The video portrayed a town that is familiar, sure, but industrial and struggling like many small towns. Thunder Bay looked cold and a bit downtrodden. Not the kind of place you would like to move to and certainly not the way I think of it. In Sydney, I look out my window and it’s 28C and sunny in February but it still feels like there should be snow on the ground. It’s a city where anything and everything is possible and I suddenly feel guilty but I’m not sure why.

My job here in Sydney doesn’t even exist back home and I’m not sure what I would do for work if I ever moved back. Work isn’t everything though and TBay isn't just a pulp town anymore. I have so many funny stories of fishing and hockey, summer and winter, drinking outdoors and drinking indoors. I have friends that I’ve known for decades and some I’ve known my whole life. It’s a great feeling to say “my best friend” and mean a handful of people. That just doesn’t happen as readily in places like Sydney. Great people live here, and I’ve been very lucky finding them, but its hard work. A good chunk of my time I feel like I'm just somebody in line, waiting for something. Despite that, the sheer opportunity in Sydney trumps all. Every occupation exists here. Every hobby exists here (even hockey – but they call it ice hockey). Anything you could possibly want to do is here somewhere, you just have to pay a truckload of cash and wait in line for a bit.

It’s an interesting time to write about Sydney and Thunder Bay because I recently sold my old house. It’s a defining moment and it feels like a big string that held me to Canada has been cut. I love Tbay and I always will and I think someday I would like to move back. I have amazing friends and supportive family there and always will. That means I’ll forever have ties to it and that’s the way I want it. My life didn’t start two and half years ago and I’m proud to be a small town guy in big city. Besides, these Sydneysiders love stories about bears and driving on snow covered lakes.

Guest Blogger Paul: Tour de Cure

2010-02-04T10:23:00.001+11:00

I'd like to write an introduction for the guest blogger today. Normally, "guest bloggers" are family members (and Aiva if I've laid on the guilt heavily enough) but my good friend Paul is participating in something great so it seemed like a nice time to expand Craig In Australia's Guest Blogger List. I hope that you enjoy reading about his upcoming adventure. - Craig

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Guest Blogger Paul: Tour de Cure

As many of you know, I have been bitten hard by the cycling bug. I’d like to share some news with you about my next cycling challenge, and to ask for your help.

Last year was a watershed year for me as a cyclist. I took part in the 2009 Tour Down Under, rode up Europe’s hardest mountain climb as part of a Tour de France mini-tour in July, and ended the year completing the tough Lake Taupo cycling challenge in New Zealand. Last month I returned to Adelaide for the 2010 Tour Down Under and instead of cramping during the final kilometre as I did last January, I finished easily despite battling a strong headwind.

So now I am riding well (it’s all relative - Lance has nothing to worry about!) and no longer intimidated by steep hills and long distances, I decided to look for a new challenge.

I found one when I met an extraordinary bunch of riders involved in an annual cycling event called the Tour de Cure. They ride to raise money to cure cancer, and they are very successful. Over the past three years, the Tour de Cure has raised well over $1.7 million. This year, their goal is to raise $1 million in a single year by riding from Sydney to Maroochydore in May. That’s 1,400km in 10 days, including one day of madness riding 277km!

And here is my news: I have agreed to ride with them. I want to combine my passion for cycling with my desire to make a difference in the fight against cancer. This awful disease has had a pretty big impact on my life over the past 12 months. Last year I lost my uncle to it, a couple of my friends have been diagnosed with it, and recently one of my previous bosses – a man who had a huge impact on my career - died from pancreatic cancer aged just 52.

I am sure many of you have had similar experiences. After all, someone hears those awful words “I’m sorry, you have cancer” every 90 seconds. That’s the time it will take you to read this entry.

Between now and May, helping the Tour de Cure team to achieve their $1 million goal will be a major part of my life. I will be training at ridiculous hours, riding up to 600km a week and generally dividing my time between work, cycling and sleeping. So if you see me walking strangely, you’ll know why. Fortunately, I have a supportive family, but if you see my wife, I suggest you don’t mention cycling!

Of course, the training and riding are just part of the challenge; fund raising is the main goal and to do that, I need your support. If you would like to make a donation, please use this link. It will take you to my section of the Tour de Cure website (with a very attractive photo of me!), and you can donate from there. Any amount is welcome, and every donation is tax deductible.

Over the next few months, I’ll be sending out progress reports so you can share in my suffering. Many thanks for your help and support; together we can make a difference.

Photos: Christmas In Adelaide 2009

2010-01-04T20:59:00.004+11:00

Dear Big Toenail

2009-12-08T18:31:00.001+11:00

Well toenail, you’ve had a good run. For 32 years you’ve done your job well and it was just too much to ask that you hang on any longer. The Oxfam Race way back in August was the death of you. You were swollen black before that race even ended and I was surprised that you didn’t simply leave me then and there. For three months, you battled to stay attached to me and you nearly did it. I’m proud of you for hanging in there as long as you did. I probably should have stopped running for a bit and kept you neatly trimmed. Instead, I kept training, neglected you and let you grow too long. This ultimately forced your departure by getting you caught in the bed sheets every morning only to see you tear away, millimetre by millimetre.

My tender toe skin is exposed and only now that you are gone do I truly realize how much I’ll miss you. Cliché indeed. A stiff breeze now causes me to wince and when I accidentally kicked a bar stool I nearly passed out in pain. To represent my shame, I will wear a single black sock to bed as a symbol of how horribly I’ve treated you. I will wear it until I get a new nail although I expect that day is quite some time off. I can only hope that when that day comes I have learned my lesson and will give it the attention it deserves…the attention you deserved.

Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge Weekend

2009-12-06T15:03:00.001+11:00

Before last weekend, I had only been to three countries. Canada, USA and Australia. A few months ago, the buddies that I ride with invited me to a race in New Zealand and I jumped at the chance. The race was the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge; 160km of grueling cycling followed by a pretty good party.

We had trained hard leading up to the race and were grateful that it was scheduled for November and not January because we had started to crack mentally. You can only train at race pace for so long without questioning if you cycle as a fun hobby that ends with a coffee or because you enjoy the torture.

The five that headed over from Sydney got delayed at the airport for two hours and everyone but me knew the secret handshake that allowed you into the Qantas Lounge. The privileged four flashed a card and sneaked me into the mysterious lounge that I had heard so much about but assumed was a myth that millionaires told common folk. For the first time I enjoyed a flight delay, perfectly comfortable enjoying my free breakfast and glugging freshly squeezed orange juice.

Because the other team members had raced here before, logistics were a breeze. Our (painfully) disciplined leader Carl had organized everything. With military precision we moved from the airport to the rented SUV’s and on to Taupo and our rented house for the weekend. I quickly realized that although this weekend was planned for a bike race, it was really a guy’s long weekend that happened to have a bike event on the Saturday. The true purpose of the race was to provide ammunition for conversation (read: taunting) for the next 12 months.

The pre-race verbal sparring and mind games were epic. The trash talking reached a high the night before the race and admittedly, my confidence was wavering. The target for the 160km was 5 hours and it was going to be close. That pace would require everything to fall into place and to possibly sacrifice of a kidney to avoid a piss stop.

The race probably deserves its own blog entry but I’ll summarize as best as possible. The start line could only be described as controlled chaos. The 11,500 riders completely engulfed the Main Street that normally catered to Taupo’s 22,000 residents. Everywhere you looked there were riders within 3 inches of one another. Making things even more nerve racking was the rain that poured down making the roads slick and the sunglasses foggy. It didn’t take long for the first ambulance to come racing past and every 10 minutes or so a rider was on the side of the road with either a flat tire or road rash. Our team managed to navigate the crowd pretty well for the first half and then everything blew apart and I was separated. I hammered the pace up the hills (that’s what skinny guys do) and that seemed like a good idea at the time but proved to be my undoing. Sure, I set a blistering pace to the summits but was completely shattered and couldn’t keep up with the tempo riding on the flats afterward. By the end of the race I had gained about 9 minutes on the hills and lost…damn near 25 minutes on the flats!

With 7 kilometres to go, at the base of a small hill, my body was not pleased with me and I had lost focus when a huge sign came into view and cheered me up. “This hill is a bitch!” The part that made it so funny was that the sign wasn’t handmade or chalked on the road – the organizers (who clearly had keen eye for detail) had it professionally made. I crossed the line in 5 hours 12 minutes and couldn’t have pushed any harder. Next year though, it’s on. Thanks to the guys for a great weekend and the race organizers for running such a fantastic event.

Photos: New Zealand Trip

2009-12-04T15:38:00.000+11:00

Both Of Us Are Sick

2009-11-14T19:04:00.015+11:00

I am sick. Aiva is sick. Together we are a big pile of miserable. Our current rate of snot production is about two litres per hour. That’s not entirely accurate as that measurement is only what makes it into a tissue. It would be impossible to estimate the amount that goes down the back of our throats while we sleep. Not that we are getting much sleep.

I’ll take the blame for this one because I got sick first and passed it along therefore it’s pretty hard to deny that I started it. We shouldn’t be surprised though because Aiva is going through merger hell at work; I had a vicious month end and am over-training for my cycling race in two weeks. All this undue stress eventually takes it toll – and the currency used to pay that toll is snot.

Our nutritional daily intake is now reduced to gelato, juice, vitamins and Sudafed. Sometimes I shake things up with an Extra Strength Tylenol before bed just for fun. Generally, Aiva is handling being sick with more grace than I am. With the exception of the sneezing fits that make her look like an Epileptic with Tourette's, she just sounds congested. I on the only hand, require anyone that will listen to fully understand the extent of my suffering (hence this entry). I’m splayed out across on the bed with the back of my hand of my forehead like some 40’s crime movie victim. One look at me and you know immediately that I have a set of lungs filled with gunk, two ear infections and judging from the glassy eyes, it’s possible that my puppy just got run over. I just don’t do “sick” gracefully. I do, however, do “victim” pretty convincingly.

Photos: Eventually I'll Learn

2009-11-13T21:01:00.001+11:00

House Hunting Hell

2009-10-31T18:39:00.008+11:00

Going to open houses has to be one of the most frustrating activities. The whole process is terrible because it consumes at least half the weekend. Going from one open house to the next seems easy but in Sydney, most open houses are only open for 30 minutes. Some are as short as 15 minutes. We were trying to see as many houses as possible on Saturday morning. It was a lot like the bushland compass training at Kingfisher Lake I received when I was twelve. There were nine checkpoints to locate in a reasonably small area called the maze. The goal was to plot the most efficient way of hitting all nine in the tight time frame. As a twelve year old, you quickly learned to cheat by partnering up with a buddy to halve the time. This guaranteed victory while the rest of the class was still lost somewhere in the Northern Ontario bush.

Aiva and I partnered up with our GPS and real estate printouts in hand and entered “the maze” that is Sydney’s inner west. Unlike my adolescence, she wasn’t keen to seal the agreement with a spit enclosed handshake. After snooping through four homes that were all approximately $500,000 each, you would think that we would be brimming with excitement as we compared notes about “the mahogany in the west wing library and how the pool tiles match the marble kitchen countertops nicely”. However, Sydney housing prices are quite different to Thunder Bay.

Half a million bucks will buy you a 2-bedroom apartment located directly under every Qantas 747 flight leaving Sydney. If the noise doesn’t drive you mad, banging you knees repeatedly on the corner of your bed surely will because every bedroom is rectangular. Somewhere in your shoebox sized home, you will also smoke your head on the low ceiling so hard that your eyes water and take your mind off the jets. If you managed to survive the concussion and bruised joints, the kitchen will likely drive you straight to the asylum. Full sized fridges are unheard of and counter space is as rare as an albino panda. On a positive note, in the summer heat it could be helpful as you would be able to sit in your fridge and chop vegies on the counter at the same time.

I guess that’s just the way it is in Sydney. You are paying for the weather, beaches, nightlife and big city living in general, not simply a mortgage. I’m sure that if you solely wanted a nice house you could find one in a place like Nipigon for $50,000 but when it rains the air smells like wet dog and going out for a nice dinner provides only two options: the Poutine at the Husky Gas Station or a meatball sub from Subway. Don’t get me wrong, I like both those dinner options so Aiva and I really need to decide on whether we prefer a spacious pulp town or a cramped city.

Sound - Rhythm = Noise...UPDATE

2009-10-13T17:53:00.009+11:00

I checked my email to find a comment request for this blog from “Damien”. His comment was related to an entry that I posted about an evening out at the Sydney Opera House. Before you read his comment, it would probably be best if you read my entry first if you haven’t already.

"I’ve cried before on reading a review of one of our shows but not tears of laughter. Your eloquent description of the music is beautiful – we should get you to write our press releases. Do you mind if we quote you on our website? Anyway, we’re really sorry we gave you a headache, but I’m sure its nothing an ibuprofen and a good backbeat didn’t cure. Thanks for coming." - Damiem (Co-Artistic Director, Ensemble Offspring)

Well Damien, if you thought you laughed upon reading my blog, I damn near pissed myself when I read your comment. I immediately showed everyone in the office and even accused a few friends of faking it. Next thing I knew, the office was filled with curious staff with earphones plugged in and your YouTube video on their screens. I’m sure their curiosity was partly (read: mostly) driven by the hope that I would be slapped with a defamation lawsuit but either way, you now have an office that all know of Ensemble Offspring.

Feel free to quote or link this blog if you believe that it will help. Send me the link to it and I would be happy to post it here for you.

Sound - Rhythm = Noise

2009-10-02T17:07:00.005+10:00

Music is the joining of sound and rhythm while sound in the absence of rhythm is noise. This simple fact could have saved me an evening of discomfort. You see, Aiva and I often go to see “shows” at the Opera House without reading any reviews or truly understanding what we are in for…and I guess that’s half the fun. Sometimes they aren’t very good and sometimes they are great but one thing is certain – they never give me a mind-numbing headache. That is, until now.

Kontakte: Ensemble Offspring & Pimmon was billed as “a unique concert bringing together acoustic and electronic music”. I envisioned a DJ pumping out beats with tables or even a laptop, jamming with some classically trained prodigy. To be fair, I got the laptop part right with the exception that it was some guy that looks like Silent Bob sitting in the middle of the stage staring at his screen…that’s it. Okay, looking for a minimalist structure, fine, I get it.

The “concert” started and I honestly looked around to see if there was a technical malfunction because it sounded like that noise in between old school radio stations (to which I later found out is one of Pimmon’s inspirations). I started to laugh because it wasn’t music at all but noise. No rhythm of any kind. You couldn’t tap your toe to it if someone had a gun to your head.

So I guess I was not on the same page as the DJ (or whatever he is called) because I was expecting music. Now, I have been prone to exaggeration in the past but part of the show sounded like I had my head in a fishbowl while someone was using a wet/dry vac to suck up loose change out of a couch…while X-Files was playing in the background in reverse and at half speed. My favourite part was shortly after a break when a new “song” started up. It was a mixture of…jesus, I dunno…80’s lasers and Russian static, when Aiva leaned over and whispered “I think I know this one”.

I’ve added the You-Tube video below so that you can hear it for yourself because I’m struggling to give it justice. Hey, maybe it’s for you. Oh I forget to mention, that the second half included a wind chime/cake tin percussion arrangement and the rare duelling gongs.

Twitter - CraigInAUS

2009-09-24T12:43:00.004+10:00

After much debate I have finally joined Twitter. The reasoning is that I am having more difficulty finding the time to write as many blog entries so hopefully I can still keep in touch via Twitter. I’m still working towards putting a blog entry once a week as a minimum. Anyway, to celebrate my Twitter membership, I bought an iPhone.

For the few days I have been playing with both Twitter and my iPhone nonstop and am certain that I have already exceeded my download plan. I have been trying to figure out all the GPS apps so that I can map my bike rides and post the information. The first test will be tomorrow. The first app that I downloaded however was TripView that is basically the Sydney train schedule but updated every minute. This gem has stopped me sprinting through traffic and sliding over taxi hoods just to try and make the next train. For this app alone, the iPhone was worth the price.

So bare with me as I learn the in’s and out’s of Twitter and tinker with my blog over the next week or so. I fully expect to screw up the blog formatting and have to redo it all.

Photos From Last Week

2009-09-17T19:17:00.003+10:00

New Car

2009-09-14T19:55:00.001+10:00

We bought a bubble, I mean a car. A little 2-door Toyota Echo hatchback. It isn’t much bigger than a refrigerator and likely has the same size engine.

A friend of mine just moved to London for a great job opportunity and had to get rid of her car. Aiva and I decided that we should bite the bullet and get a car for weekend adventures. A test drive was in order but we had a disagreement about who should be the one to drive it. Not because we both wanted to drive but because both of us specifically didn’t want to. Aiva has never driven in Sydney in the 7 years she has lived here and she is rather tentative in traffic (good thing there is no traffic in Sydney). I, on the other hand, have never driven on the “wrong” side of the road and am at risk of being the perfect half of a head on collision.

So basically, two incompetent drivers decided to buy a car but were scared of test driving it. Some highlights of the much feared test drive included me constantly turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal, getting lost 4 blocks from where we started and Aiva yelling “This map is wrong!” As a safety valve, I told her to remind me which side of the road to drive on but that, apparently, loosely translated to “I’ve never driven before” so Aiva was kind enough to remind me of my speed, upcoming intersections and when to turn the wipers on before turning. Needless to say, we barely survived - Me, because I’m all over the road and Aiva because I nearly pushed her out of a moving bubble.

Anyway, we now own a car.

Guest Blogger Jasper: Uncle Craig In Adelaide

2009-09-04T18:34:00.001+10:00

My Uncle Craig came to visit.

I was really looking forward to my Uncle Craig visiting from Sydney – it had been some time since I had seen him and I was wondering if he had changed as much as I had. I was thinking he must be huge because I had doubled my weight since I saw him last. I didn’t get to meet him at the airport because it was past my bedtime. I tried really hard to stay awake to see him but I couldn't because a strange musical light kept shining on my ceiling and I found it impossible to look away but at the same time I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I could hear Uncle Craig in the morning getting ready to ride his bike with Dad so I decided to get up. I had to call Mum for 15 minutes before she finally came to get me and by that time Uncle Craig and Dad were already out of the house. By then it was 5:50am and there was no point going back to bed so I hung out with Mum instead. Did Mum ever look tired - I wondered why she got out of bed so early if she was so tired?

Yeah, everyone is back from the ride. Wow, my uncle Craig has not grown nearly as much as me – actually, I think he has shrunk. Time to show off. First, I wow him with my twirling – I can go around 20 times without falling, then I show him my splits, I can almost touch my nappy to the floor, and finally I flash him my cheesy grin. Now he’s mine. I’m sure when Mum and Dad are out I’ll be able to get away with anything.

Uncle Craig wants to baby-sit the second night in. My chance has come early - man, what a fool! I’ll start off slow I don’t want to scar him too deeply. I throw out a few basics like spill my milk in three places in three different rooms, knock everything off the table, and turn the TV and stereo on full blast. I have to admit for an old guy he is pretty quick and he does not seem to be tiring. No problems, it is time to bring out the big guns – "KAKA". That stopped him in his tracks; I can see that he is processing what I have said. Does he understand Greek for CRAP? I say it again “KAKA”, this time I accompany it with a Michael Jackson crotch grab. Ah, now he understands. But what happens next I am not sure – everything happened so quickly. I remember being held upside down by one leg, I think he was trying to shake me clean. Then I felt something really cold, I remember hearing the hose and I think we were outside but I can’t be sure. The next thing I know I am all dressed but I am wearing a swimming nappy and my track pants are on backwards. Just then my Mum comes through the door. I sure did miss her - that was one of the longest 30 minutes of my life.

Don’t worry, Unc and I made up the next day. I explained a few things about nappies and high-pressure hoses. I also showed him a thing or two about building a deck. He was building a deck with Dad and frankly I’m not sure either of them knew what they were doing. I have watched Bob the Builder so I was happy to pass on a few pointers. I enjoyed my Uncle Craig’s visit and I am very excited because I will be going to visit him very soon in Sydney.

Oxfam: Race Day Write-up

2009-08-30T19:04:00.003+10:00

510 teams started the Sydney Oxfam Trailwalker Race and we couldn’t have asked for better conditions. The weather was perfect, team spirit was high and it was surprisingly inspirational to see so many people willing to punish their bodies for charity. Our team of Moorey, Scott, Marcus and I moved quickly out of the gate by running to separate us from the throngs of spandex clad do-gooders and to avoid the early bottlenecks.

By the 20km mark, we were well and truly into it. We had each guzzled 4L of water and made seven “nature breaks” and the tempo was good as we passed teams on every climb. The climbs were punishing but anticipated as we had been out on the course several times in training and were fully aware that our bodies would not be pleased. During these climbs we each seemed to dip “into a rut” and the other three were responsible for staying positive and helping the hurting person along.

After some 8 hours we were at the 43km checkpoint, which was our first planned break. Most of the big climbs were behind us and we were ahead of schedule by a whopping 45 minutes. Our support team greeted us with smiles of compassion and quickly refilled our camelbacks. We each devoured our pasta meal and appreciated the much-deserved 20 minutes of reprieve. Getting started again proved painful. We had eaten too much and debated whether it was better just to vomit it back up but even that just seemed like too much effort.

Half way. My feet hurt. Not the “I’ve been standing in line at the airport” type sore but more “cutting them off might actually help” type sore. The team all had varying injuries: Marcus had blisters, Scott had back and neck pain, Moorey too had sore feet. As we inevitably started to struggle, Moorey, our only team member to have raced this before, told us that we needed to stay positive and supportive because teams turn on each other for any number of reasons. This decision proved to be hugely important as our bodies slowly shut down and our brains struggled to think properly.

At the 70km point we had passed all the large climbs but in the dark of night. My body was the first to crack. My limping couldn’t be disguised and my dependence on the walking stick became obvious. The checkpoint medical staff cut my socks off, lanced and taped my 5 blisters while the chiropractor cracked my back in an attempt to regain some mobility. Marcus took the opportunity to get retaped as well, while Scott shivered under a heat lamp and looked like he had lost a puppy. I strongly debated throwing in the towel but Moorey told me that we were finishing as a team and that we were sticking together to the end no matter what. So, 2 more ibuprofen each, another energy gel and we were back on the trail. After racing for 70km one would think that only having 30km left would be uplifting but that 30km ended up taking us 8 more hours.

The combination of being in the dark, in pain, overdosed on ibuprofen and on a sugar high produced some strange results. Scott was hallucinating that tree stumps were wild dogs and I couldn’t seem to coordinate my arms and legs to work in unison. Conversation all but stopped and we were absorbed in our own challenges. To add to the fun, it started to rain and that turn of events seemed hilarious to me. It was either laugh or cry and I’d already been fighting off tears for the past few hours so opted for a change.

With one kilometre to go, we naturally tried to pick up the pace. Marcus, who set the pace most often, seemed determined to speed up but ended up looking like he was walking barefoot on razorblades. We were so close but I felt that I only had ten more steps in me before falling over when Scott, with glossy eyes, said “Mate, just across the park and we’re there”. At the time, it seemed like the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to me because I knew that even talking was such a chore.

We proudly crossed the finish line in 21 hours and 28 minutes. Our fantastic support team was at the line to greet us with hugs and sympathy but more importantly a close parking spot. We stuck around very briefly to have our picture taken and headed to car. It was 4:28am. We ended up in 47th place out of 510 teams and 24th place out of teams that finished with all four members. After all the times were tallied, the average finish time turned out to be nearly 31 hours. No wonder we hurt so much.

Thank you to everyone for their donations. Many of the donations were anonymous but know that you have our thanks. The event staff and volunteers were truly amazing and if I don’t race again next year, I will be joining them to help out on the sidelines. Last but certainly not least, thanks so much to all of our support crew. We, literally, could not have done it without you.

Link to all photos

Oxfam Trailwalker Race Day - Track Our Progress

2009-08-27T20:57:00.005+10:00

The race starts in ten hours and I'm running around the house, packing like a madman while Aiva is in the kitchen baking cookies and preparing the team's check point meals. Our start time is 7:10am Friday morning and we are hoping to complete the race in under 20 hours. Thanks to everyone that donated their money, time and support. You can track our progress on this site and our team name is The Irish Wolfhounds (none of us are Irish). Team number 205.

I'm going to bed to try and sleep but I have a feeling that I won't get much.

Oxfam Team Sponsor

2009-08-14T13:42:00.001+10:00

As many of you know, I have been training for the 100km Oxfam Trailwalker Event. So far the training has been going well and with a significant amount of both luck and crying, we should be able to cover the distance in less than 20 hours. The foolishness of not sleeping will become clear at night when our headlamp batteries run out and one of us rolls an ankle. Having said that, our training is well underway and whether rain, hail or shine, we are out on the course on Saturday mornings.

Trailwalker involves a team of 4 walking, running or crawling 100km through National Parks from the banks of the Hawkesbury River back to Mosman in less than 48 hours. This is not a relay. Teams need to start together, go through each checkpoint together, and finish together. My team members are Scott Simpson, Marcus Parker and Andrew Moore. If all goes well we hope to finish as a team of four around 1 or 2am on Saturday 28 August 2009.

Many of you Aussies would have heard of the Trailwalker event as its popularity is growing every year but those readers in Canada will probably not have heard of it. The event began in 1981 as a military exercise for the Queen's Gurkha Signals Regiment in Hong Kong, and has since grown to an event taking place annually in New Zealand, UK, Hong Kong and Japan.

We have pledged to raise at least $5,000 to help to overcome poverty and suffering around the world and we are close to that marker raising $4,500 with two weeks to go. To achieve this target we need some help. Any donation which you are able to make would be most appreciated by myself, my team and the recipients of Oxfam's charity work.

If you would like to sponsor my team please visit our site.

Last year Trailwalker raised $3.2 million for charity. Oxfam works in more than 26 countries around the world including Indigenous Australia. If we raise $5,000 that will be enough for Oxfam to fully equip two schools in Laos with chairs, desks, blackboards and other essential furniture. For further information about how your donation will be spent go to Oxfam Trailwalker site.

Thank very much. I'll be sure to upload pics after the race...assuming that we find our way to the finish line.

Trekking For Oxfam

2009-08-02T16:13:00.005+10:00

I’m alive and well. Now that I think about it, maybe not the well part. With the amount of running and hiking I've been doing lately, every morning feels like I'm on my deathbed. My feet are in a constant state of…throbbing. On top of the running that I've been doing after work during the week, my Oxfam Team has been going out on the weekends for a long hike on the racecourse itself.

It’s a funny thing trekking through the bush all day with some buddies. No conversation topic is off limits and everything is open to lengthy ridicule, especially the navigation. That’s why I avoid being the map-reader. I don’t want the responsibility of leading the way through the bush, however, I reserve the right to direct blame and complain appropriately. If you want to get to know someone, I suggest an 8-hour hike. There is something about the outdoors, constantly aching joints and the ibuprofen shakes that pull your guard down. By the time your feet have been soaked and dried for the third time, you are telling family secrets and your most embarrassing life stories.

The race is in 4 weeks and we are pushing hard so that we are ready. Last Saturday we hiked 30km of the course and yesterday we did 43km. I have to admit, the last uphill 5km was nearly was the death of me. By the time we finished, my last bit of energy was used to guide myself to fall on the grass beside the car and not on the concrete curb. Thank god today is a Bank Holiday because I’m pretty sure that going down the stairs would have been out of the question any time before noon.

Sydney Boat Show Photos

2009-07-31T12:51:00.000+10:00

Oxfam Trailwalker Challenge

2009-07-24T16:10:00.003+10:00

Considering that I have been cycling like a crazy man lately and completely absorbed in the Tour De France it should come as a surprise that I have enrolled in a running race. My thought is – if you are going to go a do something, dive in headfirst. With that in mind, the race is 100km.

The Oxfam Trailwalker is a 100km trail race with a cut-off time of 48 hours. The race is done in teams of 4 but each person has to complete the full distance. If you think that this seems a little nuts you are probably right because 100km is approximately two and a half marathons in a row. I have a few concerns myself. Namely, I haven’t been seriously running in years nor have I ever run a marathon so fitness may be an issue (and by may, I really mean will). Just to stay positive, let’s assume that I am able to get into marathon shape with ridiculous amounts of training – the race is in 35 days. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t even bother entertaining the thought of joining a team but the person that asked me to join his is, in fact, my boss. To avoid a CLM (career limiting move) I said, “Sign me up!”

So, for the last 2 weeks I have been running every second day simultaneously increasing my distance and questioning my sanity. In an attempt to make me feel better, my new teammates sent me an email highlighting that last year the average team finished the race in 32 hours. For a moment I felt okay until they mentioned that they are targeting 17 hours as our finish time. Most teams sleep for a few hours but for us to hit our target we will be running on hiking trails in the dark for at least 6 hours. The more calculations I do the more I realize that I am in over my head. Tomorrow is the first big test – a 40km training day on the actual course. For those counting, that is marathon distance after 2 weeks of training. I’ve pre-emptively put extra ice cube trays in the freezer for the required post training ice bath. I also have a stash of ibuprofen on my bedside table that would rival a pharmacy.

If you don’t hear from me for a few days, I am likely lost in the bush or in the bathtub and unable to get out. Either way, I’ll be in the fetal position sobbing like a little girl.

Wiener Dog

2009-07-16T14:52:00.007+10:00

Aiva wants a wiener dog. The other day we went up the street to a veterinarian clinic where they run a puppy school because you can stand on the street and watch through the front windows. Admittedly, I did feel like a strange sort of peeping Tom but luckily a friend of ours had two puppies in the class so it felt somewhat justified. If anyone is wondering, the puppies’ names are Oprah and Ellen…painful.

There was a wiener puppy in the class and Aiva couldn’t help herself. I watched her, watch it trip over itself. It had an eerie resemblance to when senior citizens try to reverse a motor home onto a campsite – the front goes one way and the back goes the other. I'm not sure exactly how it works but she really likes the puppies but as soon as the horizontally blessed puppy becomes an adult, she’s not interested. Puppy = cute. Dog = gross. This is for the best because if I were to choose a dog, I would search for one that I could run with and see leaping through the air to catch a Frisbee. This poses quite a problem because I’m pretty sure that other than the mighty elephant, the wiener dog is the only other mammal that can’t physically jump. Okay, I made that last part up but seriously; can you imagine a wiener dog jumping?

This is all a bit pointless anyway considering the only grass that we own in Sydney is the stuff stuck to the bottom of my runners and I have long said that before I own a dog I need to own a yard. At the moment, my backyard in made up of paving stones that get roasting hot in the summer and the last thing I feel like doing is cleaning up wiener dog steamers. So the dog thing is on hold – wiener or otherwise.

Torture By Car Horn

2009-07-04T20:57:00.002+10:00

If you asked me a couple of days ago what the most annoying sound in the world was, I would have told you a car alarm. As it turns out, I was close but mistaken. It's a car horn. Not a friendly beep beep or a taxi honk but an endless, painfully loud horn. The red car parked directly in front of our house had its horn stuck for about an hour...at 3am...and the owners weren't home. Eventually, it stopped (who knows why) and the entire block went back to sleep. It happened again a few times throughout the next day and again at 5am Saturday morning. Needless to say, there were several strongly worded letters crammed under each windshield wiper. The final straw came at 5pm on Sunday as dinner was put on the table (literally). We went outside to see if we could find out who the owners of the car were and surprisingly, the entire street was standing outside. It was a mob. An angry mob wearing slippers and Sunday night pajamas ready to identify the owner and tear them limb from limb. After 45min we called the cops and they said that they had received many calls about this already and had dispatched a cruiser. The Coppers kindly drove up 20 minutes later to tell us there was nothing that they could do. Hmmm, really? I'm pretty sure they could tow it...or jimmy the hood open...or at least hand out earplugs for gods sake!

One hour and forty five minutes later a doe-eyed teenage girl showed up with keys and barely even knew how to pop the hood let alone stop the horn from blaring. As soon as that hood was up, some guy and I were in there like a fat kid on a smartie. I was wielding a multi-tool like a butterfly knife while he was armed with some menacing looking pliers and put our heads into the engine, sacrificing our eardrums for the greater good. After hacking at a few clamps we managed to unhook the car battery which was a huge accomplishment considering I can barely open a plastic pack of normal batteries. A resounding cheer interrupted the brief moment of silence (with a few threats on the owners life yelled from balconies) and I proceeded to cram the battery feeds into the bowels of the vehicle so they can never be found again. Now if I could only put a barbeque together I would be a grease monkey.

Michael Jackson - 1959 - 2009

2009-06-25T18:54:00.003+10:00

Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize yawls neighbourhood
And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpses shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller

Birthday 32

2009-06-20T20:23:00.002+10:00

The original birthday plan involved going to Sydney's first ever outdoor skating rink. It was part of Winterfest that included 32 stalls of food and wine - all in the winter spirit. Unfortunately, "winter spirit" translates loosely to torrential downpour. The rink was rained out so we went to plan B. I was looking forward to teaching a slew of sun loving Aussies how to skate but as fate would have it, Aussies just aren't meant to skate. So the bunch of us decided to go out for a tasty, long lunch where I ate too much. From there Aiva and I headed to the Opera House for the weirdest show I have ever seen. I can only really describe it as "Muppets do Burlesque". It was called Caberet Decadanse. We laughed our way through it but I felt a little awkward watching a puppet strip show. I'm not sure that I would recommend it to anyone because it was really "out there". I mean - two flamboyantly gay men performing a burlesque show with puppets. Ahhh, only in Sydney.

I went to bed early so that I could get up at 5am to go cycling (in the rain). It was a great ride but took everything out of me. In the late afternoon I made a bowl of popcorn and rented a mindless action flick but eventually ended up snoozing on the couch in a sea of popcorn. You know that you had a good weekend when you wake up at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon and have popcorn stuck to your face.

Reverse Groundhog Day

2009-06-18T00:08:00.001+10:00

There has been a cold snap in Sydney the last week or so. Down to a bone chilling 12C. You would think that with all complaining about the temperature that it was December 1942 in Stalingrad. I had a feeling that winter was coming because womens stockings are now dark not light which signifies the start of winter by acting like a reverse Groundhog Day. Sydneysiders struggle a bit with “dressing for warmth” because fashion is always the primary concern. I overheard a woman in the elevator chattering away about almost missing the train because she couldn’t find her gloves. She was in a pencil dress, stilettos and advertising enough cleavage to produce an echo. But…she was wearing gloves for warmth. I saw a businessman wearing fingerless “hobo” gloves with his suit. No overcoat – just very expensive, black, leather, Italian made hobo gloves. Scarves are quite popular. From my observation in the city - light, sheer ones apparently provide the most protection from the elements.

Looking back at Canadian winters, I would say that fashion is pretty low on the priority list. Then again “survival” is probably the top concern. The reverse Groundhog Day moment in Canada is the steering wheel test. If you have to steer with just two fingers because the wheel is too damn cold – it’s winter. To keep warm everyone needs a jacket filled with some sort of feather with a hood lined with some sort of fur. A toque that covers the ears and boots made with Gore-tex. Sure it isn’t the best look, so to speak, but at least when someone draped in several poofy layers of gear mentions that it’s a little chilly you can be sure that the beer you left outside is now frozen.

Death And Taxes...And Taxes

2009-06-02T20:44:00.007+10:00

I find nothing more frustrating than doing my taxes. It’s not the paying part that bothers me, (although I’d rather not) it’s the process. I’ve never been the most organized person and saving receipts and documents and blah blah blah is just a big hassle. Every year I seem to lose a form and have to pay the seven bucks to have the government documents reissued. When I was a financial consultant a few years ago I was extremely organized with other people’s information (alphabetized, colour coded folders with tabbed date stickers) but still managed to lose my own documents. That year I accidentally lodged my tax return without noting any income. I received strongly worded letter from the Gov about that one. Unlike me, they did not find it funny.

Lucky me, I now get to file my taxes twice a year. The Australian financial year-end is June, not January which means that every six months I’ll be paying taxes in one country or another. I was behind in filing my 2007 tax returns both in Canada and Australia and my parents have been getting my mail from Revenue Canada that include some pretty threatening letters. They used concerning terms like “federal offence”, “fine” and “criminal charges” so I decided that a call into Revenue Canada may be slightly overdue.

I spoke with a pleasant woman at Revenue Canada that was not impressed that I was calling from around the world to discuss my tax “situation” without remembering my Social Insurance Number. The intense round of identification confirmation began in a way that I imagine is eerily similar to speed dating. Name? Age? Mother’s maiden name? Where do you work? Do you contribute to your retirement savings? Where do you live? Do you like long walks on the beach? Do you prefer red or white? After turning on every last bit of charm in my being and answering a barrage of personal questions “Louise” finally believed that I was, in fact, me. We sorted things out and she agreed to have the government documents reissued (as per usual). To be honest, I was a little offended that she didn’t ask for my phone number by the end (although she probably already had it).

In a two day period, I have filed two tax returns in two different countries for two different calendar years. Yeah, it’s a party around here at the moment.

Day Of The Dude 2009

2009-05-30T17:01:00.002+10:00

I've been putting in long hours at work and going in every weekend in May (hence the blogging slowdown). Yesterday I left the office and was waiting for the train when I felt like calling everyone I knew and reminding them that it was Day Of The Dude. While I was sitting in some dirty train station after a days work on a Saturday I realized that there were several problems with trying to make international calls from a blackberry in an underground station. The only person in Sydney to call was Aiva and she already knew the date.

I've been in Australia for almost 2 years now. Two years... Most of the time it doesn't feel like I've been away that long and sometimes it just feels like an extended vacation. During that time, I've had my family visit a few times and I've been back home for Dude's wedding and a quick visit. I've managed to avoid being homesick for the most part - the random feeling during times of stress, holidays and special occasions but nothing major.

DOTD used to be the best day of the year for me. I'm not kidding, it really was. This year I just felt bummed out about missing it so I went for a miserable bike ride by myself in the relentless wind and stinging rain. Shakespeare would have appreciated the pathetic fallacy. I felt truly homesick for the first time in two years. So now, I'm home and feel like going to bed but it's 4:41pm. It's a strange feeling, one I'm sure that will pass quickly because the drunken post DOTD emails have already started to come in and I'm feeling better already.

Morning Ride To Palm Beach

2009-05-17T21:09:00.002+10:00

I left the house to find a cold black Sunday morning. I didn’t wear a cycling jacket because I thought that it would never be cold enough to warrant one in Sydney. However, it turns out that at 5:30am in May it's a little...brisk. As I started my ride in the dark I had a strange sensation that I haven’t had since I played hockey as a child. Start working hard or you are going to freeze to death. Unlike my childhood where I would go to outdoor rink practices with layer upon layer of clothing underneath my hockey gear, I was in spandex and a cycling jersey which, by design, was meant to provide no warmth. My legs shuttered with the excursion as my shivering body was still trying to wake up. My nipples were like diamonds and I already had a runny nose. The only difference from hockey practice 20 years ago was that I didn’t end up with snotsicles.

Once the sun came up everything was back to normal and I began to enjoy the ride. And what a ride! I rode out towards Palm Beach overlooking the sparkling Dolphin Bay. The sun was rising, no traffic and just a peaceful quiet that was politely interrupted by early rising dog walkers who wished me “G’morning”. Several times I found myself blinded by the sun reflecting off the water or looking at the multi-million dollar homes instead of the road but luckily the Beamers and the Jags were still in their driveways.

I had done 50km of rolling hills without thinking about my legs once and knew that I was in for a good day. Near the end of the ride I ended up in the leafy Terrey Hills that looked a lot like the outskirts of Thunder Bay. Large plots of farm land with white wood fences that followed the road and a few horses galloping on a path nearby. At that moment, it was hard to understand why anyone would ever want to live in a city.

I spent the whole ride simply taking in the sites and by the time I got home I had put 115km into my legs. I felt great and spent the rest of the day hoping for next Sunday to come faster so I could do it all over again.

Something Was Not Quite Right

2009-05-12T11:24:00.002+10:00

The problem started when I stayed up late watching the Giro D’Italia online and was a zombie in the morning. I was tired and rushed only to end up in a full sprint up the street to catch the train but missed it by 10 seconds. I walked back to the café to wait for the next train and had a coffee but the place seemed more crowded than normal. I didn’t quite feel right and left. The train was packed tight with no breathing room let alone room to move and I was feeling a little claustrophobic.

What was going on? Something was not quite right. Everything seemed busier, crammed together with no space and I was generally uncomfortable. I couldn’t sit in the same spot without fidgeting and my clothes seemed tighter which I knew wasn’t the case because I don’t have a dryer and if anything, I’ve been losing weight. I left the office to get some air and a juice and as I left I felt like people were staring at me but I knew they really weren’t. I became very self aware and started to over-think the miracle of walking upright and ended up with some sort of uncomfortable strut.

After my juice, I ended up in the bathroom for a whiz. I immediately realized why the city seemed so crowded, why I was generally so uncomfortable and why my clothes seemed tight. My underwear was on backwards! The guy at the sink must have wondered why I was at the urinal taking a leak, looking down and laughing to myself.

Random Photos

2009-05-09T23:13:00.002+10:00

Waterboarding

2009-04-30T18:09:00.004+10:00

“Well, when the president does it, that means that it is not illegal.” – Richard Nixon

Torture is a divisive topic that is running rampant through every form of media the last few weeks. Waterboarding is the particular form of torture in question as documents have recently been released acknowledging that not only was this “interrogation technique” used, it was abused. This technique simulates drowning and, not surprisingly, doesn’t leave any sign of physical injury. It would appear that the CIA has developed better techniques to inflict injury without leaving a mark than bashing them with a phonebook. This fact is where the rubber meets the road.

Fact: Torture is illegal as stated by the United Nations Convention Against Torture and under no circumstances of any kind, will it be allowed. Sadly, the definition of torture is loosely translated as “severe pain and suffering”. Well, in walks a crack team of CIA legal minds that determine “severe” is vague and “pain and suffering” must be used together and not simply “severe pain” or “severe suffering”. Hence, the Team Cheney decided that waterboarding is not torture and therefore legal. Under that definition, they legally would be allowed to stroll in a detainee’s child and put a gun in their mouth until the interrogators got answers they wanted. No physical injuries or long-term side effects. One prisoner, who is being held indefinitely without trial I might add, was waterboarded 183 times in one month. Clearly, its effectiveness in obtaining information is in question.

In 2008, a journalist voluntarily experienced waterboarding. He managed to resist for twelve seconds the first time, and, embarrassed at his poor performance, he asked to try again. He then managed to resist for 19 seconds. He later told the BBC: "There is a common misconception that waterboarding simulates the sensation of drowning, but you are to all intents and purposes actually drowning. If waterboarding does not constitute torture, then there is no such thing as torture. Believe me. It's torture" To fully understand the cunning and hypocrisy of the Bush administration it is important to note that after WWII, Japanese soldiers who performed or ordered waterboarding to be used on American prisoners were convicted of War Crimes at Tokyo War Crimes Trials.

I recognize there are arguments for and against torture and I am also aware of the Bush administration’s mindset post 9/11 however I urge everyone to consider what a slippery slope this is. A highly educated team of legal experts who are looking for a loophole shouldn’t decide the definition of what is and what isn’t torture. Morality and decency should be the guiding force, not what the maximum limits of what the law will allow you to get away with. I’m less concerned about what is legal or illegal, and more concerned that government officials cannot identify the difference between right and wrong.

"An eye for an eye, and soon the whole world is blind." - Mahatma Gandhi

Earth Day 2009

2009-04-22T13:01:00.001+10:00

Today is Earth Day. I’ve never been on the “green” bandwagon although I do prefer my own water bottle to plastic store bought ones that are clogging up landfills so I guess I’m not going to hell just yet. When I lived in Canada I would classify myself as a non-functioning environmentalist. Basically, I appreciated the environment and believed that pollution and recycling were important global issues but couldn’t be bothered to wash my empty tin cans and have several different garbage bins in my kitchen. I wasn’t quite that bad but I surely wasn’t changing the world. I did guerrilla plant some flowers as a wedding present once but that’s about it.

Now I’m living in Sydney and my…what’s it called?...carbon footprint has significantly shrunk. I don’t own a vehicle, I take electric public transport everywhere, recycle with dedication and my main hobby is cycling. Our house doesn’t require heating and we don’t have AC so our power bills are approximately 17c a month and even if I owned a house I would have solar panels on the roof. Why wouldn’t you in a country with approximately 300 cloudless sunny days a year?

Earth Hour was last month and all of Sydney went without electricity for an hour on a Saturday night. The city had a completely different feel and we had a fantastic dinner with friends by candlelight. Sydney started Earth hour in 2007 and two years later an estimated 4,000 cities in 88 countries took part in the power out. A few years ago I had a buddy that lived in New York City when there was that massive power outage and he said it was the best day in NYC he ever had. So it’s no surprise that this event has taken off so successfully.

The usual argument is that everyday should be Earth Day and redundant lights should be turned off at night not just for Earth Hour but the reality is that it just won’t happen. Change is slow. That’s just the way it is and if it takes one day or one hour a year to remind people to be “green” then so be it.

Blue Jean Baby, L.A. Lady, Seamstress For The Band

2009-04-19T20:43:00.000+10:00

Disclaimer: I have never owned an Elton John album. Any Elton John song that appears in my music library is because it was part of a movie soundtrack (excluding Rocket Man which was featured in Family Guy).

I’ve written several music related entries on this blog but this one is the hardest to write. Sure, I’ve unashamedly belted out November Rain in the shower and hummed No Woman No Cry on the train but both GNR and Bob Marley are accepted music choices. I have been using the Genius function in iTunes quite a lot lately and last night I wiped my iPod clean and added 500 new songs based entirely on random selections from my library.

As I made my way out the door with my iPod set to shuffle I was excited to see what music would set the tone for the day...Tiny Dancer by Elton John (Almost Famous Soundtrack). I walked up the street to the train station with shifty eyes wondering if anyone could hear my music. I found it entertaining that I stood on the train next to some guy wearing a sideways tilted Yankees cap, one pant leg rolled up and a set of earphones that a runway traffic director would be envious of. I have no proof but I’m sure that whatever rap he was listening to had the word “Pimp” in the title and here I was, a tall, skinny, white guy, that lives in a notoriously gay neighborhood, listening to Tiny Dancer. Stereotypes for all!

The worst part was that I found the song totally absorbing. I admit that I like an Elton John song. Yep, it’s been in my head all day and I find it hard to believe that any human would have the ability to listen to that whole song and not want to sing during the "Hold me closer tiny dancer" verse. Good ahead, try it...I'll wait for this link to load. I might even listen to Rocket Man on the way home today.

PS – Aiva informs me that I made her dance to Tiny Dancer at the wedding last year where I was the best man. I don't remember but it's entirely possible.

Bondi to Coogee Coastal Walk

2009-04-12T17:58:00.002+10:00

Goanna Under My Table

2009-04-11T17:42:00.001+10:00

The plan for the Friday of the Easter long weekend was to go for a 100km ride through a beautiful national park and take pictures to make to folks back in Thunder Bay want to come out a visit. The route would take me through Ku-Ring-Gui Chase Park and up to a scenic platform called West Head that was supposed to have amazing views. During these rides I normally have plenty of time to think about what I want to write about so when I get home the blog entry already has some shape.

Physically, I was exhausted, just over halfway and almost at the scenic lookout but mentally I was feeling creative and I was going over all the great parts of the ride. I decided to stop at a picnic table to have a quick snack and get my camera out so that I had it ready when great views came into sight. I plunked my sweaty, spandexed butt down at the picnic table and I immediately saw the back half of a snake making its way under the table. Thinking that there would probably be a snake biting my toes shortly, I leaped backwards into a terribly performed reverse somersault. Even if I had been wearing a kimono with a matching headband I would not have been confused with a ninja.

Much to my relief there wasn’t a small snake under my table. There was a huge lizard and the “snake” part that I had seen was only the tip of it’s tail. The lizard was roughly 5 feet long! As expected, at this point I changed from a ninja impersonator to an Olympic sprinter impersonator and may have recorded a PB.

Goannas (also called Monitor Lizards) are significantly larger than any type of lizard that I had previously seen and since everything in Australia is poisonous, I can hardly be blamed for hauling ass away from it. Goannas are in fact poisonous although their venom is quite mild and instead of ensuring death it primarily causes incessant bleeding, infection and severe pain…so no big deal really. I detoured around the creepy thing back to my bike and threw my helmet about 20 feet in front of it because I needed some perspective for the photos. Sensing a trap (or more likely smelling my fear) it took its sweet time leaving my table and I managed to take a few pics of it. There you have it folks, I risked my safety for your entertainment.

Oh yeah, the views were great and yadda yadda. Seriously, the lizard was huge.

Like The Back Of My Hand

2009-04-06T21:05:00.001+10:00

Yesterday, I discovered hair on the back on my hand and I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t there the day before. As far as I can remember, I have never had any hair at all between my watch and my finger tips. This is not a good sign. As I type this while staring at my hands, I am amazed that I didn’t notice before. I’m not a great typist and I use a blackberry regularly so I look at my hands all the time. I’m not a hairy guy to begin with and I have light hair so it’s no big deal but how could I not notice? It’s like it grew overnight. To compound matters, I went for a haircut today and when the hairdresser was trimming my sideburns made a move into my ear cavity and I heard hair being trimmed! Ear hair! What the hell is happening to me? At this rate I am likely to start sprouting hair from my shoulders by brunch!

I feel like I’m starring in Teen Wolf except that instead of Michael J. Fox turning into a socially awkward werewolf I’m turning into a typical middle aged man. I don’t want hair popping up where it shouldn’t – unless I’m actually turning into a werewolf which might be fun for awhile. I’m not sure if 31 is the age where this sort of thing starts to happen but I associate hand hair with old men that play chess in the park. Pretty soon my hand hair will migrate to my knuckles and then everything will be downhill from there. I’ll officially be middle-aged and might as well start shopping for a beige minivan.

Buddy! The Buddy Holly Story

2009-03-26T13:56:00.002+11:00

A few nights ago Aiva and I went to see BUDDY! The Buddy Holly Story at the Lyric Theatre. This "musical" was more like a compilation of Buddy Holly concerts back in the late 50's. I was fine with that because I was more interested in the stellar music and less so in the mediocre acting. I've had Buddy Holly on my computer for years but never really listened to him unless it was randomly selected. I always liked it though. It's hard not to like a song that lasts for under two minutes and gets you singing along with the chorus (that likely repeats 8 times). I'm pretty sure that the only Buddy Holly song that Aiva knew by name was Peggy Sue and she wasn't all that keen on it so she wasn't nearly as excited for the show as I was.

The acting performances were about as good as you would expect for musicians trying to act so it started out a bit slow with a 19 year old Buddy fighting the country music scene and trying to play rock and roll. The lead actor, Scott Cameron, isn't going to win any Tony Awards but he plays a mean guitar and would give the real Buddy Holly a run for his money. As the first few riffs of Peggy Sue were blaring away it became increasingly obviously that Aiva and I were half the age of everyone in the crowd. Wrinkled hands were clapping and grey heads were bopping.

Right before the intermission flyers were handed out to the crowd and if you had a red dot on yours you won a special prize. Well sure enough, Aiva's had a dot. I could see the fear on her face with the realization that she might be singled out or, god forbid, pulled on stage. With previously unknown lightning reflexes she threw her flyer at me and ripped mine out of my hands. It ended up being quite anti climactic actually...I won a key chain. It took about 40 minutes to win us over and just appreciate the music but by the time Rave On was in full tilt with The Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens we were out of our seats and clapping along with whole audience.

The three of them died tragically on February 3rd, 1959 in a plane crash. Each of them had a promising career ahead of them and Buddy Holly had a pregnant wife at home who later miscarried which made the story that much more heartbreaking. "Maybe Baby" and "Rave On" are still great songs and I've being singing them in the shower for days now.

Hiring A Cleaner

2009-03-22T21:58:00.002+11:00

I hate cleaning. I hate the lead up, finding time to do it, the constant 15 minutes here and there of tidying up but most of all I hate moving clothes from one place to another. I would much prefer to let the place fall into disarray and not clean at all, only to spend an entire Sunday cleaning the house from top to bottom and getting it over with all at once. Aiva however, does not quite share my acceptance of disgustingness. To combat our vast differences in hygiene we have hired a cleaner. Poor timing really as I have just built up immunity to the liquid cleaner that I use on the tiles while showering. Sure, I still get lightheaded but that just turns the cleaning of the shower into a fun race. Shiny, clean tiles or me passed out naked on the bathroom floor with sponges wrapped to my feet…good clean fun (wow, I hate myself).

Having a house cleaner sounds like tales from the rich and famous but I can assure you it’s not. It’s not as if Aiva and I were sitting in our west wing library enjoying an opulent Chateauneuf-du-pap discussing the New Yorker cartoon when we had an epiphany. It was more like Aiva, covered in dust, sneezing for twenty minutes while wielding a broom, dressed in her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants yelling up the stairs “We should get a cleaner!” and me, startled from my unexpected catnap on the bathroom floor thinking that was probably a good idea. Now, every so often we allow perfect strangers who barely speak English into our house while we are at work. Genius.

I have to say, coming home to a sparkling house is nice until I realize that the floors unexpectedly have the approximate slipperiness of a greased skating rink. Instead of being naked on the bathroom floor, I am now in a suit on the living room floor but I digress. While picking myself up I am soothed by the familiar smell of lemon (albeit considerably less concentrated) coming from...everywhere. The toilet bowls are so clean that you can't actually look at them without burning your retinas so I don't feel bad for taking a whiz to save my eyesight. From my experience, a vacuum is designed to simply spread the dirt around the carpets evenly so that they all remain the same colour. It would appear that I was incorrect as I thought that the cleaners installed new carpets that were “cream” or perhaps “light beige” but later told that their miraculous vacuum actually removed the dirt…how novel.

I strongly encourage anyone to spend a few bucks and save your sanity – get a cleaner. Sure it costs a few bucks but it's a choice between one less dinner out a month or a house as clean as the Pope's sheets.

Switching Off

2009-03-15T21:18:00.005+11:00

Just like last year, March has me stressed out because it is notoriously a huge month at work. I tried listening to one of those CD's that transforms people into corporate machines that are immune to stress, pressure and mental fatigue. I didn't want the motivation pep talks or the time management strategies, I wanted to learn how to "switch off". I really like my job but I don't want to think about it 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I can't sleep because my brain won't stop thinking about my To Do list.

I have two major problems with this 6-CD box set. The first is that for the majority of the time that I was listening to the CD's I was thinking about all things that I could be doing with my time other than listening to these CD's (just FYI, that topic was not addressed by Dr. Adam). The second was that the key to switching off is to have some personal quiet time right after work that allows the brain to easily transition into "home mode". This made sense and seemed simple so I tried it.

I got home and laid down on the bed without turning any music on which is a rare occurrence for me. I closed my eyes, relaxed my face and enjoyed the peaceful sounds of the neighbourhood. The Sydney train network elegantly mixed with a child's clarinet lesson. This was the only time that I have ever wished for louder trains because this child was so...not gifted. I stilt can't figure out if the noise was actually coming from a clarinet or if someone ran over Benny Goodman's cat but the point is - it's the most annoying sound in the world.

Needless to say, I didn't have my personal quiet time and became pissed off so I took it out on my spin bike. I'm hoping that blogging can substitute for personal quiet time. Maybe I'll listen to classical music too...with headphones on.

Guest Blogger Aiva: Top Gear Live In Australia

2009-03-04T22:23:00.006+11:00

We recently experienced Top Gear Live in Australia. Craig religiously watches this show every Monday night, so I knew I would be in the good books after buying tickets to the live event. We weren’t really expecting a replicate of the show; it would be impossible to do in an indoor arena. It was more like a crazy stunt filled circus with Jeremy Clarkson as ringmaster and his offsider Richard Hammond.

Outside there were a few exhibitors showing off local racing cars and fueling the ongoing feud between all Aussies – “Are you Holden or Ford?” The longest line up seemed to be in front of the L’Oreal for Men exhibit – which was probably because it was air-conditioned and they were handing out umbrella’s for people to shield themselves from the sun. I was amused to see the promotional chicks wearing one piece black body suits, fanning themselves with brochures. If the Aussie summer heat isn’t a good enough excuse to be donning the stereotypical red bikini, I don’t know what is! This minor fashion faux par didn’t prevent them from posing for photos with besotted rev-heads. We entered the indoor car showroom to escape the heat and at a rough guess, there would have been over $100 million worth of car value, easily comparable to my bank account of course. Don’t ask me to name the types of cars, I really wouldn’t have a clue, they were shiny, smelt of leather and oozed class. There was a rather nice red one that I had my eye on.

The show began with four 'live' ads for the show’s sponsors, involving some flashy cars, a Frank Sinatra sound alike and over the top images flashing up on the big screen. This segment ended with a frustrated member of the audience yelling out “No more bloody adds, get on with the show”.

For the local motor-heads the show must have been heaven; burnouts, drifting in Ferraris and quite literally the haze and smell of burning rubber. In between, there were fireworks and flames to keep you on the edge of your seat. After the initial flame incident, I inconspicuously brushed my hand against my eyebrows to make sure that they were still there. I enjoyed all the flashy cars and amazing precision driving, and of course welcomed the one-liners and banter between Jeremy and Richard. The Aussie host, Steve was a little bit of a let down. He just didn’t have the rapport with the audience, which is probably partly why the Aussie version of the telly show was axed.

Sponsors Hyundai must have been a little anxiously as two teams of 3 played soccer with their new i30 hatchbacks, a massive inflatable soccer ball and huge goal nets. There were a few minor dings and I was gob smacked by the cat like reflexes of these drivers. They managed to apply the brakes and come to a full stop just centimetres from each other, like it was just an everyday occurrence. The highlight for me was the motorcyclist cage of death. You usually see this trick done at the circus or somewhere similar. A motorcyclist enters the cage and works up the rhythm required to do ride around the interior of the cage and upside down. The next step is to have someone – in this case Richard Hammond; stand in the base of the cage whilst the cyclist performs the tricks at a rapid speed around him. My heart was only just coping with all this excitement and then they added a twist, introducing a total of 4 motorcyclists in the cage, timing their maneuvers to perfection to avoid a painful and bloody death. I do have to mention that Richard came out of the cage before this. This stunt had me literally sitting on the edge of my seat and actually feeling a little nauseous.

The show came to an end and Craig was grinning like a small child who had just been given a bowl of ice cream. We would have spent more time outside admiring the sponsors and various cars and related gadgets, but the mercury had hit 42 degrees Celsius and the rubber soles of my sandals were melting on the pavement.

The Best Job In The World: Not Shortlisted

2009-03-02T20:07:00.003+11:00

I didn't make the cut for Top 50 applicants for The Best Job In The World contest. It's like elementary school all over again. The disappointment, the shame and the wasted effort. The major differences this time? There were 35,000 other people "trying out" and not 9 and I actually had a lot of fun making the video. So much so, that I think that I'll be adding video entries to this blog from time to time. Thanks to everyone that voted for me and the mocking emails that came in. No hard feelings Tourism Queensland, I've had a quick look at the Top 50 and most of them are quite good. I was hoping that a few readers entered videos as well but no one admitted to it. I think that I watched every video from a Canadian anyway and only recognized one person. He was some guy that I used to play intramural university volleyball against over a decade ago and who is now dating a friend of mine that he met in The Northwest Territories and they are living as far away from Thunder Bay as you can get and still be in Canada. No kidding, small world.

Since I won't be living in Queensland for 6 months, I guess that I'll have to go back to my boring life in Sydney. I'm pretty comfortable with that option since everything that I wanted to do there I can do here and Aiva and I have decided to travel to Queensland for a cheap vacation in a few months anyway. That's called turning a frown outside down.

Thanks again to everyone that voted.

The Best Job In The World

2009-02-22T20:27:00.006+11:00

You may have heard about "The Best Job In The World" campaign that is being advertised by Tourism Queensland. It really is a stroke of marketing genius. The job description is basically having the time of your life on the Great Barrier Reef for 6 months and blogging about it. To apply, you have to make a one minute video outlining your skills, knowledge and how you would be the best person for the job.

The response was immediate. The advertisement went into newspapers around the world and within hours the site had crashed because so many people were either applying or just viewing the videos. I'm not sure if Tourism Queensland realized what a sensation they were about to create. I have been receiving regular emails from people telling me to apply and that it would be a perfect fit for me. I was mentally planning my video when Aiva excitedly dragged me to the computer to watch videos and insisted that I apply. There are now thousands of applicants, young and old, strange and normal, fun and boring. I already make this blog, so really, I'm kind of doing the job already except that I'm not living on Hamilton Island...and I'm not being paid. So I guess that actually makes it a hobby but that's not the point.

If you would like to watch my video application please click here. Don't forget to give it a rating...and if you want to tell all your friends to check it out, that would be fine too.

Thanks.

Dr. Horrible And The Sing-Along Blog

2009-02-20T14:55:00.002+11:00

Dr. Horrible and the Sing-Along Blog is really, really funny. It's a web based comedy/musical that was made last year during the writers strike and was only available online (now iTunes and DVD). The episodes are about 7 minutes each and yet the characters funny and pathetic. It stars Neil Patrick Harris (commonly known as Doogie Howser M.D.) who plays an evil villain/scientist. He completed an application to join the prestigious Evil League Of Evil and is eagerly waiting for a reply from the leader Bad Horse. Dr. Horrible's character is a perfect mix of Dr Evil and that kid from The Wonder Years. To complicate things, he is in love with a girl that he is scared to talk too that he stalks in a laundry mat. Captain Hammer, Dr. Horrible's nemesis (played by Nathan Fillion) also has an interest in the laundry girl and the hilarity ensues.

Since stumbling upon this video yesterday, I have watched all the episodes several times and have been humming at work like a daydreaming weirdo. I don't know the words yet, just the tune, so it sounds uncomfortably like a commercial for My Little Pony.

Below is Act 1 Part 1 for your viewing pleasure and the next part is here.

Garie Beach

2009-02-13T21:21:00.001+11:00

Like most weekends lately, I decided to go for an early morning ride to avoid the traffic. I was already cycling at some awful hour before the sun was above the treetops. Much to my surprise, some cyclists were biking back into town peddling fast, sweating buckets and breathing hard. I was pretty proud of myself for being out that early in the first place and these keeners totally rained on my parade. There was only one solution: I poured my water bottle on my head and tried to look like I was just finishing a 24 hour race.

As the sweat (water) dripped down my face I noticed that the on-coming cyclists would now nod at me as we passed since they clearly recognized my hardcore-y-ness. I nodded back with disdain, barely dignifying a response, as royalty would wave off a servant. Serves them right for claiming that riding before 8am is still too late in the day.

My destination was Garie Beach. I have heard great things about it from both surfers and beach bums alike. I knew that the road getting there traveled through Royal National Park, which was a regular cycling playground for me. Little did I know that the turn off to Garie Beach started at the top of the ridge and plummeted down the side of a cliff. Visions of my bike crash came flooding back as a squeezed the brakes like vice grips and used both lanes to cut the angle of the corners. I couldn't come to a stop if I tried as I screamed down the road (literally) "I got it, I got it, I got it!" Luckily, at that ungodly, hour there wasn't a lot of traffic leaving the beach or going up the hill back to the main road. I nearly ate bumper as I caught up to a car with surfboards strapped to the roof. I actually passed it instead of chewing metal as that was the better option. Judging from the surprising profanity, the surfer-dude driver was not expecting a crazy cyclist in spandex to pass his open window yelling, "I got it, I got it, I got it..."

When I finally stopped at the bottom (and checked if my brake pads had worn off) I was amazed at the beauty of Garie Beach. If you haven't had a chance to visit it before and you are even remotely close by, I highly recommend going to see it (watch out for cyclists). The sun was still low in the sky and the waves were lazily building up momentum for the day ahead. Surfers were mingling about, half waiting for their late buddies and half just enjoying the morning. I too eased about, wandering listlessly along the beach with no particular intent or destination. Sometimes I took ten steps and stopped to look around and sometimes I stood in waist deep water and let the waves tackle me. It was a truly spectacular beach with the steep green ridgeline tracing the beach with the waves large enough to enjoy and not intimidate. I spent a few hours there and at one point I just sat in the sand and listened for a while. I'm sure that it got busier later in the day but in the morning the only sounds were the waves, wind and seabirds.

Now, only if I didn't have to bike back up that road and ruin an otherwise perfect morning.

Guest Blogger Michael: Zen and the Art of Ice Fishing

2009-02-08T20:59:00.007+11:00

We have a "camp" (summer cottage) near Thunder Bay on Lake Superior in the "wilderness", part of a little community we call "The Road", originally developed for camps. While we remain "campers" and make our main home in the city, many on the road live there full-time, though many of them drive to the city almost every day to work or when they just get sick of their 50 inch TVs. We who live here cultivate an image of being rough tough bush people living in the wilderness, even if the nearest McDonalds is only 20 minutes away.

Northern Ontario has winter as one of its defining features, especially to outsiders. Not surprisingly (to us anyway) the lake freezes up pretty good every winter. This provides some opportunities to polish up the rugged image. About 3 years ago I demanded ice fishing lessons from neighbour Scott, a Kenora import, who was born with a fishing rod in his hand and riding either a boat or a snowmobile. He obliged by taking me several miles across the frozen lake, drilling a hole in 4 feet of ice, dropping a line down 200 feet and bringing up about a dozen beautiful lake trout. Then followed filleting instructions in his very cold garage.

I dutifully recorded the exact spot on my GPS for future use (try out N 48 31 16.8 W88 47 50.2 on Google Earth). This recording proved unnecessary because the following years Scott has, as if by instinct, traveling at high speed, returned to within 10 feet of it, and then stopping precisely at the same place. Keep in mind this spot is at least 3 or 4 km away from and shoreline landmarks. Word of these adventures has been traveling "on the road" and this fall a proposal was floated by some of the "rugged" guys to construct an ice-fishing "shack", the better to pursue our "hard water" fishing.

Well it was on then. Here’s the Zen part. Instead of enjoying the great silent wilderness we have at our door, getting a tan and watching the eagles circle for leftovers, serious ice fishing now involves sitting inside a shitty little building, heating yourself with kerosene fumes rather than sunshine and looking either through a hole in the floor at the ice or at some other idiot two feet away drinking beer, farting and swearing. Something philosophical there.

The building project soon became a contest of who is the best scavenger. It’s a bragging point in these parts to know where you can get dozens of pieces of metal siding for free - or old skis or snowboards - plus tape, nails etc etc. Costs for our project came to about 40 cents a square foot vs $100 for, say, a very basic garage. Not included of course is "labour" but in this case labour consisted mostly of a few guys hanging around the garage, drills and saws ready - "just wait till I finish this beer" while Scott did all the work. Not easily measured. It took about 3 days til it was ready to be hauled out of the garage- by a miniature tank called an Argo, down the road through our yard, tearing up various small trees along the way and then out on the ice. It’s ugly but it’s ours.

Quite a while ago a fellow named Robert Pirsig wrote an unusual book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" It was kind of a cult thing and quite an intellectual piece of work. The idea (mixed in with the deep stuff) is that success in the seemingly ordinary things we do benefits greatly from a laid back, philosophical approach. Instead, our philosophical approach was one of glorification of bad design, shoddy work, done carelessly and in an unreasonable hurry, all under the influence of stale beer. This yielded astonishing results - the thing survived the launch and is now invisible 4 miles out on the lake. Up close, it’s a different story, but that’s where the beer becomes useful: it’s all a matter of ruggedness.

Summer Vs. Winter

2009-02-01T15:50:00.009+11:00

I’ve always liked comparing the weather between Australia and Canada because of the extreme differences and this week has proven to the ideal time to judge, which is better or worse.

Australia wide has been witness to a heat wave. A heat wave by definition has to be 5 or more consecutive days of temperatures above 35C. Adelaide has been averaging 43 over the last 7 days but people say “It’s a dry heat” so it’s not that bad except that whenever you step into the sun it feels like you have accidentally walked into the world’s largest microwave. Melbourne uncharacteristically has had days around 40C all week, which has forced many of the world’s best tennis players to drop out of the Australian Open. When fourth seeded Briton Andy Murray was defeated, UK newspapers heralded that Australia was not fit to house any major sports competitions due to extreme weather (Federer didn’t have any problem). Sydney is only averaging a mere 31C but with the humidity around 99%, it feels like you are constantly taking a warm salt-water bath. That salt-water is your sweat dripping down your spine and you just can’t hide that kind of perspiration while wearing a gray suit. Good thing our shower isn’t broken and only the hot water tap works otherwise I would be really ticked off (plumber comes this week).

Canada had its first coast-to-coast white Christmas in almost 40 years. Toronto shut down for a couple of days and the army had to come in to dig them out. Thunder Bay residents are used to anything Jack Frost can come up with and have endured plenty of snow and temperatures as low as -41C this year. At that temperature, frostbite occurs in seconds not minutes and your nostrils are constantly stuck closed from frozen snot. If you are truly lucky, the water pipes in your house freeze and burst.

Clearly, my bad luck in 2009 is ongoing as my house in Canada is now an indoor hockey rink. The furnace blew a fuse and with temperatures so far below zero, it didn’t take long for the water pipes to ice up and shatter. I have 2 rooms on the main floor with ice-covered hardwood floors and a bathroom that may require a full overhaul. The walls in the living room have frost on them so I’m assuming that a paint job will be the minimum requirement. Lastly, the piece-de-resistance, there is a sheet of solid ice that is 3 inches thick covering my basement floor because the water leaked down from the bathroom upstairs.

So, sweat stained suits and scalding hot showers during a humid 30C summer or a multi-level indoor skating rink and flood damage during a -30C winter. It really has been a tough year so far.

Newtown Weirdness

2009-01-30T16:41:00.002+11:00

On more than one occasion I have commented on the weirdness of the neighbourhood that I live in but I have noticed that I’m starting to become accustomed to the strangeness. However…

Last night a bunch of us went out to an Indian restaurant to celebrate Aiva’s birthday. Walking through Newtown at night is always entertaining if you like looking at hairstyles that involve paint and wood glue, amazingly terrible fashion choices and piercings that defy logic. It’s always bustling with foot traffic and I’m sure that I got looked up and down as much as I dished it out however Aiva thought that I got checked out by men for entirely different reasons. We navigated through the smokers, loiterers, skateboarders, BMX riders and general riffraff but that was nothing unusual…until I noticed a guy walking a strange looking white dog. What tha?! It was a goat. A GOAT! ON A LEASH! There wasn’t a patch of grass within 10km and this guy was raising a goat and parading it around the paved sidewalks of King Street.

At this point, I would love to say that I’ve seen it all but with Newtown you just never know.

Photos: Tour Down Under 2009

2009-01-28T21:50:00.011+11:00

Tour Down Under 2009

2009-01-26T20:48:00.003+11:00

After training for several months I was finally ready to put in a strong performance for the one day stage ride of the Tour Down Under. I had put in the hours on the stationary bike, scheduled many early morning rides, endured a few impressive sunburns and even lost a good chunk of skin in preparation. A few days before the ride, Aiva found out that her uncle passed away and the funeral would be in Adelaide…at the same time as the race. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a decision to be made and I simply had to go to the funeral. At first I was disappointed but when I was at the church, trying to understand Greek, I realized that it was the right thing to do and I was glad to be there. These things happen.

I was keen to take in as much of the Tour as possible and eagerly anticipated getting a few pics of Lance Armstrong. I have never been star struck or overly excited to see a celebrity but watching Lance Armstrong ride was different. The first time he raced past me he looked lean and mean, just like in 2005 when he left the sport while standing on top of the podium of the Tour de France. I felt nervous but excited, inspired and motivated all at the same time. I guess that I was star stuck for the first time.

My brother and I managed to go see 3 different days of racing and each time I was amazing by both the quality of the racing and the throngs of fans that turned out to cheer the riders on. Over the week, an estimated one million fans lined the sides of the roads and it was infectious seeing painted faces, waving flags and chalk covered roads. I cheered for both known and unknown riders and was constantly amazed at the endurance and power these tiny athletes were able to produce. On the last day, Alan Davis, an Aussie on team Quick Step took the ochre jersey and won by a handful of seconds. Lance did exactly what he hoped to which was get familiarized with the pace of group riding again and test his legs. He made a few spectacular breakaways that made the peloton chase with reckless abandon and that was a great sign for July when he'll need that acceleration if he plans to contend in the Tour de France.

Somehow on Sunday night I ended up at a party for Team Saxo Bank. It's a favourite team for many because the most loved Aussie cyclist Stuart O'Grady rides on it. It was about 2AM and I had been into the sauce for most of the day when I realized how funny it was that I was in a room filled with pro riders who were all about 5'5 and 130lbs. It was like I was in a room filled with hobbits which was really, really funny at that hour and considering my condition. I woke up in the morning (afternoon) and it was the first time in a few months that I didn't feel like going for a ride.

Century

2009-01-18T21:47:00.005+11:00

Hitting the wall or bonking isn't a fun experience for anyone. Bonking is an uncontrollable, full body shutdown that happens during times of heavy excursion. You have all seen the videos of marathon runners with wobbly legs or even heartbreaking moments of triathletes crawling over the finish line. In most cases, this is caused by athletes exceeding their maximum ability plus dehydration. With that in mind, this story begins near the end.

I was in a park, laying on my back, staring blankly at the sky as I was struggling to come to a decision. 50 metres away, on my left was a train station leading home and 50 metres away on my right was 55 concrete steps up to the cycleway on the Harbour Bridge also leading home. I had been cycling since 6am and had just finished an extremely hilly ride that also happened to be my first ride since the crash 3 weeks ago. I was shaky, jello-legged and a little embarrassed that I hit the wall so hard but the can of coke that I was nursing was starting to help. Under normal circumstances, pride would not have stopped me from bringing my bike on the train and going the 10km home via cityrail but this wasn't any normal circumstance. You see, my odometer read 98.6km and you just can't stop that close to a century.

There are stories of friends pulling in their driveway after a ride only to notice they are a few km's away from a century, having to tough it out and ride around the block a few times to make it to the mark. I had a slightly different variation to consider. I would have to carry my bike up 5 flights of stairs and cycle through downtown Sydney at noon on a Saturday just to make my century.

As I was lying down on the grass I realized that I could feel my legs again and the muscles just below my left eye had stopped switching, both of which were good signs. Out of principal, I had to get my century and besides, the pigeons had started to take a severe interest in me because I had spilled coke all over myself. It was clearly time to move. The 55 stairs felt like 5000 with my bike over my shoulder but when I got to the top I felt like Rocky (albeit a tall, skinny, spandexed Rocky). By the time I got home I was so tired that I could barely form sentences but my odometer said 108.8km. Got it. I'm ready for the Tour Down Under one day race.

No Sunday Internet Connection

2009-01-11T13:38:00.005+11:00

As many of you know, I do a good portion of my writing from a café at the top of my street every Sunday. I often write 2 blog entries and send a handful of emails, have a few coffees, give Aiva some space and enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon. I guess it’s my equivalent of enjoying the Sunday newspaper and a cup of tea. Unfortunately, my Sunday safe haven has had a devastating setback. They have stopped providing a wireless internet connection.

This is a catastrophe. I sat down yesterday and the barista approached me with a sombre face and said, “I guess you haven’t heard the news yet” as if breaking the news of a tragic accident. I listened to the grave news. I didn’t know what to do or where to look. I leaned back in my now uncomfortable chair and pondered what to do in a café without writing. Do you just sit there and drink coffee? I do that at work. Do you read the newspaper? I do that at work too. Oh god, I’m at work! Then I felt the urge to check my to-do list and had to get the hell out of there. I ran (aggressively limped) back to the house in a state of confusion and disarray. Where do I go now? Can I be creative at home without the hubbub, background noise and caffeine high?

I thought that sitting up in bed might be a comfortable place to write. I propped myself up with several pillows, put music on, got a drink and proceeded to fall asleep for a few hours. Hmmm. This relocation plan will clearly require a venue that is not in the house. The search begins…

Craig In Australia

2009-01-10T13:34:00.002+11:00

I have officially changed the address to my blog to www.craiginaustralia.com. My old address should still work and I have set it to automatically redirect it to this address anyway. So if you have bookmarked my old site it might be a good idea to change it to this one just in case. Nothing about the actual blog has changed except the address but I thought a new address might be a little better.

Ground Assault In Gaza

2009-01-07T14:37:00.012+11:00

It’s probably time for me to make a serious comment on the “conflict” in Gaza since I can’t stop shaking my head when I read the news or watch TV. Unfortunately, this new round of violence has happened many times in the past with slight variations in demands and key players. This recent invasion of Gaza by the IDF is caused by Hamas firing rockets into Israel. Or that’s what both Israel and the US would like you to think considering the same spin and jargon is used on most news channels. Now, I’m not saying that rockets haven’t been flying overhead with reckless abandon and Israel has the right of self defense but there is much more to this story than simply tit-for-tat.

Israel, arguably the regions only military superpower, has had its army on a hair-trigger since 1967 and responds with American like force. The IDF has fully adopted the post 9/11 Bush doctrine of defensively striking first with aggression disproportionate to the provocation. To put this in fictional perspective, imagine Mexico launching rockets at San Diego and what response the US Air Force would have. To sum up the response with one word, I would use “thorough”. No one doubts the rockets launching from Gaza and living under constant threat is more than I can comprehend but invasion is war…and war is entirely different.

The elected Palestinian government, Hamas, is listed as a terrorist organization by many nations including Canada, Australia and the US. While Hamas has done much to establish social and humanitarian programs within its borders it has done little to gain respectability in the world community. Furthermore, when it has global attention it often reiterates their fanatic history making it difficult if not impossible for the world to accept it as a functioning government. The ground assault of Gaza started last week so it comes as no surprise that the US is slowing treaty talks for as long as possible considering it has ignored the United Nations on several occasions since 2000 and now has to put “its money where its mouth is” for their ally. This has unfortunately highlighted the incompetence of a UN that should be patrolling the Israeli border with more blue helmets than you can count to force a cease-fire until a treaty can be negotiated. With every “veto” threat the US makes, the UN loses more power and that can only end poorly for all. America has a golden two-for-one opportunity to influence Israel to accept a cease-fire thus improving the already strained US-UN relationship and in the process, end a globally rejected invasion.

Having said all that, I don’t have a long-term solution. Hamas launching rockets into Israel is not the way to negotiate or gain independence and counting civilian casualties does not make it just. Israel responding with “shock and awe” level force is an act of war and should not be tolerated by the UN. America parrying the UN treaty talks is setting a terrible example for other countries (read: Russia) and is on a slippery slope that could lead to further US policing of “terrorism” worldwide.

In all, I guess that I am most disappointed (yet again) by the ineffectiveness of the United Nations. It’s time to grow some teeth and step into the line of fire to save some lives. If I had to choose, I would rather UN peacekeepers wearing Kevlar and protected by tanks get shot at instead of children and civilians. Lining up outside the blockade with supplies is a poor response to war and the price of standing on the sidelines is too high.

Beard Growing

2009-01-06T15:54:00.009+11:00

There isn’t a long list of fun activities for a person that is stuck laying on his side day and night, doped up on pain medication, ill tempered and not able to move without swearing mightily. I thought about it for a long time while watching my fourth full day of cricket in a row (same match) and mentally made a list of potential activities that I would be able to do other than blankly staring at the television. The list is as follows: squish the all frozen peas in my ice pack, master both my drum and shotgun sound effects, crack all my knuckles simultaneously and try to identify the one song the little girl across the street is learning on her clarinet (only between 4:30pm and 6:30pm).

By Recovery Day 10, I realized that I was overlooking an activity that I was already unknowingly participating in. Beard growing. Sure, it doesn’t sound that exciting or fast paced but neither is cricket and it's quite popular. Years ago, I grew a small beard during a particularly cold winter because it seemed like thing to do. Now to be honest, I feel like a bit of a knob having a beard during the hottest few days Sydney has had in 3 years. On the bright side, I think the itchiness of my beard is helping me not scratch the blessed scabs off my road rash. I think that I’ll keep it for the rest of the week just to give my friends at work something to laugh at other than my apparent incompetence riding a bicycle.

New Years Eve....zzzz

2009-01-04T10:21:00.003+11:00

Happy New Year! I hope that you had a healthy 2008. I would love to tell you that I had an exciting Sydney-esk NYE party but it was the opposite. I was propped up on the couch with a thousand pillows, bandaged and miserable, fighting to stay awake. Aiva was just as miserable but without the bandages although there were enough tissues around her that you probably could have wrapped her up like King Tut.

2008 was a fun year for me. I finally settled into Sydney life and stopped fighting it and incessantly comparing it to small town Canada. I found that constantly resisting big city life is harder than just rolling with it. Sure $10 beers are annoying but complaining about it doesn’t make it any cheaper (or taste better) and going home instead isn’t conducive to enjoying Sydney. I worked with a fantastic group of people that I am happy to call “my friends” and not just “my colleagues”. The most important part of 2008 was that my family and friends were healthy and safe. A few of my old friends got married or had children and few of my new ones got engaged (dropping like flies).

I have high hopes for 2009. I already have 2 trips to Adelaide and 1 to Queensland planned. The Tour Down Under is in a few weeks too. I’m hoping to not fall off my bike in 2009 but that shouldn’t be a problem because it appears to happen in two year intervals (2006 – separated shoulder). My little nephew is starting to walk and talk so I’m excited to be more involved with him. He still doesn’t know what to think about me because I look and sound like “daddeeee” but I’m not quite right. I have some exciting career goals that are achievable with some hard work and a little luck. Aiva and I have made a dream list of a few items we’d like to purchase this year. We’re going to have to be happy with the little more “backyard furniture” and a lot less “car”. I don’t think it will be a problem…I like sitting outside.

Take care in 2009 and to my friends and family in Canada – Keep your stick on the ice.

Codeine And Antibiotics For All

2008-12-31T12:20:00.008+11:00

I guess that crashing your bike is one way to get a week off work. I’m sure that there are easier ways but I’m trying to turn a frown upside down. Aiva and I went to the Chemist to buy bandages, gauze, tape and disinfectant (all the usual New Years Eve party supplies). While the doctor was explaining how to change the dressings on my road rashes Aiva passed out. I’m not kidding. Needless to say, she’s not a nurse. I had hoped that Aiva would be able to change my dressings for me (2x day) but after the fainting incident I was a little wary not to mention that she was feeling sick and snotty. I had a terrible night and only managed about an hour of sleep as I had the maximum recommended dosage of Codeine. Aiva however, was vomiting in the bathroom all night. That’s right, time to play:

"Who Can Be More Miserable?"

Craig - 3 major road rash points (still oozing), bruised ribs, bruised arm, limping like a zombie, injured wrist and a smashed camera. Required a crutch, tetanus shot, x-ray, bandages, antibiotics and enough Codeine to sedate an angry Rhino.

Aiva – Pharyngitis (really awful sore throat), infected tonsils and sinuses, vomiting throughout the night, random fainting, zero energy, has to put up with me. Required to be horizontal, throat lozenges, antihistamines, nasal spray and enough antibiotics to kill every living organism on Earth.

I’m calling it a draw. Mainly because Aiva is in bed trying to sleep (I can hear her hacking up at least one lung) and I feel bad starting an argument just for entertainment.

Guest Blogger Shane: A Perfect 10

2008-12-27T14:03:00.000+11:00

The Christmas season had many highlights but this year the ‘corkscrew’ took out top honours. Craig was very excited to come to Adelaide for Christmas and to get some training rides in for the Tour Down Under. I managed to organize a peloton of 10 riders to challenge the Adelaide hills and the corkscrew. The corkscrew is a ride in Adelaide that twists and turns it’s way up through the hills at a punishing steep gradient. It is a pleasant ride for those who enjoy full body suffering.

It’s ride day and we have ten starters - by the time we reached the top, the corkscrew has claimed one. Craig finishes strong and is pumped - finishing just off the podium in fourth place. Just to make the top without stopping is an achievement. From there the ride is long from over, we now have to climb to the highest point in Adelaide – Mt Lofty. It is a continuous push until a well-deserved coffee at the top. A little caffeine rush is just what you need for the lightning quick and sweeping downhill ride home.

Someone slams down his coffee and we are off. Just enough time to grab today’s paper and shove it down our tops – it is summer but combining the altitude of Mt. Lofty and 70kph speeds coming down can cause the wind to bite for the first few kms. The start of the ride is magical - if you were to throw down a piece of cooked spaghetti that is exactly what the road looks like. The peloton of nine begins to split. Corner after corner the pace quickens. I can feel Craig hot on my back wheel. We hit a rare straight part of the road and Craig races by me. I glance at my speedometer and I am doing 60kms, I jump onto his back wheel and pedal like a madman just to try and hold on. Up comes a sharp right hand corner and we lean hard to take it – I ease off, Craig accelerates. Within a blink of an eye he loses his traction and the bike shoots out from under him. He is down on the asphalt but still gaining speed. The sound is metal grinding; the smell is a mix of lycra melting and barbeque. I pull on my brakes – Craig is still sliding, luckily the road ends and a gravel edge starts. It wipes off a bit of speed but is still does not stop him. Luckily, his skin finally slows him down and he comes to rest with his feet still clipped in to the pedals and wheels pointing to the sky.

I immediately pull Craig out of the way to inspect the damage to the bike – he has loaned it to me to ride when he is not in Adelaide. Thankfully, the bike is fine as Craig managed to cushion its fall. It is still 15 kms home - Craig jumps back on the bike and we race home to a scrub brush and beer before the adrenalin wears off.

It was the best roadie stack I have seen and I give it a 10 out of 10. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Photos: Christmas In Adelaide 2008

2008-12-25T11:31:00.003+11:00

Huntsman Spider In The House

2008-12-17T19:46:00.007+11:00

It's official. I'm scared of spiders. I have always had a strong dislike for the arachnid family as a whole but moving to Australia has really solidified my feelings. In Sydney a huge amount of spiders are poisonous which would account for the decreasing dog population. Most Aussies can tell you if a spider is poisonous after a cursory glance. I however, have not witnessed all the different varieties of Aussie spiders nor do I want to take the time to start identifying them at close range.

After work the other day I was getting changed when Aiva shouted from the kitchen "Did you see the spider?" I was frozen in place mid-change, shirtless with my belt and top button of my pants undone. After surveying my current location I began to make my way downstairs like a seasoned espionage ninja commando. I didn't hear Aiva screaming in agony therefore she was either fine or already dead so I continued my methodical search and destroy mission into the kitchen.

I could see the spider on the sliding door blinds from 20 feet away and it was the largest one that I had ever seen in person. Aiva informed me that the spider was a "Huntsman" commonly known as the Australian Tarantula (you can imagine how happy I was about that nickname). She was keen to just pound it to death (with my sandal) while I had a more conservative if slightly more complicated approach. It went as follows:

Continue to tiptoe and whisper until the mission is complete.
Construct a cardboard box and cover the hole in the bottom with the water bill.
From across the room, slide the open box along the kitchen floor (like curling) so that it comes to a stop against the blinds, below the spider.
Find a long handled broom and padfoot towards the spider with your arm at full extension.
Ignore Aiva's laughing and mocking while smiling as she takes photos (maintain eyes contact with the spider).
With lightning speed, use the broom to knock the spider down into the box and fold the lid shut.
Open the blinds and the sliding door and proceed to hoof the box into the backyard.
Close and lock the sliding door.
Wait for the praise to come flooding in and silently prepare the comeback "No big deal, just doing my job as a man" speech.
Keep waiting.

Aiva made constant reminders along the way that Huntsman spiders are not poisonous so it’s no big deal. After doing a little research, I found out that while not poisonous their bites can "cause prolonged pain, inflammation, headache, vomiting and heart palpitations". No big deal indeed.

Interesting People In The News

2008-12-14T18:48:00.010+11:00

There have been a few interesting people in the news these days and I have spent a lot of lunches reading about them. Truly fascinating people...

Stephen Hawking - The living definition of "Mind Over Matter". Hawking is largely considered the most intelligent person of his generation and has been a leading voice in theoretical physics for decades. He is confined to his wheelchair due to Lou Gehrig's Disease and is almost completely paralyzed. Last month, Hawking accepted the position of research chair at the Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics in Waterloo, Canada. His story is truly a fascinating one.

Warren Buffet - Buffet is not your normal richest man in the world, if there is such a thing. He has become very vocal recently during both the US election and the current credit crisis. His speeches are mesmerizing and he exudes a genuineness that cannot be faked. Sure he is a cut-throat businessman but he has a logical mind that the public should not ignore. Buffet's ideas to straighten out the American economy have fallen on deaf ears and predictably, so has his idea that the rich should pay more taxes.

Mordechai Vanunu - The ongoing nuclear support by the US towards Israel is under the false pretenses that Israel is still a non-nuclear power. However, Israel's nuclear capabilities were proven many years ago by Vanunu who was a former nuclear technician. He spent almost twenty years in prison for being the whistle blower. This continuing ruse of not being a nuclear power is tolerated for no other reason than money. Under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and several US laws, America would not be able to provide Israel with any nuclear related items or military weapons if it ever openly admitted to having nukes. Israel is the number one buyer of American made weapons and billions of dollars are at stake. With elevating hostilities between Iran and Israel the UN may want to address the estimated 300 Israeli nuclear warheads. With Ahmadinejad's verbal sparring and Israeli first strike tendencies, I see disaster in the making.

Jørn Oberg Utzon - Utzon was the architect that designed the Sydney Opera House. His design was inspired by the act of peeling an orange. He wanted all the external "shells" to equal a perfect sphere. After a laundry list of setbacks during construction he finally resigned before it was completed and left the country, returning to his native Denmark. 2003 finally saw Utzon recognized with an honorary doctorate by the University of Sydney for his work. He died two weeks ago at the age of 90.

The Tanline Test

2008-12-13T21:18:00.002+11:00

Historically, there have been many ways to test an individuals overall fitness level. Currently, it is generally accepted the VO2 max testing is the most accurate. It measures the maximum amount of oxygen the body can transport and utilize. It requires rigorous testing and only works if you have a lab set up in the spare bedroom. Lactate Clearance testing is another promising indicator of fitness. It measures the amount of work and athlete can do before lactate levels increase (lactate causes muscles to cramp up and shut down). Needless to say, not the most fun test out there. Lastly, the simple and widely panned Body Mass Index that does not take into account the "type" of person.

I have a more simple test that doesn't require a lab or blood work can be administered faster the takes for me to tell you how. I call it The Tanline Test. It's quite easy really. If you have a truly vicious tanline it generally means that you were exercising in unrelenting weather conditions for a long period of time. Chances are the worse the tanline, the more time you have spent training. Sure this isn't an exact science and there are doping techniques to skew the results (spray tans, solariums, passing out in a hammock, etc) but for the most part I think it works.

Just think about it for a moment. Olympic cross country skiers always have a brutal tanline between the sunglasses and the toque. Professional rock climbers have awful ones too between shades and a bandana. Those crazy guys that paddle across the ocean have them all over. Tour De France champions, Everest explorers, ultra-marathon runners...they all have embarrassing tanlines.

While I'm not nearly in any of those categories, I can definitely say that I'm training hard. Oh, and yes, it stings like a mutha.

Seaside Ride

2008-12-09T21:24:00.010+11:00

It seems like I have been cycling nonstop for the last month. I get home from work and get on the wind trainer for about an hour and watch an episode of "Dexter" on my laptop at the same time. I just finished Season 2 so I'm going to have to find a new DVD boxset because now I fully understand why gyms are always busier when Oprah is on.

On the weekends I get to pick a direction and go for a ride. I've been trying to do hills on the weekends because obviously the stationary bike doesn't quite cut it in that department. Last weekend I rode south back through Royal National Park because it was a beautiful sunny day and last time I went there I got poured on. So naturally, as soon as I started riding the clouds came in and I got rained on. I guess that's why they call it a rainforest.

I was trying to ride to a place called Bundeena but somehow I ended up 40km south and quite out of the way. I worked out great though because I was riding on newly paved, traffic free, quiet roads through heavy rainforest. It was really quite peaceful and the only sounds were the birds and my pedals turning over. I ended up at a small coastal community called Coalcliff and rode with fantastic ocean views over my left shoulder for over an hour. There is a new bridge that really is quite something to ride on. There wasn't any traffic so I decided to take the video below that really doesn't do it justice but you get the idea. I would really like to ride seaside again on a clear, sunny day but it seems like that is a tall order. Because of the wet, some of those cliff side descents would have been a lot more fun to race down without my tires sliding or my brake pads smoking.

Next weekend I'm going to go north and ride a few big hills that I was on when I first landed in Australia and see how my fitness stacks up. It could either go very well or very poorly and I wouldn't surprised by either. I have needle sharp pain in both my knees from time to time and historically that meant that I'm getting close to race shape. When the knees start to hurt when I do anything except ride then I know I'm ready...backwards I know but that's just the way it works.

Aiva The Plumber

2008-12-04T11:34:00.002+11:00

I find it hard to believe that I didn't think of this option myself. Especially considering that I've been racking my brain over how to unplug a drain without having to use a plunger or a plumbing snake. As previously mentioned, Aiva wanted us to handle this situation on our own without calling a plumber. She managed to take plumbing to a whole new level and surpass even my highest expectations.

The other day we tried a bottle of Drano which didn't work therefore all my ideas had been exhausted but Aiva stayed with it and came up with an even better plan. Three times better in fact. Yep, you guessed it. There are now three bottles of Drano running through our pipes. Where one bottle failed, three bottles succeeded. The genius was in the simplicity.

Craig The Plumber

2008-12-01T12:59:00.007+11:00

I'm sure that I will never be a grease monkey, handyman or power tool kind of guy. I'm happy to pay people to do the job they are good at. Why would I do a crappy job when a professional is easily available? Case and point - dry walling. I'm fully capable of drywalling a room but I don't do a quality job and I'm certainly not efficient (sorry Karl). I also leave huge gaps between the boards that need to be filled in with bucket loads of mud...man, I hate mudding too. The point is, hiring someone to do a job properly and quickly is a small price to pay for me not becoming a swearing sweaty mess of dissatisfaction.

That lengthy introduction leads me to the currently plugged drain in my shower. Normally I would put a cup of Drano down the pipe and call it a day but after a whole bottle of the poisonous stuff and a colourful amount of swearing the drain is still blocked. Thus, any shower lasting longer than approximately 17 seconds results in standing in water up to your ankles.

Aiva has taken the stance that this is an issue we are capable of tackling without calling a plumber. I've had a long and mostly successful history of avoiding manual labour so unplugging a drain required a little recon. Recon equalled me sitting in bed at 10:30PM on wikipedia looking up information on plumbing snakes. This new found knowledge made me significantly less enthused about making plumbing a part time hobby.

I can hardly wait until I am on the train after work, in a suit, with a plunger in one hand and a plumbing snake in the other. It's a good look for me, I'll blend right in with the trendy kids.

New Hairdresser

2008-11-29T11:06:00.006+11:00

I’m pretty sure that I just got my hair cut by a gorilla. He fit the general description anyway – massive, hairy and mainly just grunts for communication. This is also the opposite of what most hairdressers I’ve frequented are like so you can imagine my concern.

I desperately needed a haircut and as I was on my way home from “Quantum Of Solace” I thought that I would just pop in to some new place in the CBD. I fell for the oldest trick in the book of walking in and saying “Is there an opening right now?” and having a beautiful girl tell me “It will just be a second if you’d like to have a seat”. I should have known immediately that Bigfoot in the corner wasn’t there to provide security. Sure enough two minutes later, “Pretty Young Thing” was working a pencil into her hair while answering the phone and “Gigantore” had his mitts on my head looking like he was about to crush a coconut.

I immediately regretted the decision to get a spur of the moment clip but was too cared to get up and leave because not only was this guy the approximate size of a rhino but he was also near razor sharp scissors. I accepted my fate (I’ve had a good life), squeezed my armrests like a first time flyer and hoped that by the time this was over I still had my head still attached to my head. “Tiny” reached into his back pocket and whipped out a pair of scissors like a friggin’ butterfly knife and started at me. I wasn’t sure if he was pulling my hair out or indeed cutting it but my head was bobbing back and forth like a manual driving instructor on day one. I was still hoping for the best/praying for a quick death when I decided that I should probably look death in the face like a man. As I unscrewed my eyes and saw myself in the mirror I realized that not only was I alive but I had just received a fantastic haircut. This not-so-gentle giant knowingly peered back at me in the mirror and said, “You like?”.

Since I was mentally noting something about a judging a book’s cover the only words I could muster up were “I like”.

Back In Sydney

2008-11-17T18:19:00.001+11:00

I'm back in Australia after a horrendous 7 hour stay in the Newark airport due to delays. For those of you not lucky enough to have visited the Newark Airport it can be best described as a mix between a small town bus station and purgatory. To kill the time (and not myself) I typed away about various evenings spent with the work group and the usual mishaps that follow those types of nights. Then I went back to edit them and realized that it appeared that all I did for the whole two weeks was sit in dingy pubs and drink beer. While I'm not saying that is far off the truth, it is only part of it.

In actuality the conference itself was fantastic. The speakers were engaging and down to earth and I really did learn a lot. Not only about how to do be more successful but also about the global scope of business and likely trends that will slowly trickle out of the US into foreign economies. I appreciate that doesn't sound particularly interesting but it was for me. I was the only representative from Australia and I had to constantly deal with people's disappointment after they realized that I didn't have an accent and was Canadian. I didn't realize that Americans were so keen on Australia. I know that Canadians and Aussies are like peas and carrots, after all, half of Banff's bar staff is Aussie.

It was great being able to share a drink with people from around the globe. A German guy admitted that the first CD he ever purchased was in fact David Hasselhoff so I guess some stereotypes are true. At one point I was sitting at a table of five (in a bowling alley no less) with people that worked in Hong Kong, New York, Dusseldorf and Toronto and I thought that was pretty cool.

Back to Craig In Australia

Craig In America: NYC

2008-11-11T18:00:00.004+11:00

On Saturday I managed to get aboard the scenic train from Newark, New Jersey to NYC. The rundown factories and rust covered train tracks were highlighted by the miserably rainy day. It was a terrible day in fact. The kind of day that you think to yourself "Am I ever glad that I'm not aimlessly wandering around New York".

Five of us booked a hotel room in Manhattan that was approximately the size of a large microwave. We checked in and made our way to Time Square to look at billboards. No really, that's pretty much all we did. Well, not counting getting rained on and splashed by taxi's. I really wanted to get into the New York spirit and enjoy the place but it just wasn't in the cards and the guys I was with were even more miserable than I was. To perk things up a bit we went to the place guaranteed to get us in a good mood, Ground Zero. Oh wait...it was one of the most horrible sights that I had ever seen. Without exaggeration, the hole in ground is the size of Ireland. I didn't (and still don't) know what emotion came over me but it was uncomfortable and the only word to describe it would be an almost mute and pained "wow." I could go on for a long time about this part but I'll not bore you.

So we decided that since Ground Zero didn't cheer us up we should go and get thoroughly drunk. Several pitchers and two gigantic pizzas later I was having a great time and enthusiastically declared that New York was a fantastic place. The group had renting a back room in some club and about 20 people from the conference showed up so I spent most of the evening yelling into ears at close range.

I woke up on a couch having decided that sharing a hotel room and using a bath towel as a blanket was slightly below my minimum comfort expectations. I made my way back to the hotel in the morning and I was pleased to note that one of the guys had finally come out of the bathroom (locked himself in it all night) and the couple in between the wall and the bed weren't there anymore. I swear it was just like a university road trip all over again with the exception that this trip was entirely by train. If anyone was wondering if a 90 minute wait in a train station followed by another 90 minute train ride cures a hangover I can assure you that it does not. Hopefully this "work" conference ends with a liver transplant.

Craig In America: Bowling Of Course

2008-11-08T08:10:00.003+11:00

Judging from the appearance of the bowling alley that I was just in, I would guess that the fine locals of Manville invented bowling and haven't renovated since. You would never have believed that the Egyptians invented bowling some 7000 years prior.

The group decided to go bowling and partake in a team competition where the playing field would be even (no self respecting person is a good bowler) and perhaps more importantly, where the beer was cheap. I knew that I was in for a fantastic evening when I walked to the bathroom and there was a 15 year old kid smearing an inch of "liquid" around the men's stalls and out into the hall with a dirty mop. I opted to go out the emergency exit in piss in the parking lot which appeared to be the norm as 2 other guys were doing the same. I wasn't fully blending into the locale though because I wasn't slamming back a beer whilst I was publicly urinating. But I digress.

I posted a stellar 71 and 62 (not the worst) so I decided to hang em' up while I was still on top of my game and settle in to enjoy my warm beer out of a plastic cup. Everyone was having a great time and I think that this night was the key gelling point for the group so far. The scenery and local people watching provided plenty to laugh about. Everyone got pretty deep into their cups and it was getting late so naturally we thought it best to go to a different pub.

As I walked into the "new" pub I asked "Didn't we just leave this place?" At some point over the previous 4 hours I had obviously gained the ability to block out the sound of repeated bowling pins falling. I was happy to note that the beer did indeed come in a glass (significant improvement) and our merry band of 20 idiots quickly dominated the poor bartender. No matter what you ordered Jimmy poured a Bud from the taps. The ride home in the company van made me a little homesick for the crowded Monday morning trains but we managed to make it back to the hotel after an acceptable 4 U-turns. Morning came quickly indeed.

Craig In America: Obama Wins!

2008-11-06T07:16:00.000+11:00

There may be hope yet.

It was a strange turn of events that lead me to be in America for arguably the most historic election in American history. Despite the fact that I was sitting in a dreary, basement, piss stinking pub in suburban New Jersey I realized that the world was changing (unlike this pub in the last 20 years). I was with a group of friends that were still trying to get to know each other so deep political debates were kept to a minimum and the exchanges were generally limited to weather and beer stories but it was still obvious that everyone had an eye on the morphing red and blue map on the TV.

I was good and drunk by the time that I got back to my hotel room shortly before Barack Obama was officially the victor. When it was announced on CNN (followed belatedly by FoxNews) I had a strange euphoria sweep over me. I was a Canadian who lives in Australia, sitting in a hotel in New Jersey, drunk on Irish beer, watching a black man be elected into the White House. It was at that point that I poured myself a bowl of Cheerios followed by a Tylenol with a Gatorade chaser.

I'm sure that a the beer helped but when I was watching Obama deliver his memorable acceptance speech "Yes We Can" and actually felt an emotion that I'm not sure that I have ever felt about America....hope. The significance of this outcome cannot be measured both domestically and worldwide. I hope that when I am an old man I will be telling my grandkids about this point in time that put things back on the right track.

Craig In America: Generic Conference Nightlife

2008-11-03T09:41:00.001+11:00

So the first night with everyone at the conference went as expected. Sitting around the hotel bar drinking Bud, watching football and acting like idiots. There were people from all over the world but the funny part was that after a few brewski's (I'm trying to blend in) all the Canadians were outside in t-shirts, in November, playing basketball and freezing our asses off. The evening eventually lead to poker and more beers which then lead to a sluggish morning. A pretty standard work related evening.

Tomorrow is the election so I'm sure that we will change things up and sit around the hotel bar drinking Bud, watching the election and acting like idiots.

Craig In America: Settling In

2008-11-02T15:32:00.002+11:00

I'm in the States at the moment for a work event that starts tomorrow so I have been left to fend for myself, jetlag and all. Somehow when I flew across the ocean I went back in time (more than I actually did) and became a university student for the weekend.

I arrived at the hotel Friday night around 3am but I couldn't sleep because I was hungry so I went to find a McDonalds (never hard in America). I slept all day Saturday like I was horribly hungover except the headache and nausea were caused from jetlag and Double Cheeseburger combo not a night of fun and liquor. Needless to say, I was craving the ultimate hangover cure…Honey Nut Cheerios. I managed to find a grocery store so I thought that it would be wise to buy snack food for the week so I bought cereal and milk.

After being exhausted from my 3 minute walk with a heavy bag (large milk) I got back to my room a managed to stay in my bathrobe the rest of the day. Yep, I like a good bathrobe. Ahh the university memories...good times.

I began to get annoyed with the 24-hour election coverage on every channel and televangelists are only funny for so long ( I chuckled for over an hour to be honest) so I decided that I should probably be productive. I powered through some work material, unpacked and ironed all my work shirts so I’m calling it a productive day (can I get a Hallelujah?). Really, as far as Sundays go I’m about par for the course. I'll explore NYC next weekend.

Escape From Dullsville

2008-10-28T22:29:00.003+11:00

My mom traveled to Australia again and managed to spend some time in Sydney even though the purpose was for her to bask in the glow of her grandson in Adelaide. She spent 2 weeks playing with a one year old and by the time that she got to Sydney to hang out with me for a weekend she was sick, tired and sporting a temperamental knee. That worked out just fine for me because I was still in dullsville and not particularly keen to put my tour guide hat on.

In the end it was the perfect mix. We went out during the day to have the Sydney experience (ferries, trains and buses) but were ready for bed by 8:30am. I managed to forget about work for the weeknd and rejoin society to spend a few bucks on something other than coffee and rent. I think my mom's visit got me out of the funk that I had been in for the last 3 weeks.

So I'm off to The Big Apple in 36 hours and I'm looking forward to writing about a whole host of things but especially what it will be like over there on election day. It should be interesting to say the least. I'm told that the plane that I'll be on has wireless internet so I may post my first in-air blog entry, assuming of course that there isn't another incident.

Photos: Sydney Harbour

2008-10-25T17:23:00.003+11:00

Dull

2008-10-22T20:53:00.013+11:00

I've always hypothesized that the worst adjective used to describe someone is dull. Dull is terrible. Even terrible is more interesting than dull. Dull is nothing. Dull is 5.5 out of 10 and right now I am feeling like a solid 6 and a half.

To fully understand my life this week I have created a scale based on movies. Keep in mind something can be so bad it's good so think of this scale as having similar structure as a pH scale whereby the middle of the spectrum is by far the least interesting...or dull if you will.

1 - Monty Python - So Bad It's Good
2 - Deep Blue Sea - So Bad It's Good
3 - Four Rooms - Bad But One Memorable Scene
4 - A.I. - Dull But Tried Hard
5 - The Pallbearer - Dull
6 - The English Patient - Dull
7 - Legends Of The Fall- Dull But Tried Hard
8 - Equilibrium - Okay With One Memorable Scene
9 - Kiss Kiss Bang Bang - Genuinely Entertaining
10 - Shaun Of The Dead - Genuinely Entertaining

Yeah that's right, my life right now is as interesting as flicking channels between The English Patient and Legends Of The Fall. I'd love to write about my exciting life and everything that I've been up to but unfortunately I've been chained to a desk and too tired to play. I've been the last person out of the office everyday this week and by the time I get home I barely have enough energy to negotiate the knot of my tie. I have dinner followed by a long shower then to bed to read until I get the head bobs. All that so I have a clear desk when I go to New York next week. Like I said, pretty boring but hopefully worth it.

It's a vicious cycle because to avoid burning out I am getting into bed early and trying to get as much sleep as possible so that I can put in a long work day the very next day. No exploring, cycling, going out for drinks....nothing. That means that I've evolved from "Craig In Australia" to "Craig Is Dull".

After this week everything should be back to normal.

Cycling Trainer

2008-10-16T16:38:00.001+11:00

I have purchased a cycling trainer. For those not familiar with what trainer does, it converts a regular road bike into a stationary bike. I realize that it's a little funny to buy a cycling trainer when living in Sydney when the weather is perfect for cycling 300 days a year. The problem that I have though isn't the year round weather, it's the traffic.

After getting home from work the last thing I feel like doing is hopping on my bike and peddling into rush hour traffic filled with idiots that hate cyclists. Hence, the trainer. So I can still specifically train for biking in the comfort of the 45C loft. The location may have to change and I was thinking about putting it outside as that would add to the lunacy.

I set it up in the loft, carried my bike up the narrow stairs (the tire marks will buff right out), set the Matrix Reloaded up on my computer and away I went. I was getting into the car chase when Aiva told me to stop. I suddenly noticed to overwhelming smell of burning rubber and saw that I had speckled the entire wall behind me with tiny specks of my back tire. It looked like someone took a can of black spray paint and went to town on a perfectly white wall (with the exception of the new tire marks). It appears that there may have been an assembly issue and that issue was likely me considering my checked past with regards to assembling things.

So today being a perfect weekend for cycling (as usual) I was looking forward to riding outside. Damn it! I had to get my bike from 2 floors up and I hadn't cleaned the previous mess up either. I carried the bike down the stairs (Seriously, I'll wipe the marks off later) and I dragged the vacuum cleaner up the stairs. My crappy vacuum proceeded to blow the tire flecks around the room and in a fit of frustration I ripped the hose out of the base completely.

SNAP! I decided not to go biking today due to poor temperament and smelling like burnt rubber. That might be my best procrastination excuse to date. To complete this circle of idiocy, having an indoor cycling trainer has stopped me from biking outdoors this weekend.

PS - Several hours after I posted this entry I'm again typing away on my laptop and Aiva is vacuuming the left over bits of tire that I missed. I'm a bad person.

Election Season

2008-10-13T10:20:00.002+11:00

I'm not about to ramble on about who you should vote for because I'm not voting this year and I would hate to be a hypocrite. Being in Australia has left me out of touch with the issues and I'm not comfortable putting up an ignorant vote. Plus, it's a huge pain in the ass to register from overseas. But there is something to remember and this is probably the most important thing regardless of which country you are in. If you don't vote, you can't complain about anything the government does. Don't like war, too bad you didn't vote. Don't like taxes, too bad you didn't vote. Don't like pollution, too bad you didn't vote. Since I'm not voting this year, I can't complain about anything other than the ridiculous tax bracket Australia puts temporary residents in. You would think that I'm rolling in money by the taxes I pay when in reality I have to wait until payday so I can afford to recharge my mobile phone minutes (true story).

Anyway back to voting. In Australia, voting is mandatory which is backwards thinking to me because people should want to vote and have their voices heard but it appears to be successful and operate smoothly. In Canada, there doesn't appear to be a problem getting people to the voting booths as much as getting them to vote for the right people. America’s situation is complicated and should think about implementing mandatory voting. It probably would have stopped Bush getting into the White House all together.

Locally (meaning Thunder Bay), I'm definitely out of touch with the political climate and can't comment on party issues other than what I would like to see Thunder Bay evolve into. Coming back for a visit after being in Sydney for a year was a real wake up for me. Knowledge based industry development, paper and manufacturing industry stability, environmental sustainability and waterfront tourism creation are all huge issues that need to be tackled for the city to successfully evolve. Thunder Bay has massive potential and people are starting to realise that it can and will be more than just another pulp town on the lake.

So get out and vote.

***Warning - Hypocrite Alert***
Canadian readers - Vote Green
American readers - McCain and Palin are proof that two wrongs don't make a right
Australian readers – I’ve always been a Midnight Oil fan

Elevator Issues

2008-10-06T20:40:00.002+11:00

I may have figured out why chivalry is a dying venture. I was in the elevator impatiently waiting for the doors to close when I noticed a few woman that work on my floor trying to enter before the doors shut. As I stuck out my arm (with a bag in my hand) to keep the door open the problems started. The main issue was that the elevator doors slammed shut on my arm. The important, but not so pressing issue was that the way I was holding my bag, I couldn't let go. As I heard the elevator engage and with visions flashing through my head of forever being called "The One-Armed Gentleman" I thought that it would be the appropriate time to panic. In unison, I began palming the panel of buttons and yelling, "Grab my bag!" I swear it was right out of the movies. I grabbed my stuck arm with my free hand, put my foot against the doors and grunted. Luckily it wasn't my watch hand so my arm ripped free with only a few pitiful scratches as evidence.

By the time that I had reached the 29th floor (and my heart rate dropped below 200) it was just starting to be funny. As the ladies exited a different elevator only seconds after I had exited mine (without incident) they burst into hysterics and handed me my bag. After thanking them and quickly assessing the possible risks, I held the door open and followed them into the office.

Feeling Better Already

2008-10-05T18:41:00.004+11:00

For the last week or so I have been a huge snot bag. I think pressing hard throughout September has finally caught up with me. I have been working late and coming home exhausted. I've been sitting on the couch instead of the bike, eating chewable Vitamin C's instead of fruit. I don't normally get sick and I couldn’t figure out why I did this time. I have had a stressful few weeks but I've worked stressful jobs before so I'm not sure that had anything to do with it. My rent went up yet again which didn't stress me out so much as made me want to start setting fires and kicking down doors. While having lunch at my desk around 3pm, I realized that I was having left over pizza...again. The third time this week.

Somehow I got caught up in working through lunch and getting home late so that I managed to avoid every fruit and vegetable imaginable. It's not that I have terrible eating habits and have McD's everyday, it's that I somehow stopped eating fruit. As a former Personal Trainer this was a very bad turn of events indeed.

I was trying to find the best way to get rid of my cold when nature kicked in and made the decision for me. It's simple really: Give it to Aiva. When she gets sick she immediately kicks the healthy vegetarian detox meals into high gear (yesterday homemade vegetable soup and this morning fruit salad) and starts popping vitamins like a dealer. I can't help but remember to take a horse-pill sized multivitamin and have a detox meal fit for a Hindu cow. I'm feeling better already.

In all honesty, I accidentally used her toothbrush when I was sick (just twice) and I feel bad that she will probably have to take a day off work. Yesterday I brought home Sudafed, soup, a DVD and flowers but I can't take the cold back so I'm out of ideas. I'm guessing that using her toothbrush and drooling on her pillow may have to stop too.

Deep Blue Orchestra

2008-09-27T14:03:00.001+10:00

The other night we went to see Deep Blue Orchestra at the State Theatre. I have never been to a mausoleum before but this theatre left no doubt that there are spiderweb covered coffins in the basement. Prior to the show, the lighting was low and I'm sure that there was fog machine working overtime behind the scenes. I was not surprised to find out later that they have guided tours running regularly.

We went into this show without knowing anything about it which is either a blessing or a curse but this time we lucked out. The music was a fusion of classical and techno and the show had the feeling of an upscale rave. There was a stringed orchestra dancing around and interacting and a DJ spinning away the whole time. The backdrop was constantly mesmerizing live video feed or light show. The music ranged from classical to Bowie and the Stones.

I had a hard time deciding what I liked most about it because it was really different than a conventional show. It really made my short stint in a band embarassing as I think back and remember just standing on stage staring at my own guitar for the whole show. I was more animated watching this show and I was happy to lean back and bob my head but I could easily understand wanting to jump around in the aisles and have a dozen beers. I think that's why the crowd was so diverse. If you were a music lover of any kind you would appreciate the show.

There is something to be said for old school concerts in a small pub. I appreciate a distortion peddle, a double guitar and ringing ears as much as the next guy but Deep Blue really makes you wonder if maybe this fusion is the next generation of music. I hope so because the current trend of teen queens that can't play a musical instrument or even hold a tune is starting to wear on me.

Beach Train

2008-09-24T12:53:00.000+10:00

This morning the train doors opened and it looked like 200 beach-going teenagers were piled in and practically suffocating to death. They were absolutely mashed together as the doors opened and yelled to everyone "No room! Please no more!". All the commuters went to other cars that looked equally full so I decided to just ram into this "Beach Train". A funny thing happened as I pushed through the front row of towel clad riff raff - I stepped into an empty car. There were only about 12 students on the train and they pushed up against the doors to avoid anyone else from coming in. As I stood in the spacious area I wondered to myself "Why don't they want anyone else on the train?" As the train started moving I quickly found out.

Apparently an empty train car is the perfect place for a dozen kids to have a water fight. I'm not just talking a couple of 80's water pistols here, I'm talking air pressure powered super soakers that have a connecting hose to the water supply pack on their backs. They looked like neon shirt wearing Ghostbusters but it was war. One girl had a plastic bag filled with water balloons and as one of her friends ran past she threw a grenade at the ceiling above them, raining down shrapnel (genius). One balloon miraculously didn't break and rolled along the floor near my feet. I was tempted to grab it and join the fray but I'm sure that a suit wearing enemy would draw a lot of fire and I would end up drenched. Explaining to my boss that I was in a close quarters water fight on the way to work probably wouldn't go over well.

I couldn't help but sit in a corner and laugh as these kids dove over seats, fell down stairs and nearly drowned. As the train slowed down for the next station they called a truce, hid the weapons and resumed their position at the doors, screaming in mock crushing pain. Sure enough, no one boarded, the doors closed, and the carnage continued. The hand grenade girl was finished now and trying to deal with the mascara running down her face while two guys that were out of ammo just wrestling on the disgustingly soaked floor. As the train arrived at Central, the charade was revealed as 20 transit authority guards were waiting for them. They had clearly been tipped off.

I took the opportunity to switch cars and left my dry bunker in the corner. I had incurred only a few wounds mainly from ricochets off the window and drips from the ceiling. No purple heart required, just a paper towel or two.

Springtime In Sydney

2008-09-22T20:53:00.005+10:00

It is starting to get hot in Sydney and it's only spring. We have had a few days over 30C already and everyone keeps telling me that we are in for a hot summer this year (as opposed to every year). Last year in Sydney I had trouble noticing the seasons pass by because there really isn't that much change. No white snow flakes falling, no searching through the "winter" closet trying to find matching mitts and no replacing the rake with the snow shovel. Sure there are changes in Sydney but you would have to be Captain Nemo to notice the whales come and go or Gianni Versace to notice the subtle scarf variances. I have been watching for overt signs that the seasons are changing and today I found one that shouldn't be too hard to remember because it reminds me of home.

Thunder Bay has particularly brutal winters and after 30 years of frozen toes and a snotty nose I have come to loathe them. For many, spring is often appreciated simply because it signals the end of winter. Some people note snow melting, birds chirping or some equally "fairy tale" type event but I have always associated spring with dog crap.

For most of my life I lived in Thunder Bay and owned a dog. That means that during every Sspring thaw, the layers of snow slowly melt to reveal an entire winters worth of crap. Thus, for about 3 weeks straight I could walk down the street and be able to tell which house had a dog in the backyard simply by the seeping ooze coming from under the fence and the gassy haze from above. Ahh spring...a truly magically time.

That leads me to spring in Sydney. This weekend was the first one hotter than 30C. When temperatures get to be above 30C the sidewalks start to get hot and you can see that translucent "heat haze" coming from it. Add dog crap. BAM! The smell of springtime in Sydney! I'm not kidding, the sidewalks get so hot it's like a frying pan so it's no surprise that the smell of dung travels a solid distance. Enough to make me nonchalantly cross the road anyway.

So now I am able to quickly identify the changing of the seasons in Sydney. However, I'm a little concerned that the smells of dog crap and rotten eggs (pulp mill) remind me of home.

Cycling In Newtown

2008-09-20T22:22:00.001+10:00

When I came back from Canada this time I brought my touring bike because I have been terrified of riding my racing bike on Sydney streets. Despite there being a massive number of cyclists and the sport being hugely popular, drivers are reluctant to share the road.

Today was the first day on Sydney streets for my new bike and I thought that I would stay close to home and go for a quick ride through the neighbourhood. Our area of Sydney is known for being quite tolerant and by tolerant I really mean gay and alternative. Considering the flamboyant fashion that is regularly strutted on a Saturday night I didn't think that anyone would have a problem with a tall, skinny guy in spandex.

I have been yelled at a few times while riding but today was something else. Keep in mind that I was riding in Newtown. I was enjoying my ride but most of the time I was praying that no one parked on the side of the road would open their car door. In that situation, someone would have to peel my melted spandexed ass off the street and it wouldn't be pretty. I was just thinking about that very image as a decided to give myself a little more room away from the cars when I got "honked".

Now this wasn't a "meep meep" that kindly says "pardon me but I believe the light is green good sir". It was more of a "whhaaoooggaa" that is normally caused by a forehead being crushed on the steering wheel horn after hitting a traffic pole. After 5 whole seconds of continual honk, I looked back over my shoulder and this rather handsome woman (think Winston Churchill in drag) yelled out of her car "Move twat!". I started to laugh and nearly removed a mirror from a jeep with my face.

It was a classic Newtown moment. Everything is the same but different.

NY Bound

2008-09-16T21:00:00.005+10:00

After a string of bad luck everything seems to be going my way these days. On the work front, I have had more opportunities/responsibilities given to me which I'm really looking forward to. This isn't just one of those "more work and less pay" things but an opportunity to be more successful. On the back of that good news, things got even better.

I was pulled into the bosses office and asked if I was interested in going to New York for two weeks to visit head office. Get this, I actually said "Let me check my calendar". That's a bad habit that I need to break. Unless it said "Open Heart Surgery - 8am-10am" I would have gone. It did not - my aorta is fine. So come November, I'll be flying back across the ocean on the corporate tab without having a computer on my lap. We'll see if I can manage to not be involved in a vomit related incident in any way on this trip. Recent events would suggest that is a big ask. So if you are looking for a place to go for one weekend in November, I'm going to suggest New York. I've got the weekend off and a hankering for a Coney Island Dog.

Then, if things couldn't get any better, my company's #1 competitor nearly went bankrupt today and had to get bailed out by an $85 Billion loan from the US government. I have feeling that it will be a busy month.

Blogging By Definition

2008-09-13T20:13:00.002+10:00

Urban Dictionary is one of my favourite sites and I believe that this definition is a classic.

Blogging:

1. Term used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives. Possibly the most annoying thing about bloggers is the sense of self-importance they get after even the most modest of publicity. Sometimes it takes as little as a referral on a more popular blogger's website to set the lesser blogger's ego into orbit. Example: it usually occurs after a person purchases or attains access to a computer but before they learn anything about writing or computers.

2. If minds had anuses, blogging would be what your mind would do when it had to take a dump.

3. The act of making a blog, or web log.

Photos From Hiking In Thunder Bay

2008-09-12T20:08:00.000+10:00

Lance Armstrong Is Back

2008-09-09T19:35:00.012+10:00

After much speculation it has finally been confirmed that Lance Armstrong will be coming out of retirement to race the Tour De France and raise awareness of the global cancer burden. I had mixed feelings about this because I remember thinking after he won his 7th tour in a row that he couldn't have scripted his retirement any better. There have also been some awful comebacks in history that instantly turn an amazing legacy into a stubborn old man that just can't let go. But after 3 whole seconds of thinking about it, I found myself looking at a calendar to find out exactly how long until his first training race as a newly reinstated professional (Feb 14, 2009).

Now before people say that he is a dope fiend I'll quickly say that he has never failed a drug test and for 7 years he was the most drug tested athlete in the world. He has even had old, stored blood samples retested years after the fact. I'm not sure what else he can do to prove that he is "clean" but for the 8th Tour he is apparently going to revolutionize the testing system so that it is fault proof and transparent.

But really, the hard part for me is that people hate him for winning and never being "caught". I don't understand the instant skepticism. I think we should give this guy the benefit of the doubt really. Let's look at some facts to keep things in perspective instead of playing negative Private I.

Lance Armstrong was a good rider, winning Tour stages before being diagnosed with cancer in 1996. They found two lesions on his brain that had to be surgically treated, 10 golf ball sized tumors in his lungs and a testicle that had to go. Chemo wrecked his body and he fought to rebuild it for one purpose - to win the Tour De France..which he did...7 times...in a row. In retirement, he has raised BILLIONS of dollars for cancer research and challenged his own government and multiple presidents for more funding. If we don't cheer him on and support him, who then?

There are 8,000,000 cancer related deaths a year and the National Cancer Institute of the US has an annual budget of $5 billion bucks. The war in Iraq and Afghanistan costs about $12 billion...a month.

Listen, my Dad died of cancer and I like cycling so I am comfortably biased. But before saying "He's a dope fiend" think of all the people you know that have been affected by cancer. I think you'll find that Lance Armstrong getting back into the spotlight and promoting cancer awareness is quite a good thing even if you don't like cycling as much as I do.