A whole world of stories...

I'm writing this in the comfort of my parents home in New Brunswick. It's a little strange to be back here after so long, not because anything has changed, but because it hasn't. I could have very well left last weekend, like slipping on an old pair of sweat pants you find buried in the back of the closet. This is why we love home. The never shifting, stable, grounded territory where we can unwind, see loved faces and swat away mosquitoes.

This time last week I was rolling out of my dingy hostel bed and greeting the humid Malaysian day with an Indian curry followed by some mango slices. Right now, I'm drinking an Alpine as a hot summer breeze is turning into a rolling thunderstorm. Australia is 18,000 kilometers away, even though it still feels 'close as' in my head. Like most trips of this size, there were a few interesting anecdotes that occurred on the way home, which I'd like to share now.

Perth to Kuala Lumpur


I've realized a few things in my travels, and one is how to fly. Aside from typing in the wrong airport, which was my border-line retarded move last year, I feel I'm pretty good at finding cheap flights and pinching pennies when I take to the air. Perth, the most isolated major city in the world, is certainly not your airport of choice for leaving Oz, but frankly, what choice do you have? So, as I search and type and ponder aloud, I realize I can get to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for about $300, which is a pretty major South East Asian airport, and from there can bounce my way back to Canada. The thing with cheap airlines, as my seat mates so readily pointed out, is this: Obviously the frills and bobbles are absent, but it also means that any Joe-Schmoe boards for a dime, and doesn't really give a hoot about who they piss off. These guys were, of course, sitting next to me!

For a brief moment there were about nine seats in my vicinity that were unoccupied, including the two beside me. I mentally high fived myself on my luck, until the last travelers boarded the plane in a cattle-like drove. In an airplane full of tiny Asians, it would make sense that I ended up wedged against the window by two obese Australians, revved up and liquor fueled from the airport bar. Now, normally I'm all for raucous behaviour, being a main instigator myself most times, but the timing was just a bit off this night. Grief stricken and mentally sapped from all the tough goodbyes leaving Oz, the last thing I wanted to do was make cordial conversation with these monkeys.

My silence didn't last long though, as they noticed my Canadian flag bookmark and started yelling 'Hey Canuck! How's Gretzky?' He's good mate, real good. Eventually I bowed under the pressure and started conversing with the guy beside me. His name was Andy and he was actually from Sheffield, England. He had moved to Australia 20 years ago as a bricklayer, but now worked in insurance, namely the claims process. One of his latest endeavours was to go to New Zealand and tell people how much they were entitled to after there house was shaken to dust by this years earthquake. Good times Andy.

All nine of them were going on a 'golf trip' in Vietnam, although they told me they only had a couple sets of clubs between them. Something was giving me a bit of deja vu at this point, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then, as Andy and I talked about the merits of a strong currency in a place like Vietnam, as well as the the 'hospitality' of the local female population, it hit me. On my connecting flight last year, Alaska to Taiwan, I met four American guys doing the exact same thing, only going to Thailand. I can't remember the guy's name next to me, probably Buck or Hank or something, but he blatantly offered up that they were going, not so much for golf, but for whatever ulterior Thai hole in ones they could score, wink wink, nudge nudge.

After a little further chatting, yes indeed this is what my surrounding seat mates were going for, as places like Thailand had already been 'golfed' in previous years. Now your first instinct is to admonish these guys for their immorality, but as I looked around at this mid 50's group, red in the face from some late night drinking and smiling the whole way, I really couldn't pass any judgement. Other than grossing young people out, age really has no bearing on who or where you 'golf'`.

About half way through the flight, my seat mates were informed the plane was out of beer. Not wanting to crumple under tragedy, they ordered a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, at god knows how much money. 'Hey Canuck, want some whisky?!'. Why not. At 36,000 feet, straight scotch does it's magic pretty quick. In a matter of minutes, we were laughing, sharing stories and having a grand time. This is, however, a red eye flight and the immediate seats in front weren't really enjoying the posterior socializing. After some polite requests to quiet down, met with rather pointed rebuttals from my golfing friends, this Chinese woman braces herself and yells 'Pees shut up! You shut up! You bully me cause I small, an you big, My chidwen sweeping!` followed by immediate applause from the rest of the plane.

Andy, in that somewhat comical English drawl goes `Luv, it`s boodget air-lyyyne, take a betta plane next time`. Somehow, my quiet and sombre plane ride had turned into a drunken Chinese face off. It only wound down when I noticed Andy`s eye glaze over and he stopped talking so much. In a word, pickled. Shortly after that, the announcement that we were preparing for descent, please buckle up, came on. Obviously Andy misinterpreted this, stood up, grabbed his carry on and started walking towards the front of the plane, ready to step off. Although I`m sure a few passengers would have been more than happy to see this happen, he had to be ushered back to his seat. `Thut we had lannend` he said grinning.

We finally touch down in Singapore, where we shakily stumbled off the plane and went through customs, surprisingly with no problems (other than a small child puking on the floor beside me...what a weakling, I thought to myself). I shook hands with my new friends, and Andy whispered `Jus rememba son, bein`a wanka is universal`. Too true.

Enjoy the golfing boys

                                                               

Kuala Lumpur


Let me say this, Kuala Lumpur is a very cool city. Although the actual tourist attractions are pretty minimal, it seems to have a metro-energy that constantly pulsates as you walk through it. Of course this could be said of many highly populated SE Asian cities, but KL has the added benefit of relative safety and a broad encompassing knowledge of the English language.

Not to mention this guy!

                                                                 

I was staying in a very discreet hostel that was recommended by a friend, and although a little quieter than what I'm used to, it served as an excellent home base as I trekked through the sights and sounds of KL. Now for any avid readers of this blog you may recall a story from the beginning of the trip where I was trudging through the damp streets of Manhattan, accommodation-less, when a more than friendly young chap invited me to 'crash' in his hotel room with his other friend. In a brilliance of naivety, I accepted, only to realize my host's true intentions as he climbed onto the bed and started stroking my forearm with some heavy breathing thrown in. Cue sprint out of hotel.

Now, I always reckoned it was the wrong time and place kind of situation, or possibly just a freak encounter within the late of night, never to be repeated. Almost never to be repeated. As I set out from my hostel, always using my powers of intuition as oppose to a map, I scampered down busy streets and alleyways hoping to come across something interesting. In my peripheral I notice a very small Chinese fellow maintaining about ten feet of distance, but most certainly tailing me. After about two blocks, I pull an about face, and ask him if there's anything I can help him out with.

*Nervously* 'I want to ask you a question'
'Yes my man what's up?
'Will you have some sex with me?'
'HAHA! No I'm sorry my friend, not today!'
'Uhhhh, okay, okay... bye bye'

This was one hour after I got off the plane. So it's clear to me now, wearing my fisherman pants and beer singlet with flip flops, that I give off some sort of homo-pheromone, inviting unabashed invitations for day time coitus with other men. Well, shit. He quickly shuffles off to the other side of the road as I'm left pondering how many aspects of this trip have come full circle, and what exactly his next move would have been had I had a more agreeable answer. Luckily this was the only time that week that this happened, and my hosts at the hostel assured me it was not the norm. My next move? Grow a beard and get a forehead tattoo to prevent further confusion.

Everyone wants a piece of the wolf shirt

                                                   

The American Dream


Being back on North American turf, with loud and over-enunciated consonants ringing in me ear, was for the first hour or so, very comforting. Times square bill boards flashing ads for Gap and Lexus, people casting their heads down or hiding behind their dripping umbrellas as they sashayed to their various appointments, this was almost the motherland! Then the realization that my trip was over started sinking in, and for the hundredth time on my extensive transit I missed the things I had left behind 'down unda'. And how does the modern man alleviate feelings of want and despair? Happy hour coronas, of course. After three of these, my jet lagged and red eyed brain was overcome with a soggy fatigue, where I soon found myself sleeping through 'The Green Lantern', then boarding my bus.

We meet again, Times Square

The thing I enjoy about long distance bus rides is that you get all sorts of personalities aboard. Age, race, weight,  background, temperament...all these attributes are stuffed into a steel box and forced to endure one another for hours at a time. On this particular trip, I was seated next to two geriatric Russian ladies, who were more than keen to swap stories about their fascinating time in NYC attending a hook rugging conference. Wow, I said, what better place to congregate and discuss the latest techniques than the Big Apple! Light sarcasm is usually lost on the elderly.

There was a forewarning before we departed that went something like this:

'Now listen up! No drinkin', no smokin', an no weapons! If you get stuck in the bathroom, then lord have mercy, cuz you stayin' in there for the rest of the trip'

I smirked at the unlikely, but no less comic, thought of someone spending six hours in that tiny stall, with various waste products and blue toilet water sloshing about over every bump. So what do you think happened thirty minutes later? A very 'robust' lady waddled her way to the bathroom as the bus snoozed on in relative peacefulness and I chatted away with my Russian ladies on the merits of coming from a country with eight months of winter (very few). I excused myself, and headed to the back to relieve my own expanding bladder, only to realize that the handle is being frantically pulled from the inside and this women is banging on the door 'I'm stuck! Let me out!'.

After ten minutes of pulling, pushing, kicking and one excitable fellow snapping off the outside handle, the bus driver was made aware of the situation. But hey, we've been warned haven't we? Before the bus even started movin'? Ya think I was playin'?

Eventually he's convinced, mostly by the complaints of the smell leaking from the new hole where the handle used to be, to pull into a McDonald's parking lot and further assess the situation. I get out, stretch my legs, run off for what is, at this point, a very much needed piss, and return to find a whole section of the bus panelling being removed to expose our poor privy prisoner. Of course, being on the upside of three hundred pounds, it took a small army of American home-boys to hoist her down, amid the applause and cell phone filming of the crowd. Luckily it was too early in the trip for the toilet to exude too much of it's contents, so she emerged relatively unscathed.

We re-board the bus, as most of the excitement boils down to just a few chuckles, when one of my Russian women tells the driver to turn the air conditioning off. This does not go down well with the bus's almost fully African American passengers, who tell the old ladies to 'can it' and 'put on a jacket Grams'. The bus driver eventually turns the A/C back on, where the second lady says 'You nee' ta make us happy, you are za boos driver', where he replies, (and I need to mention I really liked this guys style) 'Haha, woman! If you're not happy after seventy-five years, ain't nuttin' I can do 'bout that!'

As we roll into Boston four or five hours later, my Russian ladies say a quick goodbye and 'God bless you, safe travels'. Thank you old ladies! They turn to the bus driver as they're stepping off and say 'Go to hell, and don't be well'. God Bless America!

thanks for reading!

Bye bye Australia :(

I'm never usually one to use smilies or sad faces while writing, but of course this is one of those posts that warrants it. July 1st, otherwise known as Canada day to a few maple syrup slurping, beaver skinning, flag waving individuals, was my last day in Australia. After almost a year spent working, travelling and merry-making in this vast land, it was finally time to say goodbye. Of course saying goodbye to Australia the country is not the hard part. It's saying goodbye to the life you've built around you.

I showed up in Melbourne with little reservations or expectations, a burnt out, broke, wandering soul coming from a few months of down and dirty backpacking. In the space of a year, although it may not seem like it, I've learned so much about so many things. Love, friendship, money, travel, responsibility (not too much of this though) and a zest for life that could have very well gone untouched had I not left home. The friendships, however fleeting, stay with you and shape you in a way you don't really notice, but of course keep with you in your proverbial breast pocket of life.

Julie, my 60 year old boss at the restaurant, taught me there's no time limit or rules as to what you do with your life. After the restaurant closes this month, she's finishing her degree in early childhood studies and has an opportunity lined up in a preschool after that. She made a great manager of childish backpackers, but will be an even better mentor to actual children.

Chris, my coworker and friend, taught me that even though it sucks to wake up at 5:30 in the morning, a good 7/11 coffee and meat pie will always set you right. Putting a goal in your head, working hard at it and making tough decisions, whether in England or Australia or anywhere, is one of those parts of life that everyone has to come to eventually, and this is what Chris was faced with this year. He left a lot of sad faces in his wake, but needed to be true to himself, however challenging that was. He's back in sunny England (joke) progressing his career and being closer to his family.

Edgar, my Mexicano Amigo, taught me you don't always have to go by the books to make it work out. He rocked up to Australia without a working visa, bought a van and built it up to take him around the country and did odd jobs here and there, eventually leaving with a taco-load of good stories, and a profit! He left home, child and business in Mexico to carve out his own adventure, because that's what he needed to do, and made it work every step of the way.

Caballo, my first roommate from Ecuador, taught me to just keep smiling in the face of adversity. He spent thousands on tuition for audio engineering school, even after realizing you needed to know people who know people to get a job in his field, especially if you're from out of country. He got detained in Thailand because the school defaulted on his visa, eventually spending 3 months instead of the original 3 weeks he was planning. Of course, he missed the semester due to this, fighting tooth and nail to re-enrol for the next one, only to learn a few days after that he had to fly back to Ecuador for a family illness. But still smiling!

Roy and Isabelle, our Dutch roommates, taught me that even if you have everything going for you at home, it's okay to pack up and make a new adventure. Roy ran a pretty high end clothing shop in Amsterdam, with only an upward career ahead, and Isabelle managed a prolific water-front restaurant. Six months later, they're living in a van, working at a souvenir shop, pruning plants and cleaning public toilets. And why? Because what's comfortable and current, isn't always where it's at. They're currently taking their van around the circumference of Australia, hanging out on beaches and sipping cold Australian beer with the money they saved.

German Nick reiterated the sheer joy of travel for me. He left Germany, flew to Mexico, America, Canada, Fiji then Australia where we met him and his girlfriend Linda. He overflows with passion for meeting new people, having incredible stories and getting yourself in situations you would never dream of in a million years (Harpoon to the chest in Fiji, tropical gale storm on a 20 foot catamaran in Mexico etc) He maintains a really good blog, is open for any new adventure and can weave quite the tale in your choice of German or English. He's currently in Thailand hammering out some more of these stories with Linda.

Patty taught me that even if it's tough, sad, gross or full of spiders just keep at it. I'm sure there were many times, while I knew her, that she could have said 'F THIS! I'm going back to safe, easy USA' But she didn't. She roughed it with the best of us, even when the going was extra tough on her, and made it work out through sheer tenacity. She ended up working at a famous micro brewery, made loads of friends and is now basking in the Queensland sunshine for the fruits of her efforts with her best friends.

Emily taught me that even if it looks like you have everything you need, only you can decide that. With a job, relationship, money and a car disappearing in her rear view mirror, she came to Australia ready to greet whatever came her way, which ended up being many things. She didn't step off the plane into her dream job, far from it, but gravitated so many people towards her into a tornado of fun and friends, that it didn't matter. She also taught me that, try as you might, you can't help falling in love. You can push away and shake your head and say it's not for me, but when the right stars line up over the right people, it's too late anyway.
<3

Of course I will miss Australia. It's sunny, the people are hilarious, the sand is white and kangaroos make great wrestling partners, but it's the people, the tiny little fractions of interactions that make any trip what it is. I'll miss you guys! Bye Bye Australia!

The not so original aboriginals.

So there was a bit of show down last Friday night. As is the case with most show downs, there were two sides.

The North American corner, consisting of E Meyers and J Purdy, trudging back home after a night of work and a cheap wine. Combined height of 11'4, weight 280lbs, quick on the feet and naive to a fault.

In the other corner, 15 'indigenous australians' aged 16-20. Combined height of 60ft+, 800lbs, underage, drunk and already scraping the dredges of societies underbelly, without much room for improvement.

As we climb on the bus, always a new surprise bundle of sketch bags waiting, we find to our delight tonight's attendants fill the back of the public bus, cursing, staggering, swigging and overall making everyone uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is a pretty loose term here, as we soon find out.

We get off at our stop, just like every other time, but guess who we share it with tonight? Of course! The drunken adolescent bastards in all their aboriginal glory. Emily, in her infinite American skepticism and wisdom, whispers 'Let's walk on the other side of the street'. Before that sentence was even out of her mouth, one of our small little competitors makes a grab for her purse, initiating a pretty intense tug of war, which, luckily she was able to win.

We all like to think we would react swiftly and bravely in these situations, and I'll be the first to admit I had no idea what was going on. Maybe he tripped? Or is playing a funny joke? Get real Josh. Emily took care of the most important part by hanging on to her bag, and after realizing he wasn't cashing in tonight, he let go. I certainly couldn't abide by just letting him run off, so we started what must have been a pretty funny looking cat and mouse chase. I almost had him in my grasp for a good 'down home' thumping, when I get a roundhouse to the head by his hefty comrade. The funny part is, I was till thinking he might be swinging for his friend and ready to apologize for all the trouble. What planet have I been living on? Aboriginal-less one, for certain.

So I cop a punch to the head, look around at the numbers, shake my head, and go to retrieve my fallen wine bottle and walk off. The fun doesn't stop here though folks! In our little chase, I've garnered quite a distance between Emily and myself and this is when the real brunt of this teen force comes out... the females! They give Emily chase saying 'Come hee sis', come hee', and, as is no surprise at this point, not to apologize. I yell 'Leave her alone!!'...probably adding a bit more stress to the situation, but I don't think I've ever seen Em run faster than this night. As the rest of the rag tag gang falls behind, there is only one girl left giving chase. I eventually catch up with this fleet of foot chick, throw her into a nearby car and ask her 'What the fuck are you doing this for?!' Still looking for an answer for there behaviour. Clearly I would be better off chatting it up to a pack of hyenas.

Em runs home, shouting and hyperventilating at the same time, and sends my Dutch roommate Roy out to join the fun. I'm on my way home now, as our little aboriginal friends pass our street onto what every primordial sludge of a night they have planned. Bolstered by a team mate, Roy and I turn foot and give chase. At first, with our heavy yells and truly threatening big kid voices, they run away from us as fast as they can. This is when I throw my wine bottle, already poured down most of my shirt, into their crowd. Luckily I didn't hit anyone, that would have been a much bloodier and probably tragic story.

Realizing there are only two in pursuit, they turn around and square off at us. I'm not sure what kind of military tactic it's called, but most likely an aboriginal one passed down through the generations. The girls stayed up front cursing us as 'white dogs' as they punch away with their tiny fists of fury while the guys stayed safely behind them. tossing rocks and whatever sticks they could find. No boomerangs, luckily.

Adrenaline pulsed and the rain came down, but it was over in two minutes, possibly less. I dialed 911, which is nowhere close to the proper number in Australia (000), but luckily there were already about three people with the same idea. The teen hyena pack get away just as the first and second squad cars rip up the street, blending in to the dark of night (just being poetic, not racist)

All in, there were no severe injuries or thefts, just another peg in the never ending sketchiness of our 'hood'. We went back, had a drink, and spent the rest of the night calming down. Well done Hilton House, another story to take with you wherever you go. The morale of the story? Depends who you ask...our landlord said 'take a cab mate'. The Australians said 'F'ing abos, they wonder why they have a bad name'. The cops said 'Ahh ya the little bastards, this happens all the time'

I'm thinking two things 'Fanny packs aren't all that bad' and 'Sometimes, in just the right circumstances, if you're getting robbed and punched and pummeled with rocks, it's okay to hit a girl'. Here's hoping there won't be a next time so I have to follow through.


Ciao!

Flipping through the Book of Life

Chapter 23: Wrapping up the wallet story


The fall out of my wallet theft was a few dark weeks in this sunny country. After the initial shock of getting robbed in plain daylight, having the perpetrator in my grasp, then releasing her into the sea of degenerates from which she was spawned, I was of course a bit dejected. A wallet, in it's entirety, is a pretty crazy concept. We stroll through our day holding any number of rather important articles in a 2x2 square of leather neatly pocketed and organized, taking it out and replacing it hundreds of times a week. While snuggly living in our pants pocket, the life of a wallet is secure, comfortable and wholly expectant of what it's duties are. Hold my money, carry my cards, just be there for me, and you can live beside my ass for as long as your stitching holds out. When released from this agreement however, all hell breaks loose.
With the wallet gone, and swallowing my anger, I accepted the situation as a result of my own carelessness/others maliciousness. Done. You can imagine my surprise then, when I went to withdraw some pocket money to get me through the week while me new bank card was being sent, when $550 was missing from my account! What's this! A clerical error? Some sort of problem with decimal points you silly australian banks! No. Of course not.

It goes like this. After the chick got away with the wallet, she called her homies, got a lift about 15 kms outside the city and and hit up an IGA, which is the ever prominent express grocery store out this way. Taking her time, she swiped my card for $20 in the pharmacy (for what I'm hoping was ointment for an incurable STD), then realizing that this particular stolen wallet was ripe for the picking bought herself two $200 gift cards, $50 of phone credit, and $50 worth of cigarettes. This really pissed me off, because at no point in Oz have had the financial standing to buy $50 worth of phone credit OR cigarettes.

Of course I didn't realize any of this while standing at the teller as she's telling me my account balance has been chopped in half in one fell swoop. The fraudulent purchase paperwork took about 45 minutes, and was capped with the cheerful smile of the bank lady telling me it can take 'up to six weeks' for a refund.

Never one to enjoy a dull day, my mexican amigo Edgar, Emily and myself drove down to the particular IGA to enquire over my lucrative spending habits. After a bit of receipt searching, marked by a wavy, girly J Purdy, they said 'Sorry Joshua, this was the one she used your card at'. Thank god Emily was there, because always the congenial Canadian, I said 'Thanks for your help, Eh!'. Her advice was a little more American 'don't take it lying down' oriented, so I politely asked them how a 5'3 black woman could spend $500 at some second rate grocery store in the ghetto, with a bank card that said Joshua D Purdy and a signature that was about as far away from mine as you could come.

'Sometimes Josh can be a girl's name'

Hmm. Thanks for your help, mate. I did get a phone number from the grocery store that was apparently used to purchase the phone credit, so after compiling receipts, bank statements, descriptions and a phone number I turn it all over to the police. When I call a week later I'm told;

'Ahhh, I can't find it in the computer, the officer you filed with is only part time, she'll be back in 2 weeks'

Hmmm. Thanks for your help mate.

After almost 3 weeks of listening to the banks 'musak' on the phone, I eventually got through to a nice chap who, with a click of a few keyboard taps, had the money back in my account. This was after I told the poor Indian girl that answered it would be a cold day in New Delhi before I hung up the phone and she got me somebody to sort this out, please.

I called the number attached to phone credit a few weeks ago. It belonged to girl called Rosalin who sounded uncannily similar to the woman who snagged my wallet, but who can tell with the australian accent? When I told her I knew she was the woman who stole my wallet, and the diligent Aussie police force was after her, she said 'I don't steal wallets mate! Awww fuck off!'

The feeling was mutual.


Chapter 37: The Birthday


I had a birthday this year! Surprised? Me too!

June 3 marked another 365 days of debauchery, moving aboot, treading/sinking in the career pool and hair growth! I swear to god I thought I was done sprouting chest hair, but at the rate it's going I could probably weave a throw rug that will cover a medium sized living area by 2017. Score!

The pre celebrations commenced at about 11pm June 2nd. As per usual the goon was flowing and the people were merry. Our Dutch roomates Roy & Isabelle showered me with gifts a plenty, including a dried kangaroo scrotum and the real-deal boomarang! Can it get better? We'll see. Champagne, cake and speeches quickly followed.



The day of birth opened better than any down and out backpackers, living in a dusty house with scarce commodities, could imagine. My wonderful little partner in crime girlfriend walked up to the IGA (not the same one I might add) and started my new birthday year off with avocado, chocolate chip pancakes and champagne. Now normally I'm not one for the bubbly before noon, but seeing as how we don't wake up until noon it was okay! After polishing off this delight, and garnering a few B-day high fives, the second part of Em's present found us at the 'Whisper Wine Bar'. For once we could dress and act a little classier than we are, and I don't want to say the clouds parted strictly for me, but I have a sneaking suspicion.

Not-Goon wine! Unbelievable.

As the sun went down, so did various kinds of liquor. We're big fans of wine under 10$ so that was our opening bid, followed by rum & coke, shotgunned beers and god knows what else. All I can say with affirmation is that we were denied access to the hot-spot brewery for lack of passports or ID (see stolen wallet) as well as lack of discrepancy as we shot gunned beers in the parking lot. After this I left half of my clothing on the patio in the next bar, where some opportunistic Canadian girl donned it as her night-life gear, much to everyone's confusion.

The Shirt Stealing Culprit

This is where the lights start to go out in my noggin, but of course just because your memories stop, the fun doesn't. We made our way back to El Casa al Sketchy aka Our House where we played 'Dutch Games' late into the night, bobbing about for cake on a stick, wedging screws into a wine bottle with anything but our hands or mouth or feet and seeing how many cupcakes can fit into our mouths. Not so surprisingly, just a few. A great night, celebrated with a great group of friends and the tell tale cake crumbs and wine bottles scattered about.

As my peers who read this, what's your thoughts on 24 years old? Certainly you're no spring chicken anymore, but have not brokered through the invisible barrier that is your late 20's. I greet this limbo age with open arms, welcoming the minute amounts of wisdom it brings, as well nodding appreciatively at fact that mid 20's somethings buy houses, climb the career ladder, get married, and have babies. Another year older, but another year full of joy, adventure and good people. You as well? This is good.


Chapter 19: Dumpster Diving


You really can't extrapolate the meaning of this chapter much I'm afraid. Part of my favorite past times in Australia was balking at the heinous prices of pretty basic commodities like bananas, meat and booze. Unfortunately there's not much I can do about a $50 two-four of beer, but surely I can cheap out on that annoying and pricey past time of eating? While in Melbourne I didn't too bad. Taking cues from the Balinese before I landed, I sustained myself on Raman noodles and basically anything that could be chewed on, packaged and chewed on again. This is fine, but of course you have to stem the flow of funds going into restaurant dinners, MacDonald's and late night snacks to really cut out this 'eating' bill.

Luckily, the solution was waiting for us one night while crab fishing in Fremantle. And before you guess, it was not living off crabs.  Nick is one of the 20 somethings wanderlust dudes from Germany, another good soul crammed into our little abode down under (I'll introduce some interesting people in another chapter). As we finish off boiling the crabs, he slides open his van door, which he lives in of course, and has baskets full of carrots, pineapples, fruits, chips and steaks. Pretty basic grocery order for most people reading, but with banana's at $14.99 a kilo, we're wondering which lottery this guy has won?

As we sit, tearing crab meet and sipping beer as the cold harbor wind whips through the sail boats bow lines....okay it wasn't this intense, but still...he told of us of how he hasn't spent a dime on groceries in months. Every day, at different intervals, stores must throw away TONS of food either expired, expiring, or unsellable in some way. Dented can? Toss it. Best before yesterday? No way. No room for the new grapefruits? Chuck the old ones.

Trust me when I say, the idea was a bit far fetched, even for a guy who ate deep fried scorpions and snake heart. But after gazing upon the mounds of seemingly perfect produce and various snacks in Nick's van, I though I'd give it a try. No one will ever know anyway right? (This means you. Shhhh)

Edgar and I go out, covered by the dark of night, skulking about in work boots and pants with flashlights in hand. We quietly approach the rear of the store and shut the lights off on the van. Breathe deeply. Collect our thoughts. Come to terms with who, or what, we've become. And go.

CHRISTMAS!!!!!! Whatever trepidations I had when we left the house quickly vanished as we filled 3 boxes full of frozen french fries, chickens, watermelon, apples, kangaroo steak, hungarian sausage and god knows what other junk I can't quite recall. Literal junk I mean. Of course this idea didn't quite grab a full foot hold for a week or two, until we tallied up that our dumpster dives had produced $1300 worth of grub.

Are we taking stuff of the garbage? Yes.
Is it weird? Very.
Will you die if you eat the food? Quite the opposite, not only will you survive, but THRIVE!!

It is now a pretty regular past time to go out on a little dumpster dive. Roy and I found 24 wrapped up pizzas the other day. That's a pizza for every hour of the day! I can't quite explain it, but the thrill of finding all this food, possibly getting yelled at, and then having a massive cook out, enriches my soul.

The previously mentioned birthday also brought me a superb team T-Shirt via Miss Patty Duffey reading 'Dumpster Diving Fo' Life' with all my fellow troops listed on the back. I should feel ashamed for digging through bins, as well as implicating my accomplices, but we're just too busy making barbecue chicken and corn on the cob.


My new motto: You are what you eat, except if you eat dumpster food. Then you're just awesome!

my brain and fingers are sore. Thanks for reading!

Two tales of woe

Wall-ets not the greatest, it could be purse

Excuse the terrible pun, but a small piece of laughter is all I need on this dark, dismal day. Let me start from the beginning. While roaming about in the wonderful australian sunshine, stopping here or there, flitting from cafe to book shop and overall enjoying vibrations of this city, myself and Miss Emily Meyers stop in the town square for a rest and to follow up on a few potential apartments.

As we sit, getting comfortable on a quaint bench overlooking a mulberry tree, I take out my camera and wallet, as everyone knows leaving so much gear underneath your keester will surly leave 'ass-dents'. So withdrew them I did, and placed them aside in the safe circumference of peripheral vision. As Emily gets a fairly keen offer on the other end of the phone, I rise up, partly in joy, but mostly to see if I can find a better wireless signal in the 'Fre hot Spot' (get it? Fremantle? Fre? Hot spot?...meh) Whilst roaming, Emily progresses to another telephone call, chatting away and becoming deeply and passionately involved in the conversation as females tend to do on the telephone. But what's this?! A short african-australian lady leans down, seemingly picks something up off our bench, and continues to walk.

Josh: 'Wo, wo, wo!!, what are you doing?!'
Suspect: 'Wo, wo yourself mate I was just leaning over'
Josh: 'Hmmm....curious... sorry then'

Suspect walks for about 20 seconds as I search for my recently evaporated wallet.

Josh 'Wait! You stole my wallet!'
Suspect 'I didn't steal anything mate, I'm no thief!'

I proceed to check her person and baggage, where nothing turns up. And this chick is a twig...not alot of bodily crevasses for hiding. I tell her how sketchy it looked for her to lean over and pick something up, and then my wallet is missing, but with no wallet on her, and her getting ever more aggressive, what's a poor small town Canadian to do?

Did she take it? I think so. Emily I searched garbage cans, under signs....in trees! you name it. No wallet.
That impending feeling of doom when you lose something important, many of us have had it I'm sure, is one of the worst. Initially it's the shock of 'Oh my god it can't be gone', then a strange calm thinking it's probably just fallen somewhere like usual, then a frantic panic of searching, then the blanketing acceptance and distress as you realize in totality what just happened. This process of emotions took about 45 minutes. We went back to the room, double checked, signed up for a new bank card, filed a police report with a very courteous Aussie officer, bought a new wallet with passport withdrawn cash and then felt the need to release this recent story to the Internet.

Hating it? Very much. Between house and job searching, a lost wallet is the last thing you want...other than a leg amputation, which brings me to story number two.


On the pus side

About 6 days ago I flicked a very, minute, teeny-tiny, nano-scopic scab off my left upper thigh. One of those things you don't think twice about. The next day, as this area is a little red and tender, I figure it must have been a brush with some crazy poisonous Australian seaweed, or maybe a little bite by the many creatures we share our hostel room with. No worries mate. By day three and four, this little spot has developed into a geyser like protrudance, radiating infectious warmth from beneath my pant leg. Of course, I took things into my own semi-amateur medical hands and went to work. Starting on the outside of this softball sized lump, I press and squeeze until my face is brighter red then this gargantuan growth. Slowly, ever so slowly, various colours we often associate with maladies greet the daylight...a syrupy green, cream white, deep purple topped with vampiric red. It was beautiful. The colours of a septic rainbow.

Normally when the pressure in a system is released the problem gets better...nuclear reactors, constipation, make-up sex....but on this certain affliction it was not the case. After squeezing as much of these deceased blood cells and bacterium out, the area inflamed anew with an intense burning and deep down soreness. My favorite part of uncertain ailments is the 360 amateur diagnoses you receive while showing off your wound.

'Mate, that's a tropical ulcer, incurable!'
'Probably some sort of spider bite, heaps of them out here'
'Is that an abscess? Ewww'
'Maybe you have leprosy?'

All very valid and intriguing points, and I weighed each of them equally. Now most reading say, Fool! see your way to the nearest doctor immediately. Of course in the comfort of socialized medicine and as a citizen sitting in the snow back in Canada, of course I would! This mofo hurt! One run of some basic antibiotics and your laughing (instead of weeping, which I was both out of my eyes and leg crater). Here in Australia I attempted to see a doctor around Christmas time when I thought I had cracked ribs (I never actually found out but it hurt like a bitch) but after hearing the price tag for a consultation, turned foot. Found some good painkillers and was back to working order in about a month. This was my worry...$20 antibiotics + $160 for a doctor to say 'Mate, is that an abscess? Ew. You need antibiotics'

I did stop off at the pharmacy and ask for some advice, which of course was 'take antibiotics'. The main problem, in my professional opinion, is that I didn't give this bad boy a fair chance to do it's thing, instead I viciously attacked it with pokes and prods, squeezes and squishes. Yesterday I had a heart to heart with this mound of infected flesh, gave it a little peroxide bath, and told it I would leave him alone. Today most of the pain surrounding my limb is gone. There is some residual leakage of various consistencies, but we're talking ping pong ball instead of bowling. Talk to your wounds. Clean them. Go to the doctor if you don't want to be a man and carry your testosterone around in one of those french perfume vials, only using it for special occasions.

Me? I'm going to pour some vodka on my leg, then finish the bottle, smoke a cigar and toss a caber. Not really at all. I'm going to put some ice on my leg and see if anyone has any spare library cards or something to fill my empty wallet

G'night gang

Last month's Recap!

G'day proud people of earth!

My head first foray back into blogging has seen over a month pass by, call it good down home apathy or just saving up a crack pot of good adventures to pour over these digital pages...


Goodbye Melbourne

All was arranged for a quick get away from my city away from home, Melbourne. Feelings ranged from overjoyed escapism to mournful separation anxiety. The amount of time one spends in a place, even with the undertones of wanting to move on, has a very important effect on material living arrangements as well as mentality. I spent 8 months toiling on the mean streets of this city, getting to know the backwater cafes, best routes for a run, best place to catch the sunset and cheapest place for a beer. You take these small effects for granted when you leave, realizing you're a small fish in brand new pond.

Over the course of my 'backpacking' in Melbourne, I went from a hostel, to a new (but much dirtier) hostel, to a share house and then to a comparable palace as far as limited funds internationals go. You could say each move was a positive progression towards 'an ideal living arrangement', but each place had it's own wonderful nuances. Fresh off the boat, Base Backpackers gave me a range of great people who stayed friends right up  until now, and the same can be said about Coffee Palace, although my interest in hostel living was waning after 3 months. When my Ecuadorian friend Jamie (and I wish you good luck wherever you are the moment amigo) found us a share house, this was a godsend, as attraction has no better friend than comparison. Nice backyard, good people, only sharing with one human being instead of ten and your own space to cook, romp, frolic or whatever your into. Of course this suited for a couple months, but as people moved on, dirt accumulated and rent pesteringly hopped out of your wallet the magic tends to dissipate. None-the-less, props to 57 Fawkner and Rest In Peace, Shelob, giant spider/house mascot.

I've talked at length about the wonderful living arrangement I happened on after Christmas, so I won't reiterate. The main points were 24/7 liquor store around the corner, great house with all the amenities, well paid by two jobs and surrounded by great friends and social gatherings. This January to March period will most likely remain the most comfortable I will be in Australia, and thank you to Barbarino's for the great times, Kathy & JP for the wonderfully spider free abode, Chris & the australian tax payer for the grossly overpaid traffic controlling job and everyone I met in Melbourne who made it memorable. Clouds and rain aside, this a great city, with great coffee and good opportunities.

So why bail? Australia is 7.7 million sq km, and occupying one city of that vast space for an entire year is a pretty poor effort. So it was high time to pack the bags and head west....

Tas-Maniacs

We were graced with presence of one Ali Corrigan the last week we lived in Melbourne. After a exciting jaunt along the east coast, which was mostly filled with surf, goon and merry making, she plunkered down in Melbourne with yours truly for a new and exciting adventure! Now what's more exciting than a tour around Tasmania with wind and rain ripping at our jackets while we climbed near insurmountable terrain, gazing upon rugged vistas in the lush and green national parks? Nothing. That's right.

This was 3 days before i was due to leave melbourne, so timing was everything. Luckily the two day tour and flight coincided nicely to arrive, tour about and fly back in time for the drive to Perth. As some of you that have read this blog may know, some of my short-comings include:

Responsibility
Punctuality
Leg presses

So the flight to tasmania leaves at 6:15, which is only realized by the both of us at around 5:00pm. Our mistake. Luckily we make it to the airport at 5:45pm, but alas, tis not enough. These budget tickets (still on the plus side of $150) make little leeway for truant flyers, so after much  heated debate and some sulking, we are refused entry onto the flight and sent back into the melbourne rain. No flight. No tours. No Tasmania. The disappointment was only quelled by the hilarity of the situation as we shuffled back to the shuttle bus and watched our plane fly into the damp, dark sky.


Down, but not beaten, we booked a wine tour for the next day and it was very pleasing. Lots of wine, a meal and some beautiful country side. Tasmania was a big item on my 'Oz checklist', but let's hope it is still there in a couple years when I return, on time, with a smile and full wallet. Thank you miss Ali for keeping your chin up. <3

Melbourne to Perth

There's a system of vehicle relocation in Australia that's actually pretty rad. For one to five dollars a day you agree to pick up this vehicle at point A and have it at point B in six or seven days. Most of the time some of the gas will be covered in this arrangement, so naturally that's what this happy pack of campers arranged for. Originally, and luckily not finally, we had four wheel drive toyota booked. Excellent say Ye, what's better than a 4WD in the Australian outback? Read on. I got a call three days prior to departure saying the vehicle has been cancelled, sorry about your luck. WTF? says I, as a jobs are quit and luggage is packed. I call back that same day and the good people at the relocation company arrange a camper van. Worse mileage, slower and definitely not made for off road travel, as well as leaving a day earlier. Fine, says I, just happy to have something. Imagine our jaw dropping surprise when we rock up and realize it's a house on wheels!  Lying somewhere between a Winnebago and sleeper van this monster had it all. Television, shower, microwave, two beds, toilet, just have a look---->

http://www.blue-travel.net/apollo/images/aumh6_0.jpg

(not our children)

Imagine driving through the vast nothingness that is the australian desert in a small truck or this casa del moto. As we drove we played, we laughed, we scrabbled, we cooked, we filled the fridge and would park it at night, plug in and enjoy all the amenities of a small trailer home!  The drive, landscape-wise, was nothing you would put on a post card, unless you specialized in treeless, flat and arid postcards, which is a bit of a niche market. But combined with almighty power of our sweet ride, the 4500km drive was cruisy and enjoyable. Everyone got a turn at the wheel, topping out at a cool 110km/hr, and we thoroughly enjoyed the back country road houses and gas stations along the way. In the end, the snacking and petrol costs ended up being more than a flight, but how many people can say they darted across australia in a mini home without killing any kangaroos? Now at least four.
 
News on Perth (or Fremantle, as the big city still beckons in the horizon for $1.70 train ride), will have to come on the next post, as I'm back to paying for the Internet and am currently watching the window beep at me telling me to pay up or clear off. Starting fresh is always a challenge, but challenges are adventures in their own right, and I do like a good adventure. So until next time!

Ps. Been gone a year circa April 29. Boo Ya.

Re-Boot!

This is just a quick blog post to say I'm going to try blogging again...

Everytime I would think about writing a new entry, one of three things would happen;

1. Realized that I had nothing to blog about
2. Become lazy as a koala in a coma
3. Found the topic to be ranting philosophical poppy-cock!

Of course all of these things are a load of hooey as you can blog about any funny thing that happened in your day, if not a little embellished, I've never met a koala in a coma they could be a barrel of fun, and a little in depth hooey rant never hurt anyone...So!

mustard up some courage and relish in the next few paragraphs while we play ketchup! (wtf?)

I'm sitting in our quaint little hovel in Melbourne, listening to the sound of the Australian Gran Prix going on two suburbs away. Noisy. Take a hive of bees, all with jet engines propelling them, and poke them with a stick. That is what we listen to for 8 hours a day this weekend. I have never, and most likely will never, be a fan of car racing. I appreciate hot dogs, red necks and feel a shred of excitement knowing that a land vehicle can corner turns at 280km+, but to watch this in a circular pattern for 4 days in a row (at $300 a day) is way beyond my comprehension. Gran Prieze get over soon.

 The sky is gray as autumn has descended on this part of Australia, the sun makes feeble attempts at this point, but the city has grown quite complacent with drizzle and overcast. Even so the temperature tends to peter our at a breezy 20c, and I'm happy as long as I can leave the house without a head to toe bundle-up. Apparently, this has been 'the worst' summer in melbourne for a very long time. Record rainfall, record low of sunshine hours, floods up north and in the surrounding area...a real home run as far as years to visit. I bemoan not though, as I have fully avoided a Canadian winter and have a very exciting move on the horizon!!

If you like, grab a map of Australia (yah right...open it on google), and note melbourne on the south-east coast. Tall buildings, trendy metropolis, good coffee & bad beaches. Now run your gaze way over to the west coast and you'll see Perth, a city I remember flying over coming from southeast asia and saying 'oh! almost there'. Negative. It's claim to fame is the most isolated major city in the world, and runs about 3 hours flight from melbourne. It'll be very exciting to finally see some more of australia, especially if the sun and surf is as good as the grapevine suggests. Chris, Emily, Patty and myself are heading out within the month, saying goodbye to 8 months of melbourne and onto a new, hopefully sunnier, adventure. As far as leaving melbourne goes, it'll be sad to say goodbye to basically the only thing I know in Oz, but having friends right there with you is paramount...no solo creeping finally!

What else? Emily went back to America for two weeks, and I must say, despite my best efforts, I missed a girl. My backpack has been hiding under the bed for quite a few months, traded in for a little more organized lifestyle...not less crazy!...just organized. We went down to a little hole in the wall called philip island awhile back, buddied up with some Koalas and Roos, watched these little penguins walk back to their little penguin holes, and ate pizza on the beach. Fair warning, the 'Penguin Parade' penguins are just little fellas, not those awesome ones from march of the penguins or Batman Returns. It was a very sightseeing/old fogey kind of tour (so we fit in perfect) but it was really good to see some wildlife...imagine coming to Canada for a year and not seeing a beaver or moose! You would never live it down! There are pictures on facebook...note the chemistry between Emily and the Emus as long lost friends.... I'd say my favorite was a 400lb kangaroo with biceps the size of texas. Do not mess with these silly animals, they will punch the daylights out of you! We also hit the great ocean road about 3 weeks ago and as the name entails....it was on the ocean, very road like, and we had a great time. Good pictures, nice weekend and 6 out of the 12 apostles that are left are stunning.

The last post was a piss pot of a few different topics, but lack of work was a prevalent topic. I  think if you ask any backpacker, young worker or student they will all agree that australia, as they come, is a fairly pricey affair. This can get in the way of really important priorities like slabs of beer, lunch and activities. I hate to say it, but money is a major factor when hammering out any kind of trail, especially down under, mate. Luckily, a break came last month when Chris walked in offered up the chance to join him traffic controlling. You've all seen these guys. Stop/slow sign waving around, bright vest, standing around a hole in the road doing nothing. That's the long and short of it, but to maintain face I will say it's a harrowing career choice with limitless hazards presenting themselves each day, with only your pylons and wits to protect you from the constant flow high speed vehicles. And crosswords. Lots of crosswords.

That being said, the pay is really welcome change from the coins of hospitality, although I'm still doing the restaurant gig to grease the wheels before the move...job hunting is hideous, and whatever buffer of cash I have to get me through it will be more than welcome! Here's a few tips for day 1 off the plane in Oz

1. Don't stay in a hostel more than a month or work for a room!!
        - The amount of money you spend on a shared dorm comes uncomfortably close to the amount you can pay for a decent share house or apartment, you just have to constantly be on the lookout. As well, the amount of money you save by working at the hostel doesn't equal the amount of money you'll make working a regular job.

2. Know People!
      - I know this one sounds silly, but it's huge. Know at least 2 or 3 people before you get here if you can, meet their friends and meet their friends friends. The more people you know, the more fun you'll have and the more accommodation and work opportunities pop up!

3. Think of the amount of money you need, then double it.
      - Maybe not double it, but if I was coming to australia from home and working out a figure, it would be no less than 8000$ dollars. That way you can do all the major attractions, tours, relax THEN run out of money and start working. Tourist first, resident after. $8 dollar pints, $400 tours, $60 day rent-a-cars. Not prices for the feint of wallet.

4. Decide on a 2nd year VERY early
      - Between the ages of 18 and 30, most developed nations can get a one year work visa in australia. If you do agriculture work (cowboy, eggplant picker, human fence etc)  for 3 months, you qualify for a second year. I've come to terms with the fact that I won't be doing another working holiday visa in Oz, because I didn't do this 3 month work, but years from now I might kick myself in the butt for not biting the bullet and picking some goddamn apples for low wages and getting a second year in this beautiful country. Sort it early!

I've been a an absolute bum on the Blog, and hope to mend my ways for the remaining time here, for myself and anyone reading it, good night human beings, whatever planet your on!

On having the right attitude...

The mind of man is capable of anything - because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future
-Heart of Darkness


I very recently had chat about about having the right attitude. You can sift through mounds of ostentatious self help books, breathe methodically in a yoga class or watch birds alight on lilac bushes while listening to orca sounds over a synthesizer, but real peace comes from a place very deep within. Whether that deep place can be found in the soul, chi, cortex...whatever, that's where it comes from, within. I tend to think of myself as a very positive person, try to greet each day with no hangups from the previous one and ultimate exhilaration for the one in front of me. It's not always the case though. Most days I wake up and feel like the world can be conquered, not in a Alexander or Genghis Khan kind of way, but in limitless possibilities respect. The countries I want to visit, the careers I want to pursue, the languages to be learned and all the friends to make, these are what make my blood flow. Sometimes in the thrill of anticipating your future though, you find that the present has formed a smothering blanket of 'I want' & "I wills' around you. Some people go through a mid life crisis, maybe around 40 or 45. Perhaps I'm going through a mid life visa crisis, as February marks 6 months in Australia. Let me lament for a moment until I get back to the main point of having the right attitude.

SE Asia was an unreal experience, the smells, the sights, the people I met and all the things to be learned. I have told a few people that if I was to do it again, perhaps I wouldn't constantly have a drink in my hand and take a few days to go through some organized tours. Perhaps kayaking, some rock climbing, hot springs (although these would have been suicide in that heat). Whatever. You get my point, activities. This is one of those pseudo-regrets where you say you would do it differently, but in fact would change nothing given the opportunity again. Of course hind-sight is always 20/20, but I usually find that to be synonymous with 'a learning experience', which it was.

Australia is different though. I showed up here unannounced, unplanned and under-financed. By the time I hit Australian soil my bank account was empty, my credit card was near to maxed out, I had lost 20 pounds from sweaty traveling and it was COLD. I stayed in a hostel for 3 months trying to figure where to live, how to make money and who to make friends with. It wasn't bad by any means, but I lost the glamour of new, shiny and affordable backpacking. For awhile, I worked two jobs with barely time for a shit in between shifts, and it was terrible, obviously, but I made the cash I desperately needed. I realized that one of the jobs, despite the incredible social scene, just wasn't worth my bang for it's buck, so (as my version goes) just kind of phased out. I worked casually at the other job up until Christmas, barely scraping more than 25 hours a week. I won't bore you with figures, but deducting one night out, rent and food there is little to throw at the ever amassing credit card, with less than coins going into a saving account.

So Christmas rolls around, and this job is shut for three weeks. This is where a mature, savvy and accountable human being would have pursued other options for not only income, but for the sheer sake of not wasting time. But years of hospitality work, a master card safety net and a lack of temperance has turned me into the antithesis of the formerly mentioned traits. Christmas was filled with all the normalities you would expect at that time of year, minus the snow of course. Good cheer, flowing booze, turkey and people you care about. It was a Christmas to be remembered, if not wholly so (chug chug). I worked New Years Eve at a massively packed and beautiful venue, making enough scratch to at least buy the days bread. The day after, I booked a flight up to the Whitsundays to rendezvous with the Christmas crew, and spared no expense. Or MasterCard didn't anyways. As some of you have probably seen the pictures, I regret nothing. The immeasurable beauty of that part of Australia hurts to look at, and being there with good friends made it all the more memorable.

Now, however, back in Melbourne at the 25 hours/week job, with an almost insurmountable amount of debt accumulated, a dark part of this nomad life starts to eclipse that conquerir le monde attitude. But this is where the right attitude has never been more important. Some people think about it in different ways, and I'm always a culprit for saying 'It could be worse'. This idiomatic mantra may seem harmless, but in looking at the bottom you tend to forget to look up. Today, for instance, it is 32 degrees out. I have recently moved into a house with cheaper rent, no spiders and amazing friends. I have parents who dish out tough love, but never disparaging criticism and friends who I'll speak to no more than 3 or 4 times in a year, but will greet me back like no time has passed (I hope anyway!)

In the conversation about having the right attitude, I was told I'm regretting the things that haven't happened yet, which is stupid. I agree.

*I know this sounds like a lot of self indulged horse shit, but it's not just about being broke or anxious or far from home. Take whatever is bothering you, or ruining you, and just flip it on it's head. If school isn't what you thought it would be, chuck it and move somewhere exotic. If your not making enough money, spend less, or find a way to make more. If you don't know what to do with your life, try heaps of different things, get a tattoo or join a racquet ball league. Don't let things that won't matter 15 years from now ruin this moment, and I promise I will try and do the same. thanks.