F.B.D.O.

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and write down blog ideas once in a while, you might forget what the hell to write about.

I usually know that it's time to make a post -- whether I have an idea or not -- when I find myself day dreaming about stories I want to write. Recently, my day dreaming starts with the image of a woman curled up with a pillow in a French window. She is looking out into a grassy, yellow meadow with a green evergreen forest in the background. The sun is setting behind the trees and there's a gentle cross-breeze in the room.  Sometimes, somewhere, a piano is playing, but it's muffled by walls or distance. (It's cliche, I know,  but it's a nice picture in a nostalgic sort of way). Then I pick a literary genre, piece togeher some details, and try to create a story that might be worth telling. 

Is there a narrator or am I the narrator? Is it a female voice or a male voice? Is the woman young or old? Am I seeing my own house with someone else in it? If yes, how do I fit into the story?  What is this woman feeling? Is the house empty? Who is playing that piano? What song are they playing?  The song always parrots how I imagine the woman feels: It's Fur Elise playing, but just the up-tempo section (that comes after the right handed notes every kid tries to learn so they can pretend that they know how to play piano for about 6 seconds). Then Charlie Chaplin pops out of the woods and the piano is playing the "The Entertainer", but Charlie Chaplin can't be alive SO he must be a zombie and now the pianist is playing Mozart's Requiem and I'm thinking that this woman is never going to survive the Charlie Chaplin zombie apocalypse with such abject observation skills that she could let an entire orchestra and choir sneak into the house without her noticing, not to mention locking the effing door! You're done for, lady! 

Well, I doubt anyone will be surprised to hear I haven't made millions on any book details. Yet.

So day dreaming covers about, uh, say 85% of my life since the last time I posted. Maybe. Maybe not. The other 15% I've spent at work (less so doing work) and starting to get more selective with my friends and acquaintances that I've made over the past two months. (You can never be too picky when you're new in town). Surprisingly, I've made a handful of friends from the New England area (probably a sign I'm missing home or they are just better people).  

My french roommate hitting in the GPS location for an early Saturday morning road trip to wine country. Mind you, the van was full of roses and other assorted flowers for the wedding. No complaints. 

Recently, I updated my tired-looking backpackers' wardrobe (with the help of my gay roommate, as cliche as it sounds), and continue to do so with weekend visits to the Salvation Army one block away. I've explored the extensive parks and gardens in the Sydney CBD area. On an invite from my French roommate, I kept him company on an overnight trip to the wine county of Orange where he was the florist-decorator for a wedding. Afterward, we sampled the local cellars.  I visited the Blue Mountain National Park and a set of nearby caves. I saw a platypus in the wild  (sorry if you already know this, but I repeat it because I'm proud of it). I went canyoning with a co-worker through a narrow, sun-warmth blocking canyon. And although I didn't see a Sydney Funnel-web spider, I thought about it sneaking up on me the whole time -- that is, until my core temperature got so cold from the water that I couldn't feel my limbs. 

My roommate's flower set up for the dinner table. 

Wine country in sunny Australia!

I've started climbing frequently at Sydney's Indoor Rock Gym, and I'm smashing it despite the fact that the route setters are friendly graders. I met up with a climbing friend from Perth and I pieced together a 26 (5.12b) at the rock gym. At the same time I was graced by my girlfriend who traveled 50 hours (round-trip flying time) to spend a mere week with me. That's purely a sign of her greatness, not mine. 

I've done the touristy stuff. The zoo: classy, well-arranged, nice variety of animals who look and act happy. The aquarium: Nothing special. Save your money. The casino: Don't go unless you plan on winning. Opera house: Sort of cool, but I would like to get back to something in the main concert hall. The Sydney Harbor Bridge: A nice walk with a view if you like windy bridges. Bondi beach: Where I ate my first deep-fried Mars bar. It's touristy but oddly alluring. Manly beach: Some good hikes around the national park, as long as you don't get lost.  I've hopped around the town from wild clubs to high class bars to dives to the gay clubs in "The Slurry". On ANZAC (Australian New Zealand Army Corps) Day, I played two-up and won thirty dollars. 

The ANZAC bridge looking into the Sydney Harbor. 

Fresh sashimi from the fish market in Sydney. 

My roommate is helping me to attain a beginner+ level in piano. Currently, I can play both hands of Jingle Bells. But only the chorus. And it's a kid's version. I sometimes try to improve my french. This typically consists of my french roommate teaching me bad words to call women as we drive to the rock gym. I met the friends of the biker in the video below, who seemly want to pick a fight with me because I was wearing a helmet and riding a road bike (with "skinny tires"). I smiled, got my beer and then filmed this from a higher, farther vantage point. 

So things are good in Sydney. I highly recommend a visit if you ever have the chance. And if it is in the next four months and you're on a traveler's budget, you can sleep at the foot of my bed in a tiny, tiny room. 

But seriously, who is playing that piano?