Fountainhead Friday Fun

It draws to an end
It comes to a close
My Oz days are numbered
But not everyone knows...

Here in Vancouver International Airport, as I await my flight to Hong Kong and Sydney – a hellish routing, but a cost-effective one – I can reflect on the past 18 (count ‘em!) days. It has truly been the bestest-ever visit to Canada.

Holy heck, this visit has reinforced so darn many things for me, some of which I already knew and just needed reminding of. Chief among them:

• I’m blessed with amazing friends who value me. Lucky lucky me!
• I also have the ability to make new friends, a fact that I’d totally doubted after this past year in Sydney.
• I don’t mind the rain as much as many people. It could be way worse: snow!
• There’s a sense of familiarity here that’s very comforting. At the same time there are still so many exciting, new-to-me things about Vancouver specifically that I don’t feel bored or complacent.
• I haven’t been forgotten by those people on whom I’ve made an impression in the past. How cool is that?!
• My family always welcomes me with open arms. They rock.
• Vancouver is the city I want to live in. Vancouver is the city I want to love in. Vancouver is the city I want to laugh in. And ain't that some great headspace to be in? Amen.

To illustrate how great a visit I had, here's an example. I arrived in Vancouver on Friday, November 12 and went to my favourite pub (The Fountainhead on Davie Street) that very evening. Being no dummy, I did plan my arrival to facilitate a Fountainhead Friday, after all. You always know you’re gonna run into someone you know and love at The Fountainhead on Friday night, and this night was absolutely no exception. I had a great visit with many folks, and it was nice to be welcomed back as “the foreigner” living an exotic overseas life. I was pretty quick to dispel the notion that everything was wine and roses in my Sydney life, but it was still nice to have everyone be so interested in my latest developments.

But then something happened that I hadn’t experienced in well over a year: a nice (and nice-looking) man chatted me up and I actually felt sparks fly. Yup, for the first time in waaaay too long, I was in a pub feeling relaxed, friendly, happy-go-lucky, and (clearly) approachable for the “right” type of man. Not the creep or derelict that tends to approach me, but a decent, good-looking, nice, engaging man who I was immediately attracted to. David turned out to be a swell guy, and it was so nice to feel a bit of chemistry at first introduction. Can it actually be that I’m not a man-repelling leper/freak?! Apparently yes : ) Praise Jesus! Or, more accurately, for the first time in a long time I was laughing, smiling, surrounded by friends, and loving it. Seeing as I'm never like that in Sydney, no wonder I'm not attracting any decent men.

'Twas a very valuable lesson to learn, and one that makes me realize how much more of a fit Vancouver seems to be for me. And that was just my first night in town!! I met tons of nice people during my visit: Taal, Bill, Walter, Steve and Puddle among them. And I got to know Greg a bit better, which was absolutely marvelous. So maybe I am capable of forming friendships, despite the fact that my recent experiences would indicate otherwise. Yay me! I’m so stoked about moving back to Vancouver in the Spring. Can ya just stand it?!?! Bring on the next 4 months, and then bring on the start of a new and exciting chapter. I'm readier now than I've ever been!

We all fall

Sooner or later, we all fall off our high heels. But get back on those fuck-me pumps and continue on with the glamorous life you want to lead. You're too good and too important to be wearing orthopedic shoes.

Quit it, quit it, quit it!

I did it: I quit my job. And that would be all good, except for the fact that I'm not embroiled in a messy red-tape-bureaucratic-on-account-of-it-being-the-inefficient-government quandry. In effect, I may be delayed flying back to Australia because of potential delays in cancelling my work visa and issuing a visitor's visa, which I would have thought would be a no-brainer. Turns out I'm a clueless bitch for thinking that it might be easy. Damn red tape. Damn government.

On the bright side, I spent the whole day today with my wee nephew Travis. It's like lookin' at an exact duplicate of my brother at the same age, which is good seeing as how it's his kid : ) Cute kid. Very inquisitive. Great hearing!

I am, and will always remain,committed to The Republic

Just to be clear about a recent post: I don't buy all my clothes at Target. I'm not embarrassed shopping at Target, and I'm certainly not a label queen, but I don't want to alarm all of my fans out there who know my true allegiance lies with The Republic.

Sigh. I can't wait to do a run-through of The Republic on Robson Street and look at all the clothes I used to be able to afford -- when I made a crap-load of money and had no financial issues about which to worry. Sigh.

And another clarification about the same post: not all Sydneysiders are as I've drawn them. My friends are amazing and that's why we're friends. It's just the 4 million+ others who live in and around Sydney who I have challenges with.

JSYK. *

* just so ya know

The key to being Grace?High (but not hooker) heels

Here I am at Narita Airport on my layover between Sydney and Vancouver. Have you ever tried typing with a Japanese keyboard? Holy freakin' frustrating. But I'm dealing, more or less.....OK, not very well, to be honest.

The flight from Sydney to Tokyo was fairly uneventful, except for the fact that a few very important things were reinforced for me:

(1) There are a lot of bad movies out there. Armed with my very own personal entertainment device attached to the seat in front of me, I had access to something like 12 different movie channels! What did I watch? Bits and pieces of I, Robot, which looks like a really stupid movie. I tried watching from the start, and got frustrated. I tried watching the end, and got frustrated. I tried watching bits and pieces in the middle, and got frustrated. In the end, I watched the entire flick (in bits and pieces) and it sucked regardless of where I picked up the plot. I bet Mr. Asimov didn't have this movie in mind when he wrote his novel.

(2) There are a lot of great movies out there. In between watching dribs and drabs of Mr. Will Smith (my opinion of whom is considerably lower as a result), I watched that Hitchcock classic Rear Window, starring the amazing duo of Jimmy Stewart and the iconic Grace Kelly. Great cast, great "gimmick" (filming everything from the confines of LB Jeffries' apartment), great resultant movie. No wonder Hitchcock was considered a master: he knew how to make a flick! Highly recommended by this reviewer.

(3) I am the world's biggest suck. The other movie I watched was Father of the Bride 2, starring Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Kimberley Williams, and that cute guy whose name I can't remember. Cute flick that has recurring themes of growing older and fighting it, the importance of family, what's truly important in life, plus a wee bit of drama and a whole lot o' humour. An innocent film to be sure -- in fact, one that I've seen before and liked. So why did I turn into the world's biggest suck and start crying? I can't even remember when or why I started, but before I knew it, I was pulling the old I-hope-nobody-sees-me-wiping-the-tears-away trick. I think I was done in by the whole theme of family and realizing what's important in life. I'm particulary susceptible to that right now, so I guess it just hit a nerve for me and I was a goner. I mean, I know I'm a total suck. I just never realized I was that much of a suck.

(4) I am so gay. So there I was, enraptured by Rear Window and thinking how Grace Kelly was just the most incredible warm-blooded creature ever to have graced (so to speak) the silver screen. If you haven't seen this movie, rent it and (if you're gay and into these things) plan your next drag outfit based on her gorgeous gowns, high (but not hooker) heels, and elbow-length gloves. That woman (or at least, her costume designer) also knows how to accessorize: beautiful wraps, handbags, jewellery, etc. I have to be honest and admit that I've never seen Grace in any other film, but she is an absolute vision in this one. And while I actually have absolutely no desire to wear her outfits (hey, I'm gay, but I'm not into drag), I am certainly faggy enough to admire the flawlessness and perfection. Whatever happened to women like her? Too bad about that whole speeding-on-the-mountain-road thing.

Now back to the reality of Narita Airport and all its finery. Did you know that there is a Mongolian Airlines? I had no idea until hearing announcements today about the departure of Mongolian Airlines flight whatever-the-hell going to some-weird-ass-city-I've-never-heard-of-before. Who knew?! And who cares, really, when you find out that you get to sit in an exit row on the upper deck for your flight to Vancouver?! How appropriate, for I do like it on top : ) Happy days!

Destination: The 'Couv. I can almost taste it now!

Grab destiny by the balls, baby!

As I struggle with my happiness quotient (see the post that immediately precedes this one), I've been thinking about some of the things that guide me. So here are some of my life philosophies for your reading enjoyment...

Manage the gap between what you say you want to do and what you actually do.
(Source: my own original philosophy)

Grab destiny by the balls.
Move.
Wander.
Adapt.
Adapt.
Adapt.
(Source: the amazing Jann Arden)

Be authentic. You’ll never be questioned.
(Source: another of my own creations)

Embrace the spirit of celebration.
(Source: The Intrawest "Play Book")

Dance.
Move.
Expand into the space that life's dancefloor creates.
(Source: yup, another brilliant gem from me)

And those are some of the things that I try to keep in mind on a day-to-day basis. It's just that sometimes I lose sight of them and have to be reminded.

I'm officially reminded now.

Don't judge me because I shop at Target

A track meet, a gold medal, a satisfying performance. Check, check, and check! The Pan Pacific Masters Games was a fun experience, capped off by my gold medal and satisfying performance in high jump. I'm not normally preoccupied by placings and medals and the like, but I'm really happy with my result. Particularly, I'm happy with how I jumped, but winning was also nice. Yay me!

Great couple of days with the Brisbane Crew. One day at home. Flyin' to Canada for a much-anticipated holiday. Not sure if I can elaborate at this point -- just because I'm not sure what's going to happen, to be honest -- but I think I may be quitting my job (insert scary foreshadowing music here).

I'm incredibly lucky. I know that. But I'm not happy. That's the prime motivator for my (potentially) quitting my job and starting to work on the next chapter of my life. I'm not sure what form that chapter will take, but I'm starting to think long and hard about it. I'm too important not to be happy. The title of this blog, after all, is "life is large. why insist on living small?"

But what about the burning question: why am I not happy? It's so many things, actually. This may surprise a lot of people (and ruffle more than a few feathers), but I just don't like living in Sydney that much. Egad!! I can't believe I'm hearing myself say this, but Sydney isn't where I want to be. I know, I know, I can't believe it myself, but I've gotten to the point where my frustrations with this city range from my disgust with the plastic, pretentious, chemically-motivated gay scene.....to the Third-World-ish ineptitude of Cityrail.....to the lack of a recycling culture.....to the apparent need to be wanna-be Americans.....to the near-universal pursuit (my friends excepted, of course) of impression management and the need to live up to society-dictated standards of what's "important." *

These are just stupid, trivial examples of some things I find silly and annoying about Sydney. But I'm being absolutely honest when I say that a whole culmination of many things has made me realize I'd prefer to keep Sydney as my favourite vacation destination instead of my home. And on a related note, have I mentioned lately how much Vancouver rocks?! Anyone who says otherwise better put 'em up and be prepared to step in the ring and box get bitchslapped by me.

Anyways, off to Vancouver tomorrow. Can you say EXCITED?! And happy! At least for the next 2 weeks.

Fair warning: this is a very opinionated section that may offend Sydneysiders. Read on, but don't say I didn't warn ya!

* I need to expand on my rant a bit more.....so here goes. I find that waaaaaay too many Sydneysiders have this obsession with the way in which everyone perceives them. I know that we all care what others think, but there's a difference between that need for acceptance and being a slave to impression management. I believe that too many people end up being imprisoned by it and, ultimately, indebted to it: dressing in a certain way (can you say extremely tragic fashion victims?!); going to the latest trendy way-too-pretentious places; drinking mortgage-your-house cocktails; placing way too much emphasis on superficial pursuits....it never stops. I know Sydney isn't the only place where this is the norm, but it just seems so rampant here than anywhere else I've been. People are way more concerned with being perceived in the "right" way than in being accepted for their integrity and character. I, by contrast, am of the opinion that integrity and character are fairly important, and would like to think that maybe others would want to hang out with me cuz I'm a down-to-earth fella, and despite the fact that I sometimes buy my clothes at Target (what can I say? Target is very cheap cost-effective. you definitely cannot call me a label queen!). Jeepers, I like hanging around a well-dressed person as much as the next guy, but in the end shouldn't it come down to more important things? I don't use the term "poser" lightly, but holy crap there are a lot of posers here! Being in a financial situation that hardly resembles my past devil-may-care approach to fiscal mismanagement, I can honestly say that my self-esteem and confidence have taken a huge tumble in the nearly-12-months that I've lived here. I can't afford expensive clothes anymore. I can't afford to go out for dinner anymore. I can't afford to sip $15 cocktails anymore (actually, I'm fundamentally opposed to $15 cocktails regardless of how much money I have). In short, I can't afford to spend tons of money on the things that Sydneysiders value, but that shouldn't mean I'm not as good as them. Never in my adult life have I ever questioned my judgment and motivation more than I do here in Sydney. I honestly feel that being subjected to these hordes of impression-enslaved people makes me more self-conscious than I've been in years. Normally, for example, I don't worry too much about what I wear. I always say I dress for myself and not for anyone else or according to anyone else's standards of what's trendiest thing on the runway this season. Sure, I take pride in my appearance and enjoy looking nice and well-kept and appropriate for the decade and all, but in Sydney I literally end up sweating it out as I wonder whether I should wear this t-shirt or that dress shirt, these jeans or those dress pants; and whether any of it will be the right thing. In the end, it usually doesn't matter, because I let these people make me feel inferior regardless of what I'm wearing and how I look. I mean, it's not like I'm a hunchback or a leper or anything, so where have my normal self-esteem and confidence gone and how could I have gotten to the point where they've been eroded by the posers? Clearly it's time to take a step back and realize it's not me who should suffer because of their need to be accepted for what label they wear and where they're spending their time posing. I'm better than that, but sometimes it just takes some reminding to help me realize it. OK, Jeff, consider yourself reminded. Now move on.

I did mention that I may ruffle some feathers with this post, didn't I? Fair warning all you Sydneysiders who may take offense to what I've written here. As I said, my friends aren't like this and surely if you, dear reader, are an enlightened Sydneysider and are reading this, I'm absolutely positive it doesn't apply to you. You're probably really cool.

Night night. Time for pleasant dreams of Canada.

"There's just one thing I need to know:are you gay or are you straight?"

It's all over and Rebecca chose a straight guy. I have to admit, I was on pins and needles as we waited to find out whether Chad was on my side of the fence or not. The big surprise was Evan, who turned out to be gay. Good on him for disproving stereotypes and pre-conceived notions about what exactly it means to look and act gay.

And Evan, if you're out there and interested, you can find my e-mail address on my profile. I'd go for a ride in your Army Reserve tank any day!

Sometimes...

Sometimes I walk around my apartment wearing my pants pulled up above my navel -- nearly all the way up to my armpits -- looking like Harry Highpants or that old battleaxe Tina Too-high Wood (former colleague). Of course, it only works with pants or shorts that have a lot of "give" to them and let me do this without doing any permanent damage. Editor's note: I live alone, so it's OK. Nobody sees me. I think.

Sometimes I wonder what Sally Struthers is doing. Is she on food stamps? Working at Wal-Mart? Manning the Information counter at a mall? Doing local dinner theatre for fun? Turning tricks? Just wondering, cuz it must really suck going from one of the most visible celebrities on TV to....well, to whatever it is she's doing today.

Sometimes I think I could do a better job of being Posh Spice than Posh Spice. Imagine the life: rich beyond belief, married to Mr. Beckham, recording singles that nobody buys (but who really cares how many you sell when you're already rich?), launching perfumes and clothing lines at will. In fact, I think I've discovered the secret to being Posh, er Victoria. Whenever there's a camera around, it's all about the posturing -- the fake, pursed-lip, fabulously-sunken-cheekbones, slightly-squinted-eyes look. Jeepers, I can do that! Next time you see me, ask me to do my Vacuous Victoria look. You'll be amazed at the uncanny resemblance. Yup, I reckon I'd be way better at being Posh than she is.

Sometimes I wonder why Paris Hilton is famous. I know, I know, I'm not the only one. But seriously, what's the deal with her? On a related note, Paris is on The OC next week and Ten is trumpeting the hell out of that little fact. She's just a tool.

Sometimes I wonder why I don't swim more efficiently than I do. I mean, I can swim a looong way, but it's usually really slow and inefficient (and, I'm sure, painful to watch). I watched once while this really good swimmer was doing laps at Andrew "Boy" Charlton Pool and he took 28 strokes for one 50-metre lap. I take, on average, 60 strokes to cover the same distance. How pathetic!

Sometimes I think I'm a great prognosticator. I've been telling my friend Will since last January that he should keep his eye on Aussie tennis player Alicia Molik. January is when she played some great matches at both the Hopman Cup and the Australian Open. And since then she's had her failures, but has also taken an Olympic bronze; won (as of today) 10 consecutive tour matches, including the last two WTA Tier 1 tournaments; raised her world ranking from #35 to #12; and really established herself as a rising player. I foresaw this improvement. Quite simply, I'm a gifted prognosticator.

Sometimes I think the girl that lives next door to me is the most inconsiderate neighbour ever. And she's got one of those really annoying put-on English accents that seems destined to drive me insane every time it's raised a few notches just because she's talking on her mobile phone. Damnit, annoying girl, your friends can hear you just as easily if you're talking at normal levels. Oh ya, and she walks around in heels on her hardwood floor, and always slams the door.

Sometimes I think I'd like to have big muscles. And then I realize that I don't want to go to the gym to get them. If I could just buy them, on the other hand, then maybe I'd be in business.

Sometimes I laugh when I recall calling Australian Immigration one time and hearing a recording on the other end say, "Welcome and thanks for calling Domino's Pizza, Elizabeth Street. One of our operators will be with you shortly."

Sometimes I wonder why I'm not into video games. Never have been; probably never will be. I mean, I'm comfortable with it but sometimes just wonder why.

Sometimes I wonder why my computer is so freakin' slow!

Mrs. Federline go home!

Mrs. F keeps an eye on the 'hood

Imagine my surprise when I walked out from my apartment building, only to see the ubiquitous Britney waiting for me. Apparently she's hocking her new perfume, Curious. But get this: the perfume's website is www.becurious.com.au. After the infamous liplock at last year's MTV Music Video Awards, I think it should be www.bicurious.com.au instead. Just my humble opinion...

Whatever the name of the website, I wish Mrs. Federline would go back to gaining weight, trying to get preggers, and recording a CD featuring a really bad cover of a Bobby Brown song. Her likeness on the local bus shelter is bringing down property values in our quaint Elizabeth Bay neighbhourhood.

Welcome to Canada,home of easy men and great skiing

It's a bit numbing, this whole US election thing. I figured Bush would win another term, but still I hoped for something better, something sensible. Every American I know realizes that the guy is a doofus, an idiot, a total nimrod. I can't tell you how many bloggers I've read this morning who are devastated bewildered beside themselves hung over after drinking themselves into a stupor over yesterday's election results. Without fail, my blogger idols all seem to be planning their exodus north of the 49th parallel. Meet me in Canada: home of cheap real estate, easy men, great skiing, liberal thinking, no need for gun control, and gay marriage.

Why would such a seemingly overwhelming number of educated, knowledgeable Americans be vetoed by a slightly higher number of Americans who clearly have no clue whatsoever? Utterly baffling. I remember my intellectual friend Lorna (someone who would definitely be a lifeline if I were ever on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire) telling me of her internal torture in trying to have intelligent conversations with fellow Atlantans, and having to deal with the lemming mentality, the we-support-our-President-even-if-he's-wrong-simply-because-he's-our-President thinking, the you're-talkin'-like-some-crazy-north-ass-liberal accusations, and the he-gosh-darn-has-to-be-right-because-he's-our-leader illusion. For someone as smart and outspoken as Lorna, it must be a real challenge to keep some of her "crazy-north-ass-liberal" thinking to herself in light of yesterday's results. Stay strong, girl!

Oh well, only something along the lines of 1460 days until Dubya is out on his dumb ass and back on the farm. I'm sure it'll go quickly. And ya know what? Four years isn't that long a time. Hell, things weren't that different in my life 4 short years ago:

• 4 years ago today I was happy in my new job as eCommerce Product Manager. Today: no comment. Better off: 4 years ago.
• 4 years ago today I was living in an amazing one-bedroom apartment overlooking Vancouver's English Bay. Today: small studio pad overlooking Rushcutters Bay Park. Better off: 4 years ago.
• 4 years ago today I was going out with a guy named Mike. Today: single. Better off: toss up, to be honest.
• 4 years ago today Suzie and I weren't on the best of terms and I feared our friendship may be over. Today: we've weathered storms, but she's still my best friend and I get to see her in a week! Better off: today, definitely!
• 4 years ago today I was driving my navy blue Suzuki Swift 4-door Touring Sedan. Today: I'm car-less. Better off: 4 years ago.
• 4 years ago today I was 33 years old. Today: I'm a "seasoned" 37. Better off: well, I've grown wiser over the past 4 years, so I guess the nod goes to today.

See, not too much has changed, and 4 years doesn't seem like that long ago : ) Then again, a mere 2 years ago yesterday I met M for the very first time. For so many reasons, that seems like forever ago. Today: I'm not sure if we're even friends. Better off: 2 years ago, despite the ensuing frustrations.

Seems like all the cool kids want to be Canadian today. And who can blame them?! We rock!

The Amazing Race in my own backyard!!

Phil? Phil Keoghan? I'm ready for you and your crew!!

Am I the only one who's on pins and needles at the prospect that Jerry Bruckheimer's spellbinding The Amazing Race may be readying to welcome the entire cast of freaks to my very own neighbourhood?! I mean, Rushcutters Bay Park is virtually my backyard, and to think that Phreaky Phil may be standing there waiting to greet Mirna and Schmirna and the other god-fearing (and not-necessarily-god-fearing) teams...well, it's just too much to bear! Oh the dilemma of who to cheer for: The Bowling Moms or those uptight twins? Can ya just stand it?! I may have to bring down my sleeping bag and camp out in the Park to make sure I don't miss the excitement of hearing Phil say, "Freak contestant insert name here and freak contestant insert name here, you're the last team to arrive. I'm sorry to tell you that you've been eliminated from the race."

But hold on just a second. Have I been duped? Is the City of Sydney just using construction fencing that looks remarkably like the route markers featured in TAR? I'm so damn gullible. Shoot me now and throw me to the midget.

We are not amused

Looks like Liz has finally had it with Philip's philandering and boorish behaviour. She's knocked him out cold (sure, the newspaper says he's napping, but look how pissed she is) and ain't gonna take it anymore! Good on ya, Lizzie!

I bet that old girl packs a mean left hook.

Melbourne Cup disaster averted

So there I was, absolutely frantic at the thought that I wouldn't find my Melbourne Cup outfit. Imagine: the biggest day out for the the social set, and me without that just-so ensemble that portrays dignity and commands respect.

And then, all of a sudden, I saw it. That perfect representation of class and elegance. Problem solved:
Melbourne Cup, here I come!

Keep an eye open for me. I'll be hangin' with my homeboy and fashion stylist/inspiration Huggy Bear!