pocketpower.blogspot.com
adventures in the key of melbourne.
Wednesday 8 August 2007
Wednesday 4 July 2007
sitting on the dock of the bay
So we have returned from our six-day jaunt around the San Francisco Bay Area. First stop was Berkeley, where we stayed with Frances' friend Sam in her tiny student apartment. Berkeley is most famous for the university, which was one of the most radical in the country during the 60s. Things have calmed down a bit now. But although the campus is nice, their frat houses abound, they have a pretty fancy library and even their logo spray-painted onto the grass, I will always remember Berkeley for its cuisine. First up was pizza from Zachary's which not only had a deep, fluffy crust but also cheese two centimetres thick. It could probably be better classified as pie, and it was so big, it needed its own chair! Then, the salads from a place called Intermezzo. With bowls as big as my torso filled to bursting with fresh vegetables, lettuce, avocados, eggs and croutons, it was the perfect cure for our pizza hangover. The lesson - bigger is definitely better, at least when it comes to Berkeley food.
Next stop, San Francisco. San Francisco is a busy, eclectic, hilly city. It's a place where the queue to get into the Apple store for their latest gadget launch party snakes down the block and around the corner, with the bright young things in their hundreds waiting impatiently like it's the hottest club in town, and where homeless people push around shopping trolleys filled with their belongings around the empty, windy downtown area in sad irony, Like everywhere else we've been, everyone in hospitality and retail looks like they will either die or go off on a murderous rampage if they say "Have a Good Day!" one more time. It was in San Francisco that Nikki and I got hooked on the curiously satisfying, very American combination of sweet-and-salty, which is most fully realised with Reese's peanut butter and chocolate cups. You can buy them in two, four or six pack, fyi.
So much to do in San Francisco! We went to the baseball in AT and T stadium and watched the Arizona Diamondbacks thrash the home team the Giants, . Rode bikes through the stunning, rambling Golden Gate Park. Took the obligatory picture of the bridge, then rode back down one of San Francisco's hair-raising hills. Went thrift shopping in the Mission. Wandered around the Museum of Modern Art and flippantly (and unthinkingly) knocked a Matisse sculpture on the head to prove a point to Frances and got told off by the security guard (it's just art, jeez). Hung out around Haight and Ashby streets, the epicentre of the summer of love. Gawked at the erotic miniature statues and jars full of shark fins in Chinatown. Took a sleeping bag and snacks to Union Square to watch a free screening of Casablanca and cheered along with the locals whenever Bogart delivered his classic lines.
Going out in San Francisco was an experience that must be seen to be believed. The first night we consulted the Lonely Planet guide and found ourselves in a bar called Gold Dust. As always with lonely-planet guide recommended places, there were a lot of foreigners happy hour had just finished everyone was wasted. A band full of grandpas with long white beards played Dixieland. From that we stumbled onwards and upwards and somehow found ourselves/were permitted inside the Red Room at the Clift Hotel. We were painfully out of place - while their core clientele was rich, stylish male thirtysomethings, we were young, poor, wearing op-shop clothes, staying in a hostel and eating pasta out of a microwave. However, we were not to be intimidated. Instead, we walked straight to a free table with a "reserved" card on it and helped ourselves to a bottle of abandoned top-shelf champagne. We schmoozed in classic style and met a film producer, a geek, some blokes from Arizona, a CEO and a fast-talking wanker who was determined to get Frances' number.
On our last night in SF it was time for some dancing, so we went to find hip-hop on the notorious Sixth Street. We arrived in one piece, paid the cover charge and were permitted into a semi-empty club that was screening 8 Mile on the back wall. Making the best of a poor-to-average situation, we went to the bar for another round or two, then hit the dancefloor downstairs and basically brought sexy back. In the US, it appears that men, to make a gross generalisation, can dance! We stopped in to the 24 hour indian place on the way home, woke up feeling like death and decided to postpone our visit to the all-singing-all-dancing Methodist sunday service until we were in a more respectful, god-fearing state. We eventually caught the BART back to Berkeley, collected the Volvo and drove to San Jose, stopping in at the Ashby flea market and missing the turnoff three times.
Today we're going day-tripping to Big Sur and then to Monterrey to see the aquarium and the various John Steinbeck memorials. I better go crack the whip for Nikki and Frances to make sure we get there before sundown! Laterz.
Next stop, San Francisco. San Francisco is a busy, eclectic, hilly city. It's a place where the queue to get into the Apple store for their latest gadget launch party snakes down the block and around the corner, with the bright young things in their hundreds waiting impatiently like it's the hottest club in town, and where homeless people push around shopping trolleys filled with their belongings around the empty, windy downtown area in sad irony, Like everywhere else we've been, everyone in hospitality and retail looks like they will either die or go off on a murderous rampage if they say "Have a Good Day!" one more time. It was in San Francisco that Nikki and I got hooked on the curiously satisfying, very American combination of sweet-and-salty, which is most fully realised with Reese's peanut butter and chocolate cups. You can buy them in two, four or six pack, fyi.
So much to do in San Francisco! We went to the baseball in AT and T stadium and watched the Arizona Diamondbacks thrash the home team the Giants, . Rode bikes through the stunning, rambling Golden Gate Park. Took the obligatory picture of the bridge, then rode back down one of San Francisco's hair-raising hills. Went thrift shopping in the Mission. Wandered around the Museum of Modern Art and flippantly (and unthinkingly) knocked a Matisse sculpture on the head to prove a point to Frances and got told off by the security guard (it's just art, jeez). Hung out around Haight and Ashby streets, the epicentre of the summer of love. Gawked at the erotic miniature statues and jars full of shark fins in Chinatown. Took a sleeping bag and snacks to Union Square to watch a free screening of Casablanca and cheered along with the locals whenever Bogart delivered his classic lines.
Going out in San Francisco was an experience that must be seen to be believed. The first night we consulted the Lonely Planet guide and found ourselves in a bar called Gold Dust. As always with lonely-planet guide recommended places, there were a lot of foreigners happy hour had just finished everyone was wasted. A band full of grandpas with long white beards played Dixieland. From that we stumbled onwards and upwards and somehow found ourselves/were permitted inside the Red Room at the Clift Hotel. We were painfully out of place - while their core clientele was rich, stylish male thirtysomethings, we were young, poor, wearing op-shop clothes, staying in a hostel and eating pasta out of a microwave. However, we were not to be intimidated. Instead, we walked straight to a free table with a "reserved" card on it and helped ourselves to a bottle of abandoned top-shelf champagne. We schmoozed in classic style and met a film producer, a geek, some blokes from Arizona, a CEO and a fast-talking wanker who was determined to get Frances' number.
On our last night in SF it was time for some dancing, so we went to find hip-hop on the notorious Sixth Street. We arrived in one piece, paid the cover charge and were permitted into a semi-empty club that was screening 8 Mile on the back wall. Making the best of a poor-to-average situation, we went to the bar for another round or two, then hit the dancefloor downstairs and basically brought sexy back. In the US, it appears that men, to make a gross generalisation, can dance! We stopped in to the 24 hour indian place on the way home, woke up feeling like death and decided to postpone our visit to the all-singing-all-dancing Methodist sunday service until we were in a more respectful, god-fearing state. We eventually caught the BART back to Berkeley, collected the Volvo and drove to San Jose, stopping in at the Ashby flea market and missing the turnoff three times.
Today we're going day-tripping to Big Sur and then to Monterrey to see the aquarium and the various John Steinbeck memorials. I better go crack the whip for Nikki and Frances to make sure we get there before sundown! Laterz.
Tuesday 3 July 2007
do you know the way to san jose?
I'm back at Frances' parent's place in San Jose, on the way home to Santa Cruz from our whirlwind tour of Berkeley and San Francisco. Many apologies for those out there hanging for an update - internet has been scarce and expensive, and I feel kinda bad locking myself away from the sights and sounds of the big city for an hour to write an entry. So in lieu of something proper, here is a baby post, while I wait for everyone to finish their five-star home cooked breakfast and file through a much needed midday shower.
San Jose is smack bang in the middle of Silicon Valley, which is pretty much the hub of the internet age. Frances' parents moved here about 15 years ago to work with computers when they still took up a room and needed water-cooling systems so that they didn't overheat. Today San Jose is full of insanely rich twenty and thirty something techies who have relocated from all over the country. And when they're not working, they need something to do to prevent the boredom setting in. The centre of the town has been redeveloped into a kilometre long stretch of plastic consumer culture.
Santana Row is the main drag and we took a drive down it yesterday in Elly's beat-up Volvo. It's very "pretty", but it also feels very artificial. Upper-end brands like Burberry and Gucci rub shoulders with top-class restaurants, where people decked head to toe in pastels eat salads and play on their Blackberries. Shiny SUVs are parked as far as the eye can see. A mexican band has been imported to play on the street to try to bring some atmosphere to the place, and they play enthusiastically to a boozy crowd. There are lush trees and lawns in the centre of the road, an oversized chess set, a lot of seating. Good in theory, perhaps, but in practice it kinda leaves a bad taste in your mouth. I was relieved when we got to the end of the street and took a left back into the real world. We turned the music up loud and sung along all the way back to Frances' place.
San Jose is smack bang in the middle of Silicon Valley, which is pretty much the hub of the internet age. Frances' parents moved here about 15 years ago to work with computers when they still took up a room and needed water-cooling systems so that they didn't overheat. Today San Jose is full of insanely rich twenty and thirty something techies who have relocated from all over the country. And when they're not working, they need something to do to prevent the boredom setting in. The centre of the town has been redeveloped into a kilometre long stretch of plastic consumer culture.
Santana Row is the main drag and we took a drive down it yesterday in Elly's beat-up Volvo. It's very "pretty", but it also feels very artificial. Upper-end brands like Burberry and Gucci rub shoulders with top-class restaurants, where people decked head to toe in pastels eat salads and play on their Blackberries. Shiny SUVs are parked as far as the eye can see. A mexican band has been imported to play on the street to try to bring some atmosphere to the place, and they play enthusiastically to a boozy crowd. There are lush trees and lawns in the centre of the road, an oversized chess set, a lot of seating. Good in theory, perhaps, but in practice it kinda leaves a bad taste in your mouth. I was relieved when we got to the end of the street and took a left back into the real world. We turned the music up loud and sung along all the way back to Frances' place.
Monday 25 June 2007
white smiles and big cars
i'm sitting here in frances' silent and sleeping house, with a bowl of freshly picked plums to my left and a cup of coffee on my right. Although i'm not jetlagged, i'm finding it very difficult to achieve any kind of meaningful sleep-in, and I'm waking up as soon as the sun comes streaming in through Frances' bedroom window, approximately 6.15am. Which suits me just fine. I'm finally here in California and I doubt anything could piss on my parade right now.
I left Melbourne at midnight on Wednesday and arrived at 1.05pm on Thursday into Angeles. Which looks good on paper. But it was during my 16 hour stopover in Nadi, Fiji that I found out the real reason behind the basement bargain price of my airline ticket. I arrived there as the sun was coming up and already it was stinking hot and humid. I kicked around the air-conditioned airport a bit before deciding to head into town. The taxis were a rip-off, so I caught the "local" bus instead with the school kids and shift workers. The bus was windowless and played 1960s hits full-volume as it trundled along at a leisurly pace. Number One news item was about Fiji having their first democratic elections since the coup, which the population are ambivalent about - everyone I talked with prefers military dictatorship to the endemic corruption of the previous government.
Nadi is a dusty, dead-end town, thriving solely on the fact that an airport is located 9 km away. It's been a while since I've been to Asia and I wasn't really prepared for it (i.e. i thought people really did want me to have a cup of kava with them because they were showing me the true Fijian hospitality - i got smart pretty quick). I had a look around the Hindu temple and went to a beach - both legit, touristy, stop-over activities, but in the course of which I was approached with various offers of fruit, food, kava, free taxi rides, free horse rides, alcohol, sex and drugs. After five exhausting hours I hailed a taxi and was taken back to the safe haven of air-conditioned airport, feeling like a culural failure. The next 11 hours are so uneventful they're not worth mentioning but suffice to say I got back on board the plane and before long was touching down at Los Angeles International.
Airports used to fascinate me but now they just piss me off. I got through US Customs relatively unscathed, following pointed interrogation from the guard who asked "well, if you're a student, like you say you are, then how can you afford this trip?" I was all prepared to launch into my sob story (girl makes rash decision, girl overcomes obstacles and triumphs, etc) but i kept it brief. No reason to annoy the authorities before I've even entered the country. The transition from international to domestic teminals was smooth - with the swipe of a credit card I had my ticket to San Francisco in hand and two hours later I was screaming and running across the baggage collection area into Frances' awaiting arms.
With the Red Hot Chilli Peppers in high rotation in my brain, Frances and her friend Liz drove me to their shack in the student town of Santa Cruz. Their place is amazing. It's easily four times as big as my new abode in Brunswick, with a massive garden full of fruit trees and the obligatory crazy neighbours. On Friday Frances gave me the guided tour of Santa Cruz on bike - the coolest op-shops, the burrito resturants, the cafes where the hip kids and burnt-out hippies hang out, the beach and the boardwalk. At the end of the day we went to an art show in a co-op (a huge house where groups of students live commune-style on the cheap) and drove to stay overnight with Frances' mum Susan in suburban San Jose.
After a heartily cooked breakfast full of culinary delights such as hash browns and hickory smoked rissoles (i think?) we drove back to San Francisco International to pick up Nikki. We had swapped cars and were now driving a "van" or more correctly a "tank" - bigger is definitely better here in California when it comes to vehicles. At least now no-one was going to inadvertently drive over the top of us. C'mon, bring it on !! Nikki's plane was delayed so we went to the makeup shop to work on my American tan. With much screaming and hugging we collected a tired but estatic Nikki and drove downtown to the San Francisco Gay Pride Festival.
Wearing our matching God Bless America 2007 t-shirts, we wandered through the crowds being in turn delighted, amused and disgusted (mostly by the tanned fat man trying to hump the grass, and the glittery penis sunglasses - pictures soon!). Depending on which guidebook you consult, the gay population of SF is between 12 - 25% (the top figure according to Out And About In San Francisco). It seems like such a vibrant, open and in a way powerful community compared to anything in Melbourne, when it's rare to see gay people holding hands, let alone organising a massive city-wide celebration. We certainly had fun, especially Frances, who ate a Polish Sausage in a bun, but only realised the double entendre much, much later.
We stopped in at San Jose for a home-cooked meal and then drove back to Santa Cruz to to get Nikki into a shower and a bed. Today we're just going to do some serious chilling and planning our next couple of weeks. We don't know much for certain yet, except that our Swedish accents are going strong, and that our anthem will be As Long As You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys. More news as it comes to hand.
I left Melbourne at midnight on Wednesday and arrived at 1.05pm on Thursday into Angeles. Which looks good on paper. But it was during my 16 hour stopover in Nadi, Fiji that I found out the real reason behind the basement bargain price of my airline ticket. I arrived there as the sun was coming up and already it was stinking hot and humid. I kicked around the air-conditioned airport a bit before deciding to head into town. The taxis were a rip-off, so I caught the "local" bus instead with the school kids and shift workers. The bus was windowless and played 1960s hits full-volume as it trundled along at a leisurly pace. Number One news item was about Fiji having their first democratic elections since the coup, which the population are ambivalent about - everyone I talked with prefers military dictatorship to the endemic corruption of the previous government.
Nadi is a dusty, dead-end town, thriving solely on the fact that an airport is located 9 km away. It's been a while since I've been to Asia and I wasn't really prepared for it (i.e. i thought people really did want me to have a cup of kava with them because they were showing me the true Fijian hospitality - i got smart pretty quick). I had a look around the Hindu temple and went to a beach - both legit, touristy, stop-over activities, but in the course of which I was approached with various offers of fruit, food, kava, free taxi rides, free horse rides, alcohol, sex and drugs. After five exhausting hours I hailed a taxi and was taken back to the safe haven of air-conditioned airport, feeling like a culural failure. The next 11 hours are so uneventful they're not worth mentioning but suffice to say I got back on board the plane and before long was touching down at Los Angeles International.
Airports used to fascinate me but now they just piss me off. I got through US Customs relatively unscathed, following pointed interrogation from the guard who asked "well, if you're a student, like you say you are, then how can you afford this trip?" I was all prepared to launch into my sob story (girl makes rash decision, girl overcomes obstacles and triumphs, etc) but i kept it brief. No reason to annoy the authorities before I've even entered the country. The transition from international to domestic teminals was smooth - with the swipe of a credit card I had my ticket to San Francisco in hand and two hours later I was screaming and running across the baggage collection area into Frances' awaiting arms.
With the Red Hot Chilli Peppers in high rotation in my brain, Frances and her friend Liz drove me to their shack in the student town of Santa Cruz. Their place is amazing. It's easily four times as big as my new abode in Brunswick, with a massive garden full of fruit trees and the obligatory crazy neighbours. On Friday Frances gave me the guided tour of Santa Cruz on bike - the coolest op-shops, the burrito resturants, the cafes where the hip kids and burnt-out hippies hang out, the beach and the boardwalk. At the end of the day we went to an art show in a co-op (a huge house where groups of students live commune-style on the cheap) and drove to stay overnight with Frances' mum Susan in suburban San Jose.
After a heartily cooked breakfast full of culinary delights such as hash browns and hickory smoked rissoles (i think?) we drove back to San Francisco International to pick up Nikki. We had swapped cars and were now driving a "van" or more correctly a "tank" - bigger is definitely better here in California when it comes to vehicles. At least now no-one was going to inadvertently drive over the top of us. C'mon, bring it on !! Nikki's plane was delayed so we went to the makeup shop to work on my American tan. With much screaming and hugging we collected a tired but estatic Nikki and drove downtown to the San Francisco Gay Pride Festival.
Wearing our matching God Bless America 2007 t-shirts, we wandered through the crowds being in turn delighted, amused and disgusted (mostly by the tanned fat man trying to hump the grass, and the glittery penis sunglasses - pictures soon!). Depending on which guidebook you consult, the gay population of SF is between 12 - 25% (the top figure according to Out And About In San Francisco). It seems like such a vibrant, open and in a way powerful community compared to anything in Melbourne, when it's rare to see gay people holding hands, let alone organising a massive city-wide celebration. We certainly had fun, especially Frances, who ate a Polish Sausage in a bun, but only realised the double entendre much, much later.
We stopped in at San Jose for a home-cooked meal and then drove back to Santa Cruz to to get Nikki into a shower and a bed. Today we're just going to do some serious chilling and planning our next couple of weeks. We don't know much for certain yet, except that our Swedish accents are going strong, and that our anthem will be As Long As You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys. More news as it comes to hand.
Tuesday 19 June 2007
the final countdown
I’ve only got one sleep to go until the States, and the stress is starting to set in. So little time, so much to do. I’ve started doing about ten things on them in the last two hours, and barely finished one. There’s this feeling that I remember from before I went away to
These last two weeks I’ve been temping full-time to bump up my balance. I managed to score a very cushy (read: boring) job as a receptionist/switch bitch at a magazine company in South Yarra for one week, and this week I’ve been working at this accountancy firm conducting surveys with people in government housing about their water usage. Either the water conservation message is hitting home or everyone is telling filthy lies, because it appears that I’m the only one in
I’m trying desperately to get some more information about my destinations. It’s hard without the internet, so I have to resort to 20th century means. In my lunch break I ran across the Yarra to the City Library and borrowed out a swag of books, the best find being “Eccentric America” where I discovered that there is a July 4 Pillow Fighting Championship in a town a bit north of San Francisco. That isn’t even scratching the surface of the craziness, which I am very happy about - I guess the
I’m sitting in my new room in
Travel has definitely given me a more spartan lifestyle. Not only has saving for this trip forced me to drop out of consumer culture almost entirely, but I don’t tend to hoard stuff, or keep anything that I don’t use on a regular basis. There’s nothing like living out of a backpack to help you realise how little you actually need. I eventually would like to have more to my name than a badly painted chest of drawers, a second-hand fridge and a jewellery box of sets of earrings all missing one of the pair. But not when I’m a tight-arse student who changes addresses every six months. I’m glad that Kate shares this ethos – the furniture we bought yesterday was all second hand, and all as ugly as all heck. But we’ll make it a home.
I better head to uni to scab some wireless internet. My flight leaves at nearly
Tuesday 5 June 2007
howdy!
On my first trip solo overseas, I got infected with a travel bug so fatal that within three weeks of my return to Australia, I'd bought a ticket to get the hell out of here. An inspired flash decision, a bizarre way of dealing with reverse culture shock, or a foreboding glimpse of the future? Stick around and find out!
This blog is a record of my five weeks away in the great US of A. I managed to keep a semi-regular blog during my footloose & fancy free student exchange in Sweden. Being the narcissistic and easily amused upstart I am, writing it gave me much pleasure. Especially so when I got comments from my friends or random blow-ins, and even when I inadvertently caused the occasional scandal (it's the last time I mention casual sex when my extended family are reading!) it was good to know that at least some people were reading. But due to the brevity of my trip and the uncertainty of where i'll be from day to day (yay!) I can't offer any guarantees of regular posting or quality posts but I'll give it my best shot.
This blog is a record of my five weeks away in the great US of A. I managed to keep a semi-regular blog during my footloose & fancy free student exchange in Sweden. Being the narcissistic and easily amused upstart I am, writing it gave me much pleasure. Especially so when I got comments from my friends or random blow-ins, and even when I inadvertently caused the occasional scandal (it's the last time I mention casual sex when my extended family are reading!) it was good to know that at least some people were reading. But due to the brevity of my trip and the uncertainty of where i'll be from day to day (yay!) I can't offer any guarantees of regular posting or quality posts but I'll give it my best shot.
My engagement with the US goes way back to primary school, where Dad hated The Simpsons with a passion so ferocious that it made it, by default, the coolest thing on TV. In high school, me and my friends skipped class and hid out in an empty classroom to watch George Bush's State of the Union address where he launched his policy of pre-emptive strikes. And at uni, when I lived next to pot-smoking, hard-partying American boys in my second year at college, and "USA" has become synonymous with "cultural imperialism" throughout my entire Media and Communications degree.
But the US started to mean something personal to me when I met Frances from California in Lund, Sweden during my exchange. The Californian kids were quite notorious around the international student circuit - when asked where they were from, they'd answer "California" whereas kids from the other 49 states would say "America." I met Frances through my friend Nikki (who is going to be my travelling buddy) at the Welcome to Sweden party, where she danced in a manner so uninhibitedly provocative that for the rest of the semester men would ask whether she had a boyfriend, and then promptly disregard the answer and continue to try to catch her attention. But Frances is not all the $2 hussy she appears to be! On a weekender I did with Nikki and Frances down to Berlin, I didn't get to see half the sights because I was doubled over with laughter, even at the more sombre moments. She's a lady more than worthwhile making the trip for, especially with the added bonus of seeing my corridor mate Brad from Oregon, if he can tear himself away from the baseball and grundle finessing he's famous for.
The other reason I'm going to the States is to see my boyf. I met Murray from Scotland in Sweden, and we went holidaying around Morocco. International. When it was time for me to come back to Aus, there were a million reasons for us to go our separate ways (the most convincing: past experience, rationality, sanity) but a few incredibly convincingly ones to stay together. Now, I want to be honest. I hate it when people turn all lovey-dovey on blogs, who waste entire posts in the form of unabashed hymns of praise. You can go to the Myspace teen-scene if you need to vent those feelings inside. Also, I understand what it's like. I've been suffering intensely violent feelings whenever I see couples smooching or holding hands or gazing into each others eyes or buying groceries; even when they're having a row in the Safeway carpark, it's enough to melt my icy heart. So, in short, it's not going to be like that, kays?
But the US started to mean something personal to me when I met Frances from California in Lund, Sweden during my exchange. The Californian kids were quite notorious around the international student circuit - when asked where they were from, they'd answer "California" whereas kids from the other 49 states would say "America." I met Frances through my friend Nikki (who is going to be my travelling buddy) at the Welcome to Sweden party, where she danced in a manner so uninhibitedly provocative that for the rest of the semester men would ask whether she had a boyfriend, and then promptly disregard the answer and continue to try to catch her attention. But Frances is not all the $2 hussy she appears to be! On a weekender I did with Nikki and Frances down to Berlin, I didn't get to see half the sights because I was doubled over with laughter, even at the more sombre moments. She's a lady more than worthwhile making the trip for, especially with the added bonus of seeing my corridor mate Brad from Oregon, if he can tear himself away from the baseball and grundle finessing he's famous for.
The other reason I'm going to the States is to see my boyf. I met Murray from Scotland in Sweden, and we went holidaying around Morocco. International. When it was time for me to come back to Aus, there were a million reasons for us to go our separate ways (the most convincing: past experience, rationality, sanity) but a few incredibly convincingly ones to stay together. Now, I want to be honest. I hate it when people turn all lovey-dovey on blogs, who waste entire posts in the form of unabashed hymns of praise. You can go to the Myspace teen-scene if you need to vent those feelings inside. Also, I understand what it's like. I've been suffering intensely violent feelings whenever I see couples smooching or holding hands or gazing into each others eyes or buying groceries; even when they're having a row in the Safeway carpark, it's enough to melt my icy heart. So, in short, it's not going to be like that, kays?
In my hurry to pay for my airfare, I didn't exactly consider the financial ramifications of saving. For these last four and a bit months I've been living in self-imposed student poverty, the kind which stagnates your wardrobe and bans you from pre-lecture lattes, that forces you off public transport unless it's absolutely necessary, and makes you fall back on goon and $5 bottles of sherry even though you swore to yourself you were beyond such self-abuse. It also makes you seek dubious employment opportunities - while I haven't been forced to "exotic dancer" it up, I am working for a boss who is embroiled in a case/crusade against the tax office. He's got a bit of a shady past but he's legit now, the work is law-related and he pays cash in hand so it's a happy trade-off.
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