While I'm at it

This seems like a gross abuse of the family-friendly Great Lakes Science Center (what an obnoxious Web site, by the way) and its popular special exhibition:

We didn't speak with words, but we still communicated...

I tried to get close to you, but couldn't get close enough. But, you knew I was there.

When you and your friend looked at a certain body part on the female skater and then you looked at me, we both know what I was thinking.

When you left, you read what I wrote in the guest book. If you can repeat part of it, we can get even closer.

You wore a tan t-shirt with an image of a woman at the beach. Your brown hair and eyes were beautiful, matched only by the shape of your figure. I'd love to have some time with you, playing with your hair, gazing into your eyes, stroking your feminine figure. Let's have our own Body World!

Please email.

This sorta makes me want to hurl into the Harbor.

Bravery is a matter of perspective

The hot salsa at Chipotle really isn't that hot, but whatever it takes, man, whatever it takes.

Canine electorate

Reason #4,568,374 that Australia is awesome:

Even the doggies have a say.

Don't judge a drunk book by its seemingly out-of-touch cover

While in Strahan, Tasmania, my husband and I had the privilege of meeting a charming local character at a pub. His name was Grant, but he preferred to be called Granto. Dressed in red flannel, he had scraggly dark hair and a mid-length black beard extending from his chin. It appeared that everyone in the pub knew him, much to their chagrin, and some displayed considerable ennui at the prospect of having to get Granto home from the pub again.

Husband and I were sitting along the back wall, drinking Cascade, watching footy and generally keeping to ourselves. It was about 8:30 p.m. when Granto stumbled over to us, can of VB in hand, and introduced himself. He asked us if we were from France and -- perhaps because we didn't recognize potential sarcasm from a wasted Tasmanian -- we told him we were from the U.S. He replied earnestly that he'd always wanted to go to the U.S. and visit Dallas, because of the TV show.

This struck us as particularly hilarious because: (1) the real Dallas is, I'm sure, not much like that depicted on Dallas, so unless he wants to loiter around South Fork impersonating an oil baron he's likely to be disappointed; and (2) how strange to make such an earnest popular cultural reference 20 years after the show's heyday. It would not have been surprising if he had told us he really wants to visit Wisteria Lane, or Springfield. Those references are current. But, Dallas? To see the Ewings? What?

So anyway, today I came across this little tidbit: apparently, a production company is currently casting for the big-screen adaptation of Dallas, a la the recent Dukes of Hazzard. John Travolta is being considered for the role of J.R. and, naturally, Jessica Simpson for Lucy. It is clear that Granto knew something that we didn't, and that Dallas is perched on the brink of world domination once again.

The moral of this story: even though they are completely pissed, unhygienic skirt-chasers who work two jobs to support their 12-year-old sons and swear they don't like to offend women only seconds before calling someone a "cunt," Tasmanians, at the end of the day, seem to know what's going on.

Where is the little empowered women's magazine I carried?

From the New York Post, regarding Jane magazine:

"The November issue [the first since Jane Pratt left] has a neon logo cover. There's a push to make it a little more mass market, but that's never what Jane was about."

Told you.

Architeuthis!

Scientists have photographed a live giant squid in the wild for the very first time. This is even more exciting than the Space Shuttle, for the unexplored depths of the oceans are, in many ways, more alien than whatever's out in space.

Bad ass.

Update: More scintillating information on the giant squid! And there's a "colossal squid" too! This is way cool!

Denouement: honeymoon

We just recently returned from our blissful 17-day honeymoon in Australia (19 days if you count the days we lost in flight), and I must say, the whole thing sort of feels like a dream. A really good dream filled with natural beauty, beer, pipes through which flows chocolate and precious golden retrievers. (The precious golden retrievers do not flow through the pipes. Perhaps I should have written, "...natural beauty, beer, golden retrievers and pipes through which flows chocolate.")

I normally keep very detailed diaries of my vacations, especially to Australia. I didn't this time; I blame this on my status as a Cascade-drinking, jet-lagged honeymooner. Truthfully, I was a little (a lot) lazy, and am already kicking myself. How else am I going to savor the incredible details? I know, I can blog!

Highlights:

1. Our obscenely posh hotel room at the Park Hyatt Sydney. The Opera House was about two meters away from our private balcony. Perhaps the most luxurious detail: I did not have to hurl the comforter into a corner immediately upon entering the room, fearful of the DNA that had certainly been left there by previous visitors. This room was so clean, I could have eaten Cadbury chocolates off the duvet, or off the marble bathroom floor. I did not actually do this, thankfully, but knowing I could have was more than enough.
   
   
2. Dukkah, a spice mixture of Middle Eastern origin that is very popular in Australia right now. It's served with crusty bread and olive oil; dip the bread in the oil, then in the dukkah, then inhale in mass quantities. I think it includes coriander, sesame seeds, pistachios, cumin and salt, among other ingredients. I spent several meals staring into the ramekins containing the mixture, trying to divine a recipe for it -- an action which no doubt made me look like an idiot to the waiters. Whatever.
   
   
3. Dogs of several shapes and sizes, although specifically golden retrievers. As I mentioned in an earlier post, we spent one perfect night at a bed and breakfast in the Huon Valley south of Hobart, Tasmania, called Matilda's of Ranelagh. There were delightful doggies, one of which literally met us at the end of the driveway as we drove in. She just trotted along, looking over her doggie shoulder every so often to make sure we were following her. These three goldens -- Pinot, Molly and Blossom -- live the good life in the Tasmanian countryside, enjoying a bowl of raw meat each afternoon and making merry with dog-loving guests from around the world. Pamela, our host, told me that people who don't like dogs don't stay with her, and she wouldn't want them to, anyway. (All this dog-talk glosses over another critical feature of our stay: the bed. I have never in my life slept in a more comfortable bed. Seriously. If Pamela needs some sort of live-in help, I am so there.)
   
   There was also a most excellent shih-tzu named Max at our B&B in the Barossa Valley, South Australia. He was an energetic little thing, and we watched him get into an amusing three-way stare-down with an alpaca and a sheep:
   
   
   
4. Dion: Strahan, Tasmania's, gregarious tree-loving man-boy. On the west coast of Tasmania lies Macquarie Harbour -- Australia's second largest harbour (behind Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne) -- and the Gordon River. A tiny port town called Strahan (pop. 700) is the only town for many kilometers, and trades mostly in tourism by offering cruises on the stunning harbour and river. We booked into a Gordon river cruise on the Lady Jane Franklin II for a six-hour tour, and were guided along the way by a young gentleman named Dion. Dion had the looks and boyish charm of Donny Osmond matched with the wisdom and tree-passion of John Muir. Dion exuberantly informed us that "this is a great time of year if you love trees!"
   
   And I do love trees, especially the amazing Huon Pines that grow along the Gordon River and contain a potent rot-resistant oil that makes the timber prized for ship construction. I understand his fervor, so I can't make fun of him too much. But my husband can. By the time the trip was over, poor Dion -- who is doubtless married to a nice school teacher and probably has a little baby -- had grown in legend to be this flamboyant naturalist who bathes in Huon oil and whose head cannot be turned by young women, such is his singular focus on the great pine.
   
   
5. Pipes of chocolate. Not a Wings song, but rather, literal pipes that run throughout the Cadbury Factory in Claremont, Tasmania, carrying melted chocolate and liquid candy centers to their respective conveyor belts and molding machines. Mostly I assume that pipes carry water, or sewage, or runoff. But these magnificent conduits are filled with Dairy Milk chocolatey goodness. If only one had burst while we were standing under it.
   
   On a related note, at several points during the Cadbury tour the guide distributes samples to the eager group. On our tour, there was a young mother with two elementary school-aged daughters. One was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. At a sample stop, the mum loaded up the hood with chocolates, and when she or the girls were hungry along the way they just reached into the hood and helped themselves. Resourceful.
   
   
6. HOFM 101.7, "Today's Better Music Mix," Hobart, Tasmania. A great destination on the dial if you'd like to hear Huey Lewis and the News, James Blunt, Creedence, Kelly Clarkson and George Thorogood, preferably in that order. If you're a frequent listener -- or are able at least to amass a network of listener friends -- you could have the opportunity to win $201 if they call you and you know that hour's song. Please pay attention; it is embarrassing how few people were able to collect the $201.

More to come. I haven't even touched upon driving on the left side of the road, the mildly frightening New Zealanders who were following us around Victoria, or the deafening silence of South Australia's Limestone Coast -- a vast quietness punctuated only by the distant mooing of stock.

Denouement: INXS show

I am back on this side of the planet and -- keenly aware of my priorities -- I have caught up with the final episodes of the INXS show, lovingly recorded for me by TiVo. (TiVo is so thoughtful!)

As I have already mentioned in this fine forum, I was rather surprised when I heard on Australian TV that J.D. was the victor. I was more surprised that MiG didn't even come in second -- that honor went to Marty. However, having now watched the episodes, it is very clear why MiG was eliminated. Perhaps I have been easily influenced by reality television editing, but J.D. really does seem to be the better choice. There are a number of factors that did in MiG:

1. The theatricality. While he was not nearly as saccharine as Ty, MiG's musical theater experience never quite disappeared from his stage act. At the end of the day, he really did seem more like an actor playing the role of a rock singer, versus exuding that spontaneous and genuine quality which is innate in rock singers and simply cannot be taught. Which leads to....
   
   
2. The shirt ripping. When MiG was finally voted into the bottom three, during his performance of "What You Need" he ripped his million-dollar vintage rocker tee to allow forth his heaving, six-packed torso. I don't know if he had planned this or not, but it seemed so out of place that I can't help but assume he made a little pre-show mental note to himself: "Dear MiG, Remember to tear shirt, bare hulking pectorals during Kirk Pengilly saxophone solo. Love, MiG."
   
   
3. The sunny lyrics. J.D. was right when he said that rock and roll lives in the holes. It's at its very best when it's exploring the darker corners of the human experience. Even when all is well in my life, I like to listen to tales of others' woe told via rock and roll. I was relieved when Andrew Farriss suggested that MiG's lyrics move toward a less optimistic place; I can't take an INXS album full of songs lyrically similar to "A Whole New World."
   
   (Aside: this is the same reason I disliked Rhett Miller's solo album, The Instigator. When he got married and contented, his songwriting became way too optimistic for me. I mean, I wish him well, but I'd take the beer-drenched songs of failure and regret over his happy poppy love songs anyday.)
   
   
4. The confusion regarding the meaning of the word "obvious." From the Chicago Tribune, in answer to a question regarding what makes MiG the right man for the job: "Apart from the obvious things, like I'm Australian, and my name is actually Miguel -- MiG is short for Miguel, which is actually Michael in Spanish. And the fact that also my birthday is Jan. 12 and Michael Hutchence's is Jan. 22; and he was born 1960, I was born 1970. Apart from all those obvious things, I think that INXS are looking for a real team member ... I think I've shown time and time again that I'm a team member ... I'm a very generous guy."
   
   What? It is not obvious to me that a qualification for the lead singer gig is proximity of one's birth date to Michael Hutchence's. MiG and Michael aren't even both Capricorns! Please.

J.D. is edgy, spontaneous and a bit dangerous. He badmouths his fellow competitors! He thwarts CBS censors! He sings through a megaphone! He lets girls suck liquor off his toes! He does illicit things with cake! It will be much more interesting to watch him than it would be to watch placid, pleasant MiG.

Sorry, MiG. I wanted you to win, and I was disappointed when I heard you didn't. But when I saw it unfold before my very eyes on the small screen, I understood the decision of Tim Farriss the Wise.

(By the way, this change of heart has nothing at all to do with the fact that MiG likes Ty. J.D. likes him too. So there.)

When you gotta post, you gotta post

We are in the Adelaide airport, awaiting our Virgin Blue flight to Sydney, and there is of course a little Internet kiosk. Ever since I learned last night of J.D.'s mighty victory on the INXS show, I have wanted to blog so badly that "my fingers were coming off my hands" (in the words of my husband).

I must say, I was shocked that he won, but pleasantly so. He was definitely the sexiest, most leonine, most rock star-ish of the bunch. And I know that somewhere, Ty is so upset about J.D.'s win that he had to go back to his room and bite his pillow.

Hurray. More when I am back in the northern hemisphere!

Do do do la la la la laaa.....

Had a moment on the way north to Devonport, Tasmania to catch the ferry to Melbourne yesterday evening. There is a town, south of Burnie, called Ridgley. Since we have the technology to create a little soundtrack for such a moment, husband and I set the iPod to play the Wham! hit "Everything She Wants" as we drove through town -- a song which, as everyone knows, features stellar back-up vocals by the underappreciated Andrew Ridgley. Yes, we traveled to the other side of the world for just such experiences.

And moments like the following, too: today at the Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne, we witnessed an odd confluence of disparate and disorienting events, all taking place within 50 yards of each other. Right down the block from where a man was selling camel rides for $5 (pony rides were a mere $4), there was a kids' karaoke display. The two girls in this photo were singing "Irresistible" by Jessica Simpson, and I must say, they had a little swaying dance step down pat. Note the angry teenager scowling at me in the foreground:

Right behind where I was standing there was one of those teacup amusement park rides, and next to that, a stand selling "Spanish donuts." Best. Market. Ever.

Too much Tasmanian excitement for one little blog

Internet access is, as one might imagine, very limited to the traveler in Tasmania. There are public libraries in tiny little towns that signal online availability with an adorable poster featuring the shape of Tasmania rendered as a computer mouse. However, when one is trying to get from point A to point B on an island state in the southern ocean -- even when one's husband is, in normal life, focused like Dr. Evil's laser on the Internet and all it has to offer -- it's very easy to pass up the public libraries and allow one's blog to suffer sadly in its non-updated status.

Picture the thrill, then, when we checked into our B&B in Strahan, on Tasmania's west coast, and our host Mike told us that he had a computer available for guests' Internet use. The only thing that kept us from blogging all night long -- and instead forced us out into the local pub where a drunken bearded Tasmanian named Granto proved to us that drunks are the same the world over by asking us the same questions repeatedly in a two-minute span -- is the fact that this computer has dial-up Internet access. I can hear the rodentia turning the CPU's wheels as I write.

Anyway. Enough about computers. (When did I become such a loser? Perhaps when I purchased a beach towel that says "Sith Lord" at Target.)

Tasmania is amazing. There are not enough superlatives to describe this place. One could spend months here and not even scratch the surface -- the five days we have allotted here are nearly an injustice. On Wednesday we spent the day at Port Arthur, the notorious facility on the Tasman Peninsula for convicts who committed additional crimes after arriving in Australia. We toured all day long, dodging school groups of cranky and uninterested adolescents wearing t-shirts with such epithets as "High Maintenance Bitch." We booked into the ghost tour of Port Arthur that evening, which might sound cheesy and contrived but I assure you was fascinating. Given the reality of what has taken place on that site, the stories -- masterfully told by our guide -- were telling and, dare I say, believable. Our tour group included some veterans from the HMAS Hobart, so I felt extra-safe. (The High Maintenance Bitch was part of a group that departed just before ours, mercifully.)

Thursday we drove into the Huon Valley (south of Hobart) to the Tahune Airwalk, which is this gigantic cantilevered steel structure that allows visitors to walk among the canopy of the towering eucalypts. I have never seen such a thing in my life. Not for the faint of heart -- or the fearful of heights -- we got to see the very tops of trees I am not even lucky enough to see the bottoms of in regular everyday life. In addition to the Tasmanian Blue Gums, there were all sorts of exotic species like the Celery-Top Pine and the "Horizontal," a tree that, as its name suggests, grows horizontally through the bush. And of course the magnificent Huon Pine, an extremely hardy and slow-growing pine that the convicts were made to harvest to near extinction in the 1800s. There are Huon Pines that are 2,500 years old, although the most magnificent stands were felled long ago and now primarily young trees remain. I took dozens of photos of Huon Pine boughs.

We then checked into our B&B in the Huon Valley, an unreal place called Matilda's of Ranelagh. The host, a woman named Pamela who used to own Matilda's Meadow winery in Western Australia, has three golden retrievers who meet you at the door: Molly, Pinot and Blossom. It was quite possible that I had died, and this was heaven. We didn't want to leave this morning, and it might not be wishful thinking to assume that Pinot didn't want us to leave, either. He looked kind of wistful as we drove off.

Spent the vast majority of today driving to the west coast, from the Hobart area to Strahan. I drove the whole way, and I must say the driving on the left side of the road is addicting. Especially since I was driving through the mountains, in the rain. It was like a videogame wherein you must drive on the opposite side of the road in the cold rain whilst avoiding wallabies and out-maneuvering gregarious ute drivers. I totally won the game, as we made it to Macquarie Harbour in one piece. (Well, really two pieces, since there are two of us, but I guess now that we're married we're, like, one.)

Tomorrow: Gordon River cruise, then back across the Bass Strait to Melbourne.

Tasman Sea, rougher than you might expect

I have a whole new appreciation for the competitors who sail the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race each year. Those waters are choppy.

Arrived late yesterday afternoon into Devonport, Tasmania, on board the Spirit of Tasmania III. I loved the 24-hour trip, and slept a good deal of it. (For me, there's nothing quite as comforting as sleeping on a boat, being rocked to sleep by the waves, or in this case, towering swells.) Husband didn't fare so well, and although he never actually got sick, he was queasy for the majority of the crossing. I feel bad that I will be hauling him across the Bass Strait to Melbourne in a few days. But that trip is shorter, and we will buy him some Tylenol PM to get him through it.

We're now in Swansea, on the east coast of the island near the Freycinet Peninsula, in the Internet access area of the local library. We just returned from a hike -- and I mean a hike -- to the Wineglass Bay overlook in the Freycinet National Park. My husband and I are very out of shape due to the constant Tim Tam-eating, and we got lapped on the steep climb by folks in their 70s. That's OK; they were friendly. We stayed last night in a lovely B&B in Swansea; our hosts, Karen and Bob, were wonderful. It is interesting to note that Swansea won the "Tidy Town" award in recent years. I must say, it is very tidy here.

As soon as we finish computing, we're off to Hobart, which is on the southeast coast of Tasmania. We plan on touring the Cadbury Factory (see our inability to hike, above) and visiting the convict ruins at Port Arthur on the Tasman Peninsula. The Tasman Peninsula is harsh and forbidding and relatively close to Antarctica. I am so excited; Zanne is so jealous.

I think I might start a blog devoted solely to gapao neua

Today, between visiting the Anzac Memorial and drinking Shiraz in our robes on our hotel veranda, we enjoyed an amazing Thai lunch at a modest restaurant overlooking Circular Quay called Sailor's Thai. My husband ordered a dish named gapao neua, and this is what arrived at our balcony table:


Perfectly spiced ground beef, scallions, chiles, a garlic dipping sauce and a crispy fried egg with a runny yolk perched atop rice. I don't even eat beef, yet I had some of it. Couldn't pass it up. It was so delicious, when he was done eating it, my husband actually sang "Sunrise, Sunset" in remembrance of a meal gone by.

I was able to refrain from battling Obi-Wan as I climbed o'er the steel trusses

Something critically important that I forgot to mention yesterday: Hayden Christensen -- yes, Anakin/Darth himself -- climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge in 2005. A plaque appears in the Bridgeclimb lobby as a testimonial to this glorious event.

If only I had been there, perhaps I could have convinced him that Sith is never the answer.

Sydney: It's just like Akron!

Yes, I am halfway 'round the world, in a city of international reknown, a glittering gem on the Tasman Sea, but really, Sydney is a lot like Akron, OH.

Yesterday -- after climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge to its magnificent summit on a perfect sunny, yet breezy and cool, spring day -- husband and I ducked into the Glenmore Hotel for a few beers. They have a roof deck, and as we gulped Toohey's New from plastic cups and watched t-bones being grilled to order on the rooftop BBQ, I was reminded of our favorite local rooftop joint, the Lime Spider, in Akron. Sure, I've never seen this in Akron:

But still.

After rooftop drinking, we headed in search of some type of Italian dinner. We found a tiny, packed, cheap place with a questionable house red, even more questionable "celebrity" photos on the wall (John Tesh), and cheesy pizza. All reminders of Akron's finest Italian restaurant, Luigi's. You can travel the world over, but it's really all the same. I find this most comforting.

In other news, as I blog this morning there are excellent things happening on the music video channel: an INXS rock block. Like, six INXS videos in a row! Including "Baby Don't Cry!" Which leads me to (sorry, Zanne): Jordis was eliminated this week on the INXS show. This is OK with me. My prediction for the final four: Marty is next, then J.D., then Suzie. MiG will win.

Off now to Taronga Zoo so hubby can see a kangaroo.

You better run, you better take cover

Since my last post, I have (a) become someone's wife, and (b) traveled to Australia. Both extremely exciting developments, to be sure, but only one of them involved snacking on Oreos while hurtling over the International Date Line, oblivious to date and time and space. I promised my sister I would update this fine forum from Down Under, so here goes.

[But first, I have to help my beloved husband figure out the coffee maker in our hotel room.]

We arrived early Wednesday morning Sydney time (late Tuesday afternoon in Ohio), and the jet lag has not released us yet. Our hotel room -- the Park Hyatt in the shadow of the Harbour Bridge -- is so luxurious as to be obscene. For example, this is the view from our private veranda:

Ridiculous. But awesome. Plus, my dear Aussie friends left a gift basket in our room for us containing all my favorite Australian treats: Tim Tams, Cadbury Crunchies, a bottle of Australian sparkling wine and two Crown Lagers (a.k.a., Crownies). Also in the basket: two gift certificates for the Sydney Harbour Bridgeclimb, their wedding gift to us.

[Couldn't figure out how to work the coffee maker. Wonderful new husband just brought me a pot of tea, which he is serving to me in bone china.]

We spent yesterday walking around the city -- a long way around the city. I have been here several times before, but my husband has not. I delighted showing him around the Sydney as if it was my own. Of particular interest to me, the following photo, which shows someone's office within the Sydney Opera House. Although this person has a view of one of the most magnificent, sparkling harbours in the world, I will bet any amount that he/she is just as disgusted by his/her paperwork as the rest of us:

And here is the view from said office:

Working, as I do, in an iconic-type building makes you notice things like this. (Although my office is nowhere near the icon that the Sydney Opera House is -- its iconic status has a much more limited reach.)

Anyway, we stopped around 3:00 p.m. for some beer, and returned to the room for a quick jet lag-killing nap. At least that was our intention. At 11:00 p.m., we woke up, rolled over, realized the night was basically shot, and went back to sleep. Got up this morning at 5:30 a.m., of course, so here we go again. We are determined to stay up all day, no naps, to get over this once and for all. Although I must say I don't feel too badly about sleeping so much yesterday -- between the wedding, the immense plane trips, etc., I think we could use the rest. And we don't have this gorgeous hotel room for nothing!

Today, Bridgeclimb. Bitchin'.

Like Balki Bartokomous...

...I literally did the Dance of Joy.

Ty. Was. Eliminated! I jumped from my seat, danced around the living room, and hooted and hollered like an idiot. Then, later, I danced some more. Subsequently, I began to feel quite guilty, as though I should not be celebrating another's disappointment in such gleeful manner; however, my fiance ensured me that someone had to be eliminated, and it's not like I'm cheering Ty's injury in, say, a car accident. So I stood up and danced yet again.

I mean, getting the chorus wrong to "The One Thing" three times in a row? I was cringing and reeling, and then I recalled that Brandon forgot the words to an INXS song when he was in the bottom three -- and they booted him for it. Based on historical precedence, then, INXS had no choice. (As if there were no other reasons to get rid of him.) Even thinking about it now makes me mad.

As if to add insult to injury, Ty intimated that he kept ending up in the bottom three because he is black, which is an unfair and unpleasant accusation to level at viewers. Understand that perhaps people saw right through your acting as a rock and roll singer. I take my rock light on the emoting, unless it comes from a natural, raw place. It is very easy to tell the difference. Your emotion was an effect. It was put on. And don't tell me that it's because you're just so comfortable on stage. There is a big difference between acting sincere and being sincere. You weren't the singer INXS was looking for.

Now, I can relax in the knowledge that while I certainly have my favorites (MiG), I would be relatively happy with any of the remaining five as the new lead singer of INXS. [exhale]