Family Feast

The largest Crew yet.

Family dinner has quickly grown into a family feast.  It started as a random night where eight people happened to be in the room and wanted some dinner.  Now, it is a weekly event with its own white board that includes a list of people who will be in attendance.  This week, I was the chosen Iron Chef.  I have a new appreciation for cooking shows, dinner parties, and, most importantly, my mother and father.  Cooking for people can really suck.  In theory it should be relaxing and enjoyable.  Maybe even therapeutic.  I imagined sipping a glass of wine as I glide around the clean kitchen floor in my freshly washed apron.  In reality I was shoving people out of the way, barking orders, and trying reduce my heart rate so I didn't have an attack.  There is so much pressure to impress and cook the perfect meal.  Maybe it's not so bad with a small group of friends or family.  However, when you are cooking for 18 people, it becomes fucking madness.  I would like to thank all my helpers now: BB, Laura, Wado, Izzy, Ant, Sarah, Jacob, and bartender B minor.  You all did a wonderful job and I am sorry for all the physical and mental abuse you had to put up with.  In the end, the meal turned out great, especially for my first time cooking the dish (Sheri Fisher's famous caesar salad and bruschetta).  I am happy to have my turn leading family dinner out of the way, as I'm sure everyone else involved is.

The gym

When the vacation effect of being in a new country finally wore off, I realized it was time to get a gym pass.  Sadly, this was not included in the array of fees charged to my wonderful parents. I just went with a university gym pass.  The $180 fee was the cheapest around.  I quickly found out why.  The first problem I had was the lack of benches.  There were only two in the whole place, which is a big problem with the large amount of traffic.  Also, I immediately found out that the weights are in kilograms.  Makes sense considering I am in Australia.  Didn't stop me from looking like an idiot when I tried to do my first set.  People must have thought I was pretty strong as they witnessed a bar collapse straight onto my chest.  One similarity that I found between this gym and the facility at CU is no matter what equipment is available, there will always be bros to fill it.  Here these bros dress up for the event.  I'm talking stylish shoes, button up shirts, and gelled hair.  One of my greatest experiences came when one day the weight room staff reminded me multiple times to put the weights up when I was done and watched me the whole time to make sure I did it.  Thanks guys, I had no idea. All this is nothing compared to my last problem.  I can handle the lack of equipment.  I can handle the weights being in kilograms.  I can handle the fashion show that is the gym.  And I can handle the annoying weight room staff.  However, I can not handle the Justin Beiber blasting throughout the gym.  That is where I draw the line.  Get it together UOW.

Flying through the sky

Disclaimer:  The bastards wouldn't let me use my video camera on the jump.  Despite this, I was not about to buy their video (taken with the same exact camera) for the added price of $125 AUD.  

Safe Landing

Preparation 

I must say skydiving over the beach is superior to skydiving over the plains.  It was the typical start.  We signed paperwork, they tried to sell me a video ($125, yeah I’ll pass), and we had a nice little pre-jump instruction sesh, as if you remember anything they say when you are dropping through the sky at terminal velocity.  After all this is was time to piss off mom and dad and fly through the sky once again.  The plane was packed.  I was sitting smack dab in my certified jumpers crotch and had another instructor all up on me.  Ah, the beauty of skydiving.   The views were beautiful.  The endless blue was dotted with gigantic oil tankers and the coast stretched to the horizon.  As we rose above the clouds, it felt as though we entered a new world.  There is something about being in a plane that you are about to jump out of that makes you notice everything in the sky.  Maybe it’s just so you don’t run into anything on your way down.  As we neared our desired altitude of 14,000 feet I told my instructor to make the ride as fun as possible.  I didn’t want the straight freefall like my first jump experience.  He did a wonderful job.  The door opened and one after another the whoosh of a tandem thrusting out into the open air left a dent in my eardrums.  Each face was priceless.  Sheer terror laced their eyes.  Their open jaws were left vacant of air as there was a loss of all ability to breathe.  I inched closer and closer to the door.  I don’t care if you have jumped 1,000 times, sitting in front of that open door never gets old or less terrifying.  I swung my legs opposite the door, leaned my head back, and tucked my knees.  That’s right, we back-flipped out that motherfucker.  And not one flip, four of them.  It was a blur.  There was no sky or ground; there were only flashes of color.  The world came back to me as we leveled out and I threw my arms to the side.  We were flying and man was I screaming.  My instructor then shifted his arms, taking us into a circular frenzy where g-forces were pushed.  Again, life was a blur and all I could see were mashed colors.  We leveled out again, celebrated a bit, and then pulled the chute.  This gave a feeling like we were shot back into the sky, and is displayed by the bruises on my shoulders.  The rest of the ride entailed a bit of spinning and ended with a light landing in the grass.  This was much better then the high speed slide that almost put a tuft of grass up my ass on my first jump.  It was a jump to remember.  There is something so surreal about freefall that is a wonderful release from all the stresses of life.  I don’t know if it’s the silence, adrenaline, or emotion that comes with the fall, but there is truly nothing like it.  Meditation at its finest.  Can’t wait to jump again and for my next Australian adventure.

The funeral

Well George that was quite a show you put on.  You filled that place to the brim, then overflowed it by 750 people.  Only you could pull that off.  Your funeral was amazing.  Your father, mother, and two sisters were some of the strongest people I have ever seen (and your mother was undoubtedly the best dressed with her stunning pink dress and the coolest hat I have ever seen).  They spoke flawlessly of you and brought tears into all of our eyes.  I know I speak for all of us when I say I could sit there all day and hear about all the fun you have had.  I only wish it was coming from your mouth.  Your casket was beautiful and I hear you were looking good as usual underneath.  I'm glad you shaved the day before so you were looking clean.  I'm so glad we got to talk that one last time.  You are one of the only people that can actually get me to talk right after waking up.  I can't tell you how happy I am you stopped me that day.  Well my friend I guess this is one last goodbye.  You will be missed by all, and I will do my best to live my life as you did, full of happiness, conversation, and smiles.  You are the man George Matchett.  I'm pointing at you.

Glad you got to celebrate St. Patty's one last time.

Fake Mexican Food

Amigos, the best Mexican around.  Profit-hungry bastards is what they really are.  This place gives a new meaning to the word stingy.  The night started off as usual.  Reservations for every person that comes.  God forbid one person doesn't show and you get charged for the missing body.  Then there was the ID catastrophe.  First they accept all ID's, then they don't accept American ID's without a passport, then they accept American drivers licenses but they have to write ID on your hand (because everyone knows this is as suitable as a birth certificate).  Despite all this I still had the drive to drink (not the drink to drive, that's dangerous).  The problem was Anthea (the only one available to share a liter) had already bought a half liter of sangria since I had been rejected.  This cost $14, whereas a liter costs $20.  Instead of merely giving us another half liter and charging us the $20 to fix their ID mistake, there was a whole debacle about how this was impossible.  The manager had to be consulted multiple times.  I mean I know it is a difficult situation (sarcastic) but come on.  Luckily things were sorted out and the night moved on.  A birthday was celebrated, drinks were had, and the night was over.  Amigos, you will be skipped in the future.

A tribute

Here is a tribute to George written by an amazing woman.  This song truly captures the kind of guy he was.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYiSnFYtJj8

A quick story from Abby's Bar

When a girl drops something, it is common curtesy to help her pick whatever it is up...I thought.  This drunk chick was fanning out some papers like they were dollar bills.  Due to her alcoholic intake here fingers went limp and the cards went all over the floor.  In an attempt to be a gentleman, I bent to to pick up the card closest to me.  Her hand snapped at me like a viper, wrapping her cheap plastic nails around my wrist.  Astonished, I dropped the card and let her pick it up as well as apologized for some unknown reason.  Apparently the cards were drink vouchers.  She needed those like a dog needs dark chocolate.  I let it go.  About a minute later the girl snatched her drunk friend, ripping her toward the bar.  Since alcohol affects your ability to stand (especially in heels) the girl reached for the closest thing.  Turns out that was my arm.  I did a complete 180 to watch her release my arm and fall to the ground, on her back, legs in the air, in a dress.  Did I help her up?  Does karma exist?  That's what I thought.  Drunk girls are funny.