It seems like forever ago that I packed up my bags and moved to Melbourne with promises of wonderful employment ringing in my ears. Despite the fact that those promises turned out to be false, I stuck around Melbourne because of my awesome apartment and managed to salvage the situation to a certain degree. I had a comfortable existence with food, entertainment, and at least one decent house mate. I soon forgot why I came to Melbourne in the first place, so you can imagine my surprise when the Melbourne Grand Prix rolled around, and I was contacted as a potential worker by the company that brought me to Melbourne in the first place. Not being one to turn down money and free entertainment, I reported for duty on the first day of the Melbourne Grand Prix.
I've never spent any time in the southern United States, or followed NASCAR at all, but if there are any similarities to the Formula 1 Grand Prix, then count me out. Even without the huge redneck stigma racing carries in the states, the Australian racing scene is much of the same: a very repetitive "sport" made more interesting by copious consumption of beer. The festival that surrounds the event, however, was at least mildly entertaining. The highlights:
1. Entertaining crashes: I happened to be standing around doing nothing during one of the more interesting moments of the weekend. One of several side-event races had just begun, consisting of luxury sports cars turned in to speed machines, when one of the drivers had to swerve to avoid a stalled car. He went off the road, smashed in to the wall and rebounded back on to the track directly into the middle of the pack of cars beginning the race. Nothing cures boredom like a literal 20 car pile-up of BMW's, Ferrari's, and Vipers.
2. Kangaroo Men: The festival surrounding the Grand Prix bares some resemblance to Seafair, including the bizarrely dressed performers, and without a doubt the most eye-catching of these performers were two men dressed as kangaroos, complete with spring loaded stilts. The stilts were disguised by enormous fake furry legs and feet, part of an ensemble that included tan body suits, furry kangaroo abs, a giant furry tale, and giant furry kangaroo balls... Thats right. The costumes were so detailed that they even included detachable furry balls.
I ran to get my camera as soon as I saw them, completely abandoning my work, but was crushed when I returned to find that they had moved on. Without a doubt, the most disappointing moment of the weekend.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Day 71: Important Life Lessons Halfway Through my Trip
It’s been awhile since I’ve written something up here, but in my defense not much has been happening. I’ll be doing an update more geared towards my future plans after the weekend, but for now I want to talk about an issue near and dear to my heart. Having Roommates.
Having a roommate in college is something I am now very much prepared for. I will go so far as to say that, for whoever is stuck sharing a room with me next year, the phrase “hosing lottery” will suddenly make a great deal of sense. I’m not saying that I am some perfect, godlike human being who is both smart and fun to hang out with, but I am saying that I have learned several things that make having me as a roommate, metaphorically, a prize. All of the following lessons I have learned from my wonderful French housemate Chris:
1. For starters, I will never use another person’s toiletries, because I am not a smelly Frenchman.
2. I will never leave the scraps of an entire roast chicken sitting out over night, and then giggle like a stupid Frenchman when confronted about my mess the next morning.I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.
3. I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.
4. I will let you know if I happen to have a lady friend over at night, instead of letting you walk in on us, because I am courteous and not some rude French person.
5. Most importantly, I will never, ever, ever, be French.
These lessons may seem oddly specific, but I find that they are incredibly important rules to follow for anyone wishing to be a good roommate for another person
(Authors Note: I am in no way shape or form seriously disparaging the French people as a whole, merely one person who happens to be French, and somehow meets every single stereotype of the French I as an American have ever known)
Having a roommate in college is something I am now very much prepared for. I will go so far as to say that, for whoever is stuck sharing a room with me next year, the phrase “hosing lottery” will suddenly make a great deal of sense. I’m not saying that I am some perfect, godlike human being who is both smart and fun to hang out with, but I am saying that I have learned several things that make having me as a roommate, metaphorically, a prize. All of the following lessons I have learned from my wonderful French housemate Chris:
1. For starters, I will never use another person’s toiletries, because I am not a smelly Frenchman.
2. I will never leave the scraps of an entire roast chicken sitting out over night, and then giggle like a stupid Frenchman when confronted about my mess the next morning.I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.
3. I won’t simply ignore the horde of tiny flies that take up residence in our kitchen after said chicken incident, simply because I am French and used to wallowing in filth.
4. I will let you know if I happen to have a lady friend over at night, instead of letting you walk in on us, because I am courteous and not some rude French person.
5. Most importantly, I will never, ever, ever, be French.
These lessons may seem oddly specific, but I find that they are incredibly important rules to follow for anyone wishing to be a good roommate for another person
(Authors Note: I am in no way shape or form seriously disparaging the French people as a whole, merely one person who happens to be French, and somehow meets every single stereotype of the French I as an American have ever known)
Monday, March 1, 2010
Day 51: On Striking Gold
It may have taken a little longer than expected, but my luck has finally turned 12 days after finding that magical $50 lying in the street.
My new roommate Kashka may be the cleverest functional retard I have ever met. No matter how much he puts his foot in his mouth or how often he seems completely confused by simple tasks, underneath it all he is a genius. Case in point: after being taught poker by Clarke and I last week, and making some of the dumbest bets I’ve ever seen while learning, the three of us went to the casino last Friday night, but he was the only one of us who came out with more money than he entered with. So when he recommended that I go looking for work on Smith Street a few blocks from the apartment, I took his advice.
It was like finding treasure buried in my backyard.
As it turns out, I’m living within walking distance of the factory outlet of every major athletic and outdoor clothing retailer in the greater Melbourne area. Adidas, Nike, Converse, and half a dozen other major clothing retailers now have my resume, and almost all of them told me they were currently hiring in some capacity or another. Not surprising, seeing as how university students are returning to classes tomorrow, but hearing the phrase “why yes, we are hiring” so many times in the same day made my heart sing. For the first time since starting my job search, I saw a business with a help wanted sign, which was truly a sight for sore eyes.
The best part of the whole experience was when I asked Kashka if he knew that so many brand name clothing companies had clearance stores right next to each other. His eyes got all wide with interest and he said “Really? I may have to go there soon.” Priceless.
My first interview is this Thursday morning. Hopefully none of these places care that all the retail experience I told them I had is completely fictional.
My new roommate Kashka may be the cleverest functional retard I have ever met. No matter how much he puts his foot in his mouth or how often he seems completely confused by simple tasks, underneath it all he is a genius. Case in point: after being taught poker by Clarke and I last week, and making some of the dumbest bets I’ve ever seen while learning, the three of us went to the casino last Friday night, but he was the only one of us who came out with more money than he entered with. So when he recommended that I go looking for work on Smith Street a few blocks from the apartment, I took his advice.
It was like finding treasure buried in my backyard.
As it turns out, I’m living within walking distance of the factory outlet of every major athletic and outdoor clothing retailer in the greater Melbourne area. Adidas, Nike, Converse, and half a dozen other major clothing retailers now have my resume, and almost all of them told me they were currently hiring in some capacity or another. Not surprising, seeing as how university students are returning to classes tomorrow, but hearing the phrase “why yes, we are hiring” so many times in the same day made my heart sing. For the first time since starting my job search, I saw a business with a help wanted sign, which was truly a sight for sore eyes.
The best part of the whole experience was when I asked Kashka if he knew that so many brand name clothing companies had clearance stores right next to each other. His eyes got all wide with interest and he said “Really? I may have to go there soon.” Priceless.
My first interview is this Thursday morning. Hopefully none of these places care that all the retail experience I told them I had is completely fictional.
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