Prangster in Chicago

Eye-resters unite!

Offensive middle finger gestures to anyone who thinks nappers are lazy. Cause I take naps. I'm excellent at taking naps. Naps are the best.

Article about naps: The Modern World Killed Off The Nap

This old house

It's just a little bit narcissistic how I'm writing a blog post because I can't think of anything to read online. It's 2:46am, or maybe it's 3:46 with daylight savings, and I just finished with a Harpers Bazaar from 2005 that my cousin's got on her bookshelf. We moved out of our house today.

Hallo-what?

I used to trick or treat on Halloween during primary school. A group of us would meet up at a friend's house after school to get changed, then go door-to-door around her neighbourhood with plastic bags to hold our inevitable loot. Once, the door we knocked on turned out to be the home of my mum's friend. Their son opened the door to me standing on their doorstep in a black leotard, black stockings and a cape. I was a "flying bat". He looked me up and down, then yelled out, "Dad!" The dad came to the door. Their matching WTF expressions told me they had no idea about Halloween, so I stood there explaining it to them, stressing the whole point of the exercise was to get free lollies (or candy, for the Americans). After much insistence from my friends, they gave us packets of Asian crackers and a few handfuls of random Chinese lollies. Probably medicinal ones with herbal extracts. After we got home, my friends put the lollies into their mouths and then it was their turn to have WTF expressions on their faces.

Sidenote

A new TV show premiered on Channel 10 last night called Tripping Over. It was about young British people coming to Australia for a holiday and two Sydney guys going over to the UK. The two groups met up in Bangkok since one of the British girls knew one of the Aussie guys and blah blah blah who cares.

So a lot of shit went down in Bangkok. Someone got cranky cause others turned up late and everyone missed their morning boat ride on the river. When they did get their butts onto a boat, there was an explosion and random Bangkokese people died. The British guy came out to his Indian girlfriend and admitted that he'd been sleeping with this hippie guy called Dave they kept running into during their travels. (Dave died on the boat, by the way.) One of the Aussie guys and the blonde British girl had a one night stand because they were sad about the boat explosion and Dave and the random Bangkokese people dying, and the British guy being gay, and his Indian girlfriend being dumped, and maybe also the sad fact that they missed their boat ride that morning. Dammit, if only they didn't miss the boat!

The best part though, was one of the Aussie guys got a stomach bug from a bowl of noodles he ate and ended up missing all the drama with the boat and the deaths. Instead, he spent most of the episode either in the bathroom or trying to hold it in. We saw him sitting naked on the toilet and grunting as his diarrhea burned right through him. The quote of the show came from that very moment. His mother happened to call the hotel room to see how he was. His response: "Mum, I've been on the shitter all day cause I ate something dodgy." Nothing like explosive diarrhea to kick off a new show, I say.

Small steps end in bloody messes

I got dressed all professional and respectable today to meet a guy from an advertising recruitment agency. I had some questions about the industry in Sydney and whether there's a place for a writer like me. After looking through my portfolio (he skipped over the long copy and didn't bother looking through the corporate profiles at the back), he said what I knew he'd say: "You need to get a book of ad concepts together." I told him I was torn between continuing and getting better at what I've been doing. That is, writing for brand communications. And moving into scary unknown territory. That is, advertising. His response went something like this: if you want to be boring and bored, do brand communications, direct marketing and retail copywriting. But if you want to be exciting, have a fun life, laugh maniacally 24/7, be hilarious and cool, then do advertising.

After explaining the difference between what I do and what advertising copywriting is about, he said, "Now if I had a client who came to me specifically asking for a writer who can write..." Then he shrugged and paused for dramatic effect. Like that never happens. Like he was being freaking sarcastic. Like I'm a typewriter monkey with good grammer and this very breed is quickly being phased out by other monkeys. Cooler, more hilarious monkeys who may or may not be able to string a sentence together (his words) but more importantly, can think up "ad concepts".

I walked out of the meeting wondering what the fuck to do. Go for advertising? Or get better at what I do? I suppose the question to ask myself is this: Would I feel prouder of an advertisement that's won a couple of awards, or would I rather write corporate profiles, slogans and annual reports that have the potential to build trust, to affect change and to move people? (I'm thinking IBM levels here.) I know the answer to that already, but I still think it would be nice to win awards. And I think I want to try advertising just to see if I'm good enough to make it.

It must have been a pretty long damn walk back to the train station because when I came home, I took my professional and respectable shoes off and found a bloody blister on the sole of my foot. Here I use the adjective "bloody" very literally. So much for taking small steps.

How the hell am I supposed to move house, let alone go to the movies tomorrow night, if I can't even walk?

Sorry about the photo Janice. I know you don't like feet. And sorry to all others who are grossed out. (I am too.)

Beware of the time robots

Having a blog is a personal battle of sorts. I have to think of stuff to write about, but I also need to censor myself so what I write doesn't actually hold any real meaning. It's one thing to put up a photo of my parents or describe about what I did on the weekend, but to broadcast personal thoughts, feelings, reflections and other information really goes against my rule of not sharing more than I ever have to. In person and especially on this blog. (It's a symptom of my fear of appearing weak and girly, and also my dislike of awkward social moments.) So having started off with this brief disclaimer, I'm going to tread very lightly in the following paragraphs.

I've been in Sydney for about a month and a half, and it's been almost three months since I left my job in Taipei. Since I've been back, I haven't done much except spend time with my mum, apartment hunt, run errands, pack up our house, go see Ben Folds, watch the Socceroos beat Bahrain 2-0 at Aussie Stadium, have a garage sale, hang out with my friends and my cousin Christine, and I have to admit, do some Ebaying. This lull, this break, this hiatus -- whatever you want to call it -- has been an absolute 5-star luxury because I haven't been working, I haven't even been actively looking for a job, and I've been sleeping until whenever the hell I want. Let's be honest, most days I wake up in the afternoon and I don't eat my first meal until 3 or 4 o'clock. In essence, all I've been doing here is be around for my mum.

While there is a part of me that believes by taking this time out I'm losing career momentum, I'm actually thankful that I made the decision because it was the right one to make. Albeit a very hard one. Yesterday my old coworker Everett emailed me the photo album of the DDG company trip to the Philippines. I saw the photos and immediately missed everyone a lot. I could tell they all had a great time and I couldn't help but wish I was still working there and eating those great pork sandwiches every week for lunch. But, on the other hand, Mum and I are moving out of our family home in two weeks' time and just yesterday, we more or less saw and bought the apartment we'll be moving into on December 12th. So no matter how disappointed I am to have missed out on the trip and the fun times with those friends, there really wasn't any other place for me to be than with my mum in Sydney, and helping her as we make this big change.

In keeping with my personal rule, I'm simply going to say that selling this house for my family is like losing a internal organ. It's something we avoided for a very long time because we all feared that by doing so, we would lose a lot more than just the brick and mortar, the walls, the rooms and the pretty garden out front with its cherry blossom tree. Selling this house would mean moving on, moving away, and at the most basic level, change that we're not sure is right for us. But we've done it now. So that's that. And I'm excited about this new apartment in St. Leonards, just as I was excited about our apartment in Taipei when we first moved in. However in the back of my mind, the thought of the Pymble house not being our home is still very alien. I am reluctant to give up the idea. I believe we all are. The last thing we want to do is pack up our things and leave behind the one spot of land that connects us with the things we no longer have, the memories that keep us grounded. To move away is to admit defeat. To acknowledge that so much time has passed that to stay in touch is simply too impractical.

Yet here we are. Just weeks away from going away, from handing over the keys. I'm sure that after we've moved into our new place, Mum and I will say to each other, "Isn't it a relief that we finally moved? The house was too big for us." And it will be the truth. We will feel relieved. And while I would never have thought of this before, I see now that this house got too big for us a long, long time ago. Perhaps I'm only now ready to believe it.

So we had the garage sale...

I wasn't expecting this, but having a garage sale really lowered my view on human decency. People can be so freaking cheap, greedy and shameless. Some haggled with no class whatsoever. They'd want to pay $2 for something we stuck a $20 price tag on. And this stuff wasn't junk!

One guy who wanted to buy books yelled at me in front of everyone, "You're joking! That's too expensive!" I wish I had the nerve to say back, "Might be because you're cheap." It would be interesting to see what these ruthless garage sale price assassins are like in their day-to-day lives. I doubt they donate to charities, do favours for their neighbours or give good Christmas presents. Actually I bet they buy their Christmas gifts from garage sales. Someone should do a study on these animals.

There was this ridiculous Korean woman who spent ages haggling with my mum. She saw this Japanese bone china teapot marked as $30 and said, "Is that 30 cents?" Mum said no. Her reply, "But isn't this a garage sale?" Later on she'd say she wanted a half-used bag of fertiliser for free that we had lying around in the garden bed and also a small carpet that was in the house. Uh, double no. The icing on the cake was having her ask us how much we sold our house for. Three times. We didn't tell her.

But there was some good amongst all the bad. My favorite was this young guy who came up and said to me quietly, "I'll give you $25 for this shelf?" It was marked $30. I said sure. We ended up giving a lot of stuff for free to people who were friendly and haggled a little, not like it was a sport. We gave so much stuff to the Indian boys who bought our dining set and bedroom set. Chairs, crockery, lamps, sofa cushions. One of them had just gotten married and was moving here with his wife. He came over first to get the house all set up before she flew over. They were very polite guys.

Despite all the shitty people, the garage sale did end on a good note. At the very end of the afternoon, a middle-aged man came up to me and wanted to buy a crystal fruit bowl marked $7. I said I'd give it to him for $5. He said, "I'll give you $2." I said no, what about $4. He said $2. I stood my ground with a fierce poker expression on my face. $4. He shook his head and said, "I'm not paying $4!" and started to walk back down the driveway. I shrugged and turned to go back inside. Whatever dude. I'd rather give it to the St. Vincent de Paul shop than give it to you for $2, you fucking cheap dickhead. It's a freaking crystal fruit bowl! Then after a few moments I heard him call out, "Okay, $4."

HA! It was a small victory, but I felt a bit better. A bit less like roadkill.

Supersized

Dad and I watched "Supersize Me" together last night which gave me a hankering for a Big Mac for lunch. Mum jumped on board requesting a Filet-o-Fish. However Dad, who was exercising on the treadmill, expressed hesitance.

Me: "I'm getting a Big Mac. Mum's having a fish burger. What do you want?"
Dad: "Nothing! I'm not eating that shit!"
Me: "Why? You're not having lunch?"
Dad: "I'm going to wait for steaks at dinner."
Me: "Alright."
Dad: "Okay fine, get me a Big Mac."
Me: "The movie said it's not so bad to have a Big Mac if you don't eat the fries too."
I put on my shoes and am about to get into the car.
Dad: "Get the fries."

(I ended up getting us Oportos instead, which we all agreed isn't as evil as McDonald's. And has better tasting chips.)

The ferris wheel of crap

A lot of commotion in the house these past few days: An ill-timed houseguest. Dad being in town. Separating all our belongings into three sections -- to keep, to sell at the garage sale, to chuck out. I wish I was talented enough to multi-task and keep up with my blogs, but I'm not.

Tonight I spent five minutes sorting through a basket of old coins. Then I touched my face, paying particular attention to the stress zit that popped up on my chin yesterday. I decided to keep the Yen, Hong Kong Dollars, US Dollars and these old Sydney Harbour Bridge toll tokens. All the rest I'm throwing out. Yes, I'm throwing out money. Even some notes. Singaporean notes though, so I guess it's not so bad. I feel like for the metaphor's sake, I should chuck all the coins down the drain in the bathroom. Let it clink against the pipes and echo all around me. That will really feel like wastage. But I don't think the family moving in would appreciate that.

We're having a garage sale next Saturday to get rid of all our redundant furniture and other miscellaneous crap. It will be our first garage sale and I'm a bit worried that people will be disappointed with the selection. We have the usual big-ticket items like fridges, TVs, furniture and stuff that shouldn't have a problem finding a buyer. But what about the little crap? Should I bother giving a second chance to all the unwrapped airline playing cards? The cracked koala and kangaroo-shaped eggholders? My book on "Why Freud Was Wrong" in pristine condition? (In other words: unread.)

Then there are sentimental valuables like my childhood matchbox collection. The box I keep them in still gives off this fantastic flammable vibe. I remember it smelled really dangerous during the summers, like it was on the verge of combusting into a massive fireball at any moment and burning the whole house down. Dad used to collect the matchboxes for me from all over the world when he went on business trips. So I have different coloured matches. Different sized and shaped boxes. Even teeny tiny matches from European restaurants that are as thick as uncooked angel-hair pasta. So should I move it all to storage? Put it out for sale on Saturday? Or simply throw the box out like I did with that "worthless" money?

I guess what I'm wondering is: How long should we be holding onto things? Doesn't it all have to go some time?

Smells fishy

We went to the Sydney Fish Market before lunch to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight and tomorrow night. Okay, we didn't buy any lobsters or these needy looking fish -- we just got oysters, sashimi and such -- but they look more interesting. Hmm, I wonder if I should have used flash. The photos looked brighter on my camera. Oh wait, I forgot. My camera is crap and lies.

These things on the bottom, called "Bugs", look like little spaceships or sea dinosaurs.