Shyzer.com

I’ve been in Australia for the past few weeks and will be so for awhile to come. So that can explain why I haven’t posted here on Shyzer lately. If anybody stateside needs me, then hopefully you have my e-mail, because otherwise you’re SOL.

And with that, I’m out of here.

We last left off with Goob drifting off happily into dream land during his first night in Australia. Let’s tune back in and see just what kind of shenanigans he ended up getting himself into.

I woke up Friday morning revived and ready to roll. Which is a damn good thing, because that also happened to be Oktoberfest and even though the closest to Germany most of my mates have ever been is eating a German sausage, I knew they were going to celebrate the day in full fashion. So I drug myself out of bed, performed the ritual known as “daily hygiene,” and by noon was heading over to Bar on the Hill with Hannah and Keeley to meet up with everybody.

After sculling my first beer of the day, I spent the rest of it slowly getting Socially Happy and catching up with people that I hadn’t had a chance to talk to the day before. I wasn’t planning on going out since I wasn’t too keen on getting hammered my first functional night in Aussie, but around 2200, Emma came by and asked if I wanted to come out with a few folks. Something told me it’d be a damn fun time, so I decided what the hell and accompanied Em, Rach, Matty, and company out to Customs. Final verdict = excellent decision. The Spitfire didn’t make an appearance (more on that later), but I still managed to have a freaking blast.

It’s weird, during the four months I was in Australia, I didn’t really hang out excessively with Emma. I guess it wasn’t so much that we didn’t hang out, but that we didn’t really have any crazy adventures together. The first one I can remember having with her is on Josh’s Farewell in June as she chased me around campus as I drunkenly blazed past everyone. Now that I think about it, that isn’t so much an adventure as her being kind and making sure I didn’t end up passed out in a ditch. See, even that wasn’t fun for her! Anyways, like I said in my last post that was read three times by Waynus and Jaime each, Emma actually cried tear of joy when I showed up unannounced, so I knew we’d have to do some fun things together while I was visiting in order to make those tears well deserved. And did we ever.

Friday nights were my nights of craziness. I was there for three Fridays and each and every one of them was a blast. The first Friday (Day 2) was amazingly fun mainly due to the fact that I hung out with people I didn’t hang out with nearly enough my first time here. Of course, by the end of the night, thanks to all the Oktoberfest drinking I had done earlier in the day, I was drunk. Luckily, so was Emma, and we had quite a time making it back to Teds. I’m not really sure how I ended up on the train with everybody, but as we were getting off, Emma came up with the brilliant idea to hide in the bushes and scare everybody as they walked past. I thought it was such a fantastic idea, that I immediately agreed to it and we dashed into the nearest pile of bushes we could find and prepared ourselves to give everybody the fright of their life.

Only problem was that we were the last two people to get off the train.

After sitting confused in the bushes for a few minutes, it finally dawned on us that we weren’t gonna be scaring anybody that evening except for the spiders around us. We stumbled out and began to walk back to Teds when we were struck with our second brilliant idea of the evening - to go lie on the oval and stare at the stars! We detoured to the nearest oval, plopped ourselves down in the middle, and gazed upwards at the clouded sky for quite a while before we realized that most of the starts were obscured. It was also at this time that I realized I was lying in a giant mud puddle and spent the rest of our journey back to Teds saying, “I’m all muddy…I think we were lying in mud!” Needless to say, when we finally made it back to the dorms an hour after everybody else, we were giggling uncontrollably and congratulating each other on a job well done.

The next day (Day 3) happened to also be Garden Party, which was the last dorm function of the year. It’s basically a Hawaiian themed event where everybody gets drunk and then the yearly awards are given out. This is also the only time where I refrained from drinking while everybody else got hammered, which is the only reason I mention it. I was quite proud of myself, as you all should be. See Mom, I’m not an alcoholic! Instead of drinking, I spent the night with Keeley and Simon chasing around a very drunk and a very loud Laura. Lesson learned from that experience? Never again be sober when everybody else is drinking! (Shut up Mom!)

The next few days were spent hanging out and just enjoying myself. I went to the computer lab every four days or so since my only source of income right now is helping people work on and update their websites. The rest of my afternoon / evenings were spent just hanging out in people’s rooms and talking. It honestly felt as if I hadn’t even left. I’d wake up around noon, make some lunch, and spend the next few hours wandering the corridors and knocking on people’s doors to hang and chill.

Eventually there was the Ben Lee concert (Day 7, I think) that was, simply put, un-fucking-believable. I had never heard of him before, but it seemed as if everybody and their cousin was going to his concert, so I bought a ticket and figured I’d put some faith in their music selection. And boy, was my faith ever rewarded. I instantly fell in love with his music, rushed back to the dorms to download every song of his I could find, and listened to them over and over and over and over…. You can find some of my favorite songs of his over on the right hand side of Shyzer in the revived Radio Blog, which I haven’t properly configured yet, but which is working nonetheless. My top three would be Ache For You, No Room to Bleed, and Cigarettes Will Kill You.

That Friday (Day 9) was Valedictory Dinner and also the night that would turn out to be the second crazy drunken night of my visit and possibly, the best night of all. The funny part is that I hadn’t even planned on going out or drinking, it just kinda happened. Like I said, Valedictory Dinner was that night and so I borrowed a dress robe from somebody who wasn’t in town, put on some decent looking clothes, and snuck into the dinner even though I didn’t live at Teds anymore. The dinner was quite delicious, the wine, which was served with it, was actually not half bad, and most importantly, I wasn’t caught or kicked out. After dinner, everyone began to make their way back to the dorm and I noticed that a few people had drunk their fair share of wine. One such person was Neri and before I knew it, we were looking for somebody to drive us to town so that we could buy cake mix and mix it with vodka. Random? Of course.

Yeah, needless to say, I ended up going out with her, Emma, and Matty that night and man oh man did it turn into one of the best nights in recent memory. We never did find our cake mix to combine with vodka, but we did manage to get amazingly drunk. Well, let me rephrase. I managed to get amazingly drunk and it’s completely Mexico’s fault. See, the Toohey’s Old that I love and enjoy so much just wasn’t doing the trick. I kid you not when I say I drank 6 or 7 of them within two hours and wasn’t even buzzing. I was baffled as to how I could be drinking so much and not even feeling it and so I began to complain that I couldn’t get drunk off the beer. I wasn’t bragging, oh no, I was complaining. You see, I wanted to get drunk that night and so I asked if anybody knew of something that might help me solve my problem. That’s when Emma piped up with the now classic line of, “TEQUILA SHOTS!!” Yeah, that did the trick.

Within minutes, we had done a few tequila shots and I was well on my way to Drunkville, population: Me. As we switched to another bar, Emma and I ran off to look at the Harbour Angel and truth be told, that’s the point where my memory became fuzzy. I vaguely remember Casey buying me another beer, dancing in the Brewery, and finally seeing some Germans to shoot down in my Spitfire.

Ok, about the Spitfire. I’ve got no idea where it came from, but whenever I get blindly drunk, my brain starts to think my body is a World War II era Spitfire fighter jet and that everything around me is a German enemy plane. The Spitfire first came to fruition on a camping trip with Dave, Jeremy, and Nhan back in July of 2004. We all stayed up late talking and drinking and sometime during the night, I began to run up and down the camp strip making airplane noises, pretending I was shooting down Germans, and screaming “Take THAT Hitler! Eat that Nazi scum! BWEAR!!!!!!!!” It was one of those things where you wake up the next morning, spend a few hours going, “Hey, do you remember what I did last night” before finally moving on. But when I went to Australia, the Spitfire began to make a comeback and basically, whenever I transform into a Spitfire, all my mates in Australia know that I’m officially gone for the evening and that it’s gonna be a long night of chasing me around as I personally turn the tide of the war for Britain and for the rest of mankind in general.

Eventually, we made it to the bus stop and by “we made it,” I really mean “Matty and Emma managed to corral me.” I don’t remember this, but I was told the next day that while waiting for the bus, Matty kept whispering in my ear, “You know, Emma’s really a German. So is the bus!” and I kept freaking out and running away. Once the bus finally came, Emma said it took every ounce of persuasion in her to get me to board the “German” bus and that she was hitting Matty the entire time for making me scared of it. Once we finally boarded, though, I took the seat directly behind the bus driver. Emma sat across from me, Matty sat behind her, and Neri sat behind me.

There was actually a seat between Neri and myself and somewhere along the ride home, a guy sat between us and started talking on his cell phone. Now, I don’t remember leaving the bar or getting on the bus. I hardly even remember running around town as a Spitfire. But one thing I do remember is some guy threatening to kick my ass and telling me that I was a wanker.

You see, as Matty, Emma, and Neri explained it to me, the guy who was talking on his cell phone was talking loudly. He also had his back to me. So, being drunk and the natural smart ass that I already am, I began to mock him. I started mimicking talking on a cell phone and for most of the ride, I simply made an ass of myself. Matty and Emma said they were literally in stitches laughing at me and I’m told Neri did her absolute best trying not to laugh so that she didn’t give it away to the guy on his phone that I was making him look like a dick. However, all of the other bus patrons could clearly see me and apparently I ticked off some guy who simply saw me as a drunk American who didn’t belong in Newcastle. So, as his stop was nearing, he stood up and walked towards me angrily and began to ask where I was from. Being drunk and knowing deep down in my brain that I was in no condition to fight, I cowered in the seat and told him I didn’t want any trouble. He just kept talking shit, threatening to do this and that, and I just kept nodding before he finally got off the bus. I then spent the rest of night recapping how I almost got beat up. In fact, Emma recorded some of my reenactment in this video.

The best part of the whole bus event was that as I was getting off, the bus driver stopped me and thanked / praised / congratulated me for doing the right thing. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of myself while being drunk than at that moment. Matty summed it up best when he said later on:

“You were being a complete dick to the guy behind you and yet somehow you were congratulated by the bus driver! I’ve never experienced two completely different emotions on a bus than I did last night. I went from being in stitches by laughing at you to wondering if something serious was about to happen.”

Good thing somebody had my back, because had that guy decided to start punching me, I doubt I would have been able to even lift my arms in defense, much less get a single punch off. Anyways, the night’s events were far from over. Being praised by the bus driver was the absolute last moment of the night I remember. The hour or two that followed are still a haze to me and the only recollection I have of them are from the photos I have and stories I’ve been told. If you couldn’t tell from the first video, we went swimming in the pool that night. It was actually myself who was hell-bent on swimming and now that I think about it, I’m trying to figure out if anybody else actually went swimming with me or if they all just stood around staring and laughing at me. Oh well, it doesn’t really matter now, but Hannah managed to record a video of me begging people to swim and of me reenacting the praise I was given by the bus driver.

Like I said, I managed to go swimming in my boxers that night and luckily found a towel to dry off with. Matty helped my climb over the fence and as the night was winding down, I decided it was time for me to sleep and start my journey towards the massive hangover that was soon to come. Laura was gone for the weekend and I had been staying in her room, which was on the middle floor of West Wing. Emma, Matty, and Neri all went to bed and I ventured off to do the same in Laura’s room. At least, that’s what I thought I was doing. My memory picks back up around 0530 that morning as I was woken up by two people wondering just who in the hell I was.

Remember how I said Laura’s room was in West Wing on the middle floor? Well, when I was climbing the stairs to her room, I didn’t count correctly and I ended up on the top floor. In my defense, I went to the correct room location. I just ended up in the room directly above where I should have been. The door was unlocked and the lights were off and I guess I just figured the floor looked like a wonderful place to sleep, so I collapsed down on it and dozed off. The problem was that a guy named Steve and his girlfriend named AJ were naked and sleeping in the bed right next to me. Judging from the time we left the pool until the time campus security was called for an intruder, I was asleep on their floor for a good two hours or so. But eventually AJ’s leg dangled off the bed and as luck would have it, hit my face. While sleeping, my hand grabbed her foot, which woke her up, which freaked her out, which woke up Steve, which made him get up to investigate, which caused all hell to break loose since some drunk guy was caressing his girlfriend’s leg.

They woke up to me, soaking wet and in my boxers, wrapped in a towel, sleeping on his floor. Kinda like I look in the picture above. He flipped the lights on and asked who the hell I was and as my brain slowly began to wake up, I wanted to know the same damn question! Who were these two people in Laura’s room when I was supposed to be the one staying there! And why the fuck were they in the bed that Laura had been letting me use? As we both continued to yell at each other, I noticed something odd. Laura didn’t have clothes all over her floor. Laura also had stuff on her walls and I could have sworn she had a laptop and not a desktop computer. After about 90 seconds, it finally dawned on me and I sprinted out of the room without a word, raced downstairs, and collapsed into Laura’s bed.

The next afternoon around 1730, I woke up to Hannah crash tackling me and Keeley laughing drunkenly into the mirror. They had just gotten back from the races, which I had skipped in favor of sleep, and soon I began to remember the events of the previous night. All the while, people were walking by Laura’s room congratulating me on freaking out Steve and AJ and it suddenly all came rushing back to me. I finally tracked them down, apologized, and was relieved to find out that they thought it was hilarious once they were told that the half-naked drunken guy in their room, “was just Goob.” We all agreed that it made a great story and I then went back to Laura’s room to spend the rest of the evening cursing whoever invented hangovers.

The rest of the week was filled with more chilling, hanging out, and your basic college dorm activities. I knew the end of my stay was nearing, so I tried to spend as much time just talking with people and enjoying their company. Before I knew it, my last Friday had arrived (Day 16) and it was great. I won’t really get into it, but after hanging at Customs with just about every single one of my mates, I decided to walk to the beach alone and spend some time figuring things out. I’m not really sure how many hours I spent there and I ended up symbolically tossing some things into the ocean, a la Top Gun (coughmywatchcough), but it was one of the most therapeutic night I’ve had in years.

The next few days and nights I began to prepare for my departure. However, during my last night there (Day 20), Emma got a bit tipsy and wanted to walk to Warabrook, so Matty, Alina, and myself accompanied her during her journey. Again, hell of a night. No, it didn’t involve any drinking, but it involved what I love so much more about this place. We basically just sat out on the dock, looking at the stars, and talked. Plus, there were the two shooting stars that…well, I think I’ll just have to save that story for another post.

I know to some, it may seem like the only reason I love Australia is because of all the drinking and such I did there since that’s basically all I talk about here on Shyzer. But honestly if that’s what you believe, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. There’s so much more about that place that I love that doesn’t make it onto Shyzer. It’s more than Toohey’s Old Dark Beer or the now infamous wine in a box I drink. It’s the people that I love, the environment around Teds, and the attitudes of everybody. I can’t accurately express how loved that place makes me feel, so I don’t even bother. Pictures can’t capture the way I feel when I go back there. Words can’t portray the excitement and content and joy and everything else that mingles inside me while I’m just sitting on somebody’s bed chatting or looking up and down the table in the dining hall or going on walks in the middle of the night across campus. I know I can’t do justice to the way the people there make me feel, so instead I simply write about the only thing that I think people back home will enjoy reading about; my fun adventures I have while I’m there. I just want everybody reading this to make sure they get the right interpretation. It’s this and this and this that make me love Australia. Not this or this. I can’t stress that enough.

I had told people I was gonna leave in the middle of the night without saying anything. I didn’t want to have to go through another round of tears and farewells, so I figured the best course of action would be to leave in the middle of the night without anybody knowing. Of course, telling people this defeated the whole purpose, but I couldn’t simply avoid the question of when I was leaving all together. But, on Wednesday night (Day 20), I basically wandered the corridors late at night going from room to room and talking to as many people as I could find. Around 0245, I finally discovered that everybody had fallen asleep and I knew what had to be done. A few days earlier, I had hidden my bags throughout the dorm and so I went and collected them all, got ready to go, and wrote a few letters that needed to be written. I slipped them under their owner’s respective doors, quietly thanked everybody for a kick ass time, and slipped out under the cover of darkness to catch a train into Sydney.

I’m not even sure how I made it back to the states. I must have stood in the Sydney Central train station for a good 30 minutes contemplating just saying, “fuck it” and going back to Newcastle. I wanted nothing more than to not come home, run back to my second home, and stay there forever. But I finally willed my legs to carry me over to the train, which was headed towards the airport, and board it. A few hours later I was sitting on a plane, staring out the window with tears streaming down my face, wanting nothing more than to be back at Teds. But I knew I had to return home and so 38 hours later, I was greeted by Colton saying, “RYAN! YOU CAME BACK!” and spent the next few hours hugging and playing with my siblings.

Virginia is where I am now. Its where the people who love me most in this world live (besides those two oafs down in South Carolina!) and its where I need to be right now. Make no mistake about it, I love my family more than life itself. I love every day I get to spend with my siblings. I love reading A Pigeon Finds A Hot Dog with Colton every night or the look on Jules’ face when I tell her she can sleep in my bed with me on the weekend or having Clay ask me if I know of any good books. I love kidding with my mom about drinking rum and cokes at 10 in the morning, and talking to my dad about his days with the band, or having Tommy call me to ask which side Norway was actually on in World War II. This family I was placed with is perfect for me, so when I call the people in Newcastle my “Second Family,” don’t think I’m turning my back on the one I already have.

But at the same time, don’t even think about kidding yourself. Australia is where I belong at this stage of my life and I simply can’t wait until the next phase of my plan is executed

Come on, did you really think I wasn’t planning on going back sometime soon?

Where do I even start? Seriously, how am I supposed to try and fit three weeks of amazing fun into one post? The basic answer is there’s no way I can, so instead I’m gonna break it up over a few different posts.

This whole trip actually started back in July. I’d only been home for a month with my family and friends, but had already been to Minnesota, Charleston, Spartanburg, and Seattle. Graduation was on the immediate horizon and yet after all the amazing fun I’d had since being home, I still couldn’t get my mind off Australia. Right at the end of July, I went to Seattle, as you all know. One day, my bro Chong and I were sitting outside enjoying an adult beverage in the crisp Seattle afternoon and the topic of choice was of our long friendship. We’ve been friends for almost 14 years now and as you can imagine, I consider him one of my closest friends. But as the topic quickly shifted to my recent excursion to Australia, he picked up on something that I knew was there, but that I couldn’t explain. In only four months, I had grown amazingly close to my newfound friends. As we sat there sipping our brews and laughing at the crazy guy on the street corner, I told him I wished I could go back, if for nothing else, just a visit. When he asked what the hell was stopping me, I was speechless. There wasn’t a single thing holding me back. In fact, my future, my chances, and my life had never been in better condition for me to simply go off and do whatever I wanted to do. School was over and done with, a job was non-existent, my mom had a few free international passes saved up, and my desire had never been stronger. As all this quickly ran through my head, I couldn’t believe it. Why didn’t I realize it before? Hell if I know, but as I thanked Chong for pointing out the obvious to me, my mind was racing with new plans. It was settled; I was going back to Australia.

The only person I told was Hannah. I wanted to be sure that when I got there, everybody would still be there. Thank God I did this, because my initial date of arrival was right smack in the middle of their holiday break. Would that have been charming. 48 hours of flying to my adoptive homeland only to find the dorm empty for another week. Talk about a depressing homecoming. About two weeks before my new arrival date, I got a message from Keeley screaming about how excited she was. Turns out Hannah had accidentally let the cat out of the bag and told her I was coming. Keeley told Alex, but other than that, my secret was safe. Only three people knew I was coming and the rest? Well the rest were in for a little treat.

To be honest, I began having doubts about coming back once I boarded the train from Sydney to Newcastle. What the fuck was I doing? I had just flown halfway around the world to come back to a place I had only been for four months. What if nobody really gave a shit I was back? What if I didn’t have fun? I feared I was holding on to something I should have been letting go of. Here I was, a twenty two year old college graduate and instead of going out and getting a job like most of my peers, I was gallivanting around the world to a place where in my head, I felt like I belonged. It’s not often I let societal expectations creep into my head, but for some reason during that train trip, they did. It was by far the worst three hours of my whole trip.

I walked off the train around 1230 and decided to wait a little. I knew Hannah was in class until 1300, so I freshened up and sat down to read a book. At 1315, I began the trek to Teds and after stashing my bags behind the coke machine, I walked around the dorm to see if anybody was in their rooms. As I passed by Keeley’s room, dual ear shattering screeches erupted from behind the glass and immediately all doubts were vanquished. For most people, this probably wasn’t the logical step to take. But since when have I ever been like most people? As Hannah and Keeley spilled from the front door and we all just mingled into one huge hug, I knew right then and there I had made the correct choice and that I was gonna enjoy every second of it.

As the screaming stopped, I looked up to see Matty walking up and laughing. He had seen me walk by his window with a cheeky grin and had to come see if his eyes had been deceiving him or not. And from there, the reactions only became greater. Casey did a double-take as I walked into his room. Aiden and Kaz hollered out my name in jubilee. Memma thought I was a cardboard cutout at first. Jordan and Sam laughed at how completely random it was that I came back. And Emma even cried tears of what I believe were joy. Within hours, a large group of us were over at the Bar on the Hill for happy hour. Let me tell you, that first glass of Toohey’s Old was by far one of the most delicious beers I’ve ever had. And as I learned coming home yesterday, while the States might not allow much alcohol to be sent via the postal service, they don’t give a shit about bringing it in via carry-on baggage. In fact, I think I might go have an Old right now with lunch. But that afternoon, I simply spent my time going around and seeing everyone and letting it be known that Goob was back in the country for a while.

My exhaustion finally slammed me around 2000 as we were getting back from Jesmond with pizza. I ate a little bit before being ushered into Hannah’s room and given her bed for the night to sleep. And as I drifted off to sleep that evening, I remember the great wave of warmth and pleasure that swept over me.

I was finally back home with my second family.

I’ve decided to go ahead and admit defeat. There’s no way I’ll be posting regularly here from Aussie seeing as how I’ve been here a week and posted a grand total of one time. So unless I find a computer while stumbling around drunk one night, don’t expect much more from Shyzer until November.

Last week while in Minnesota, my siblings walked through the front door late one night and I practically imploded. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them while in Australia. Of course, within minutes, it felt as if I had never left. We slid right back into the groove of things, playfully making fun of each other, bickering as always, and just being our normal selves. But honestly, who would have even believed me had I tried to say I hadn’t missed my family?

But what’s really been surprising me are the little things (and sometimes big things) that I thought I would miss but that I’ve found out I didn’t really miss whatsoever. Almost every hour or so I find myself playing a little game called “Would You Give This Up?” where I notice something and think to myself “Would you give this up to go back to Australia?” Take for instance baseball. Before I left, I guarantee you I would never have given up baseball. You could have waved a million crisp, new one dollar bills in my direction and I still would have turned you down to keep baseball. But last week, I was sitting at a bar with my uncle watching a game on TV and I thought to myself, “Holy Crap…I’d totally give up watching baseball every day during the summer in order to go back to Australia.” Talk about your unexpected self realizations.

Some other things I’ve found that I’d give up while playing WYGTU surprised me as well. The Daily Show was one. In fact, all of TV was one. As long as I can download LOST off the Internet, I am a happy dude. I actually enjoyed not watching TV while over in Australia. It was freeing in a queer sort of way. But what about other things, you ask? My computer here that I’ve slaved over and cared about for years? Yep, I’d hand that to Waynus if it meant I could return. My truck? My ability to fly very cheaply? My cell phone? Yep, oh yeah, and Hell yes! The only two things I’ve found so far that I’d refuse to give away have been my journal and Shyzer. But I might even give up Shyzer if I was allowed to start a new site somewhere else that everybody could move to =)

I’m heading down to Charleston later this week before swinging by Columbia to pick up some things I left behind and meet with my Study Abroad advisor. I’ve got a brand new cell phone number, so e-mail me if you need the digits and I’ll pass them along. There’s quite a few people that I want to see and chill with for a while just to catch up on old times before I leave because in all honesty, it might be a while before I’m back =)

The first time I ever ventured to Australia, my family and I managed to stay in Sydney and mimic the stereotypical tourist right down to the camera hanging from around our necks. We hit up all the shopping districts, ran around the zoo before it closed on evening, and of course sat outside and gazed upwards at the majestic Sydney Opera House while letting escape a barely audible “whoa.” And it was there, outside the Opera House, that Clay and Waynus noticed tiny blips on the horizon that seemed to be moving across the bridge nearby. Or should I say, moved across the arches of the bridge. We asked a few people what they were doing and they pointed us to some brochures for the Sydney Harbor Bridge Climb. Unfortunately, we were leaving the next day and didn’t have any time to conquer the bridge, but we all agreed that it looked incredibly fun and exciting.

A few weeks back, I was talking to my mom on MSN, trying to set my hectic schedule for when I return stateside, when she asked if I remember seeing the people climb the bridge. “Of course I do,” I told her, “How could I have forgotten that? I actually thought about doing it while I was over here now, but there’s no way I can afford it.” When she replied that she had bought me a ticket for my graduation present, my jaw literally dropped.

I caught a train down to Sydney this past Tuesday with Karen since she was heading down to meet up with a friend of hers. We passed the time chatting and enjoying the scenery and before I knew it, I had made two train transfers and was standing in the middle of Sydney Harbor. I had arrived at noon and my climb wasn’t until quarter after 3, so I found a little Thai restaurant, picked up some lunch, and went to sit by the water and eat. It was quite relaxing, almost tranquil, despite the hundreds of people continually walking and talking around me. Before I knew it, I had pulled out my notebook and written for two hours straight. A Shyzer post or two, countless postcards, and a few pages for my private journal were soon completed from start to finish. You can never ignore those rare and sudden inspirations to write and it was something about being in Sydney, completely alone and content, that brought it on.

The time to head over to the bridge eventually rolled around, however, and so I made my way there and checked in. I was pointed to a waiting room where I met the rest of the members in my group. There was the mom and two daughters, the youngest of which was celebrating her twelfth birthday and quite hilarious. When we were going around the room and introducing myself, she giggled when I said my name was Goob and then made one of those quite gasps of excitement when I said I was from the states. She was even more thrilled when she learned I grew up in the state next to Georgia, which she reminded me was Martin Luther King’s home state. There was also the couple from London, the trio from Munich who struck up a conversation with me over my Oktoberfest T-shirt, and finally the bloke from Scotland with what might have been the thickest Scottish accent I have ever heard. I made sure I was next to him on the climb, simply so I could listen to him talk as much as possible.

After gearing up, going over the safety procedures, and practicing using the equipment, we were off to march to the top of the bridge. As we began to mount the bridge, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the sights. Straight ahead was nothing but gray steel which looked insurmountable. To your right was the harbor and Opera House while to your left was more of the harbor and a gorgeous view of the sun setting. And straight behind you was the city, skyscrapers and all. My mom had bought me a ticket for the Twilight Climb, which meant that on the way up we would get to watch the sun set while on the way down we could watch as the moon rose into the night sky. Every 30 meters or so, we’d stop to gaze around and take in the views for 10 minutes or so before climbing just a little higher. As we rose up, one of the noticeable differences was the sound. Right when we started, the cars and trains were almost directly beneath us, roars across the bridge and flooding your ears with their sounds. But as we went up, the noise slowly faded to a soft hum; the type of peaceful hum that a parent makes deep in their chest as they rock their child to sleep.

As it grew darker, you could also see the sparks of camera flashes going off across the harbor. Every few seconds you would see the glitter of one and I couldn’t help but think every time that somewhere, in more than a few photo albums across the globe, there would be a picture of the bridge with twelve little dots on it and if any of them were taken with a high resolution or high zoomed camera, they might even pick up the huge grin that was spread across my face. Another event we could watch unfold before us was the awakening off all the lights within the city. Slowly, each and every one of them grumbled to life, casting forth a dull glow before finally growing into bright, little dots. Slowly, but surely, the horizon began to dip lower and lower before shrinking to the point were we could see over it, out into the Pacific Blue. Huge tankers, no bigger than a quarter of my finger nail, sparsely covered the sea, but for the most part it was nothing but water. And I know this might sound cliche, but I truly have never seen water quite as deep blue as that from the harbor and ocean. It looked as if it would swallow anybody who ventured into it; as if it would wrap around you and somehow make you warm. I had almost convinced myself that it would somehow protect me from hypothermia if I so decided to take a little swim afterwards.

When we finally reached the apex, we must have stopped and looked around for at least half an hour. Our guide reminded us that we were 134 meters above sea level, which translates into 439 feet or a 5.2 second fall. The thousands of people on the ground below looked like miniature fleas they were so small. The boats directly beneath us looked like the toys I used to play with in the bathtub as a child. Ok, who am I kidding, the toys I still play with from time to time in the bathtub. The skyscrapers looked like matchsticks, each tipped with a different colorful logo on the top, ready to be plucked one by one from some hand out of the sky. But probably one of the most impressive views was the Opera House itself. The ground around it is brown and of course the House itself is made in such a unique shape that every time I looked at it, I was reminded of sea shells jutting from the beach back home. Every time we would go to the beach for our yearly vacation, my mom would pay me 5 cents for each shell I found and collected so that she could make some sort of design or ornament with them back home.

As we made our way down, the night grew darker, the cars grew louder, and the buildings grew larger. We continued to stop and take in the sights and by the time I made it back to the bottom, all I wanted to do was turn around and venture back to the top again. It wasn’t until I was on the train home, napping to pass the time that I realized how tired my legs were and how physically exhausting it was. But if somebody asked me to do it again, the next words out of my mouth would be “what time?!”

Thanks Mom and Jeff. That’s an experience I will truly never forget.

I’ve mentioned before how I purchased a small notepad to carry around with me wherever I went. Well, one of the things I used it for besides jotting down grocery lists and updating my Hit List (Mike Novak, you better watch your back!) was keeping track of all the different words that are used over here. But before I delve deeper into this, I want to say two things. (1) I’ll probably misspell a few of the Australian counterparts for these words. I’ve had brekkie spelled three different ways to me on MSN (brekkie, brekky, brecky) and so, I’ve just chosen the method with which I’ve been spelling them in my journal every night. And (2) when I say that these words aren’t used back home, I’m almost certain that I’ll get a comment from somebody in some place like Montana or Mississippi saying “Hey, what are you talking about?! We use that all the time here!” Like Australia, America can be extremely regional when it comes to language. Therefore, when I state we don’t use these words, I mean we neither use them regularly in the South or in popular culture, such as music, TV, or movies. Okay? So, with that disclaimer taken care of…

Root.

Tell me, dear friends, when you hear the above word, what do you think of? I can already assure you that if you are reading this while in America, you are thinking to yourself, “the crap in the ground that soaks up water for trees” while if you are reading this while in Australia, you are giggling and / or blushing and /or thinking of the person you have the hots for. Why the difference? Because here, it is one of the most commonly used terms for sex. As you can guess, this lead to some confusion for me when I first heard the term being used, but I’ll save that story for later. I told it for my audition for We’ll Make an Aussie Out of You and I don’t want to give away all the funny parts before you all get a chance to watch it (which should be soon after I return stateside!)

So there you have it. I’m sure I left off a few words, so I’ll come back here and update this list as I remember them.

As promised, we’ve got some updated material here on Shyzer. First, let me point you in the direction of the gallery. Two sections in the Aussie folder received updates, the Random Functions and Corridor Collection folders. The Random Functions have some new photos from Josh’s Last Dinner while the Corridor Collection received over 100 new photos, started on page 2. There’s some great stuff in there of me goofing off, so don’t just think this is for my mates over here to enjoy. All you people stateside, get your asses in there!

In addition to those, two new folders were created which I think contain some of the best photos ever. First, there is the College Ball, which was just a huge dance where all the colleges (which means dorms) got together wearing their ugliest clothing. The other folder contains pictures from Josh’s Going Away Party which was one of the craziest nights of my life, mainly because I drank about three liters of goon. I felt it was only fair since Josh was being forced to drink a bottle of rum that I, as his American brethren, get piss drunk with him.

The only problem with this was that I didn’t stop drinking once I became drunk, something that I usually do. This led to some sort of crazy channeling of my inner spirit, thereby giving me to energy of ten oxen. And I’m talking about those big, blue oxen from the Paul Bunyan tales, not those crappy oxen that always drowned in Oregon Trail whenever you tried to cross the rivers. As Adam put it best, “Dude, you were like Jim Carey on speed.”

I would go outside, run around for a bit, come back inside, dance, hug and kiss people, and repeat. One of the RAs that was there told me later the next day, “You were doing so many things that were wrong, but nobody had the heart to stop you. You were just having way too much fun. You had more energy than any drunk person I’ve ever seen too. We’d all just be standing there and then this blur would scorch by and fly off into the bush. Even Boof was sitting there shaking his head and he’s the local drunk! I haven’t seen somebody that drunk in years…”

During one of my excursions away from the party, I found a picnic table and felt that would be a good place to take a nap. After being found and helped back to the party, I again dashed off and took a nap in the bush. This time, Emma brought along her digital camera, set it to movie mode, and…well…see for yourself…

“Artica can blow me!” - Goob’s video clip.

I think my favorite part of that video is right at the very beginning when they scare me as I awaken and I scream “SCARY PEOPLE!” Good times indeed.

Also, I’m not sure if people noticed or not, but the media page received an update about a week ago. Hannah came home from town extremely drunk and so I felt it was only fair if I started recording her. Seven minutes worth of footage later, I sat down to try and test my movie making skills for I have a third site on the horizon that I may start at the end of the summer that will require me to make videos. Anyways, if you’ve got some time and want to laugh at a drunk person, go watch Hannah while she is drunk.

So what’s next for Shyzer? The lingo post should be next (I have two questions that I need to ask a specific person before I upload it. I don’t want to be completely wrong about something), the Aussie Cast page will be revamped by week’s end, AND remember that movie I said I filmed for the local film class? Well, they’ve finished editing it and I’m heading over there today to pick up a copy. If at all possible, I’ll post that as soon as I can, just as long as I can get it onto my computer. Until then, enjoy the assorted media.

When I came here to Australia, one of my initial goals for Shyzer was to try and catalog all the strange and monumental differences between home and here. However, amazingly enough, there weren’t that many huge differences. Sure, they drive on the other side of the road and yes, they can be a bit weird at times, but I sure know I have my moments when I’m weird and hell, I even drive on the wrong side of the road every now and then just for kicks. So, instead, I started trying to notice the subtle differences. I bought a small notepad and carried it around with me everywhere I went, jotting down every little thing I notice. Here are some of the most interesting ones so far.

First off, let’s get the biggest difference out of the way. NO SQUIRRELS! Not a single squirrel to be seen. Back home, a walk across campus will result in the sighting of a minimum of 19 squirrels, two of who will be procreating. So, you can see why it’s so odd to have such a lack of the little squirrelly guys here.

Contrary to popular belief back home, there are actually three different styles of rugby. There are three leagues over here, AFL, Union, and League, and each of them are completely different. The worst style in my opinion is League. Basically it consists of teams finding the strongest men possible and trying to force your way down the field. There is very little, if any, strategy involved and frankly, I can’t understand how anybody could watch this. The entire game consists of 15 men just running into each other over and over. It’s fun for all of 34 seconds.

The next best would be Union. This is what we back home consider rugby, what with the scrums and style of play that we see on movies and television all the time. I would easily rank this leaps and bounds over League because Union is essentially League with some skill and strategy added to the mixture. Both are played on roughly the same size field as gridiron back home and the goal is to try and get a touchdown (called a “try”) at the other end of the field, just like in gridiron. However, in Union, players don’t just run into the opposing players and try to barrel their way through. If they can’t find a hole, they’ll pass it backwards or kick it forwards or do whatever is necessary to try and keep the play alive. However, one major weakness in both League and Union is that most of the players in these leagues are horrible at catching. It’s not uncommon to drop 25% of the passes thrown to you, but you have to remember, these throws are coming from your teammates in front of you who are simply turning around and tossing the ball back to you!

The best version is easily AFL to me. First off, the field itself is about the size of one and a half soccer fields, at least. Players are allowed to run with, kick, and throw the ball, but since there is much more ground to cover, the level of strategy involved is raised ten fold. The teams actually run plays and, unlike their League and Union counterparts, AFL players can catch! At the same time, this is still rugby folks, so there are plenty of crushing blows landed on players from time to time. Think soccer fused with gridiron and that’s what AFL is. In order to score, a player has to kick the ball between four poles on the other side of the field. Make it through the middle two and you earn six points. Make it through one of the middle two and one of the outer two and you earn less points. I went to an AFL game down in Sydney and had the time of my life! Most people here in Newcastle hate AFL and watch League, but I honestly have no idea how people can’t enjoy AFL. I’ll forever swear by the fact that AFL could easily come to America and become popular. If there’s any way to pick it up on Direct TV or anything, I’d certainly buy the package needed just to watch it. It’s a fantastic sport.

You might have noticed me saying gridiron previously, and that’s because the NFL is known as gridiron over here. Whenever the topic of gridiron is brought up, I’m always asked the same question. “Why do they wear so much padding?!?” I try to explain that besides the helmet and shoulder pads, the padding isn’t significant and that in essence, the padding can actually make the hits harder, but most people don’t understand. There’s a general consensus that the game is boring as well because it starts and stops way too much. I again counter with the fact that the reason for this is because the game is much more complicated than they realize and that you simply cannot just run into people. It’s a sport designed to make holes and exploit weaknesses, not hit the big men in front of you. But alas, few people here understand and I tend to move the topic onto something else.

One thing that I was really shocked about was that most people here HATE soccer! I figured that the entire world minus America was fanatical over soccer, but I assumed incorrectly. I’ve found maybe two or three people that follow European soccer and that’s about it.

Cricket is also pretty big here, but more on the International scene. And baseball is all but non-existant. However, unlike football, baseball seems to be generally respected. One of the best quotes I was told about baseball was from a kid complaining about trying to bat. “They don’t give you enough time to hit the ball,” he told me. “They just chuck it right at you! The guy on the hill throws the ball and less than a half second later, the play is over. How am I supposed to hit that?!” I just laughed and smiled. Glad to see that I’m not the only person who has trouble with the fastballs!

With regards to the beverages here, there is one big difference. They have this stuff called cordial and it’s basically flavored water. You can buy lemon, lime, apple, etc. flavored cordial and all you do is mix it with water. It’s not like Kool-Aide because there is very little, if any, sugar in it. So, you can imagine how tasteful it is for Americans. Every time I go to dinner and take a sip, I wonder to myself, “where the hell’s the sugar?”

Almost every major American softdrink is sold over here, with the exception of one. I have yet to find a single person who likes Dr. Pepper, and I’ve asked every single person on the Ozzie Cast Page. Apparently it was brought over here in the mid-90s and sales were so poor, that they stopped making it within a few years. Everybody I ask about it responds with the same thing. “It tastes like cough syrup!!”

One random thing that I’ve noticed from actually going to class is the size of notebook paper. Over here, it’s about 3/4 an inch longer than what we use back home. I brought a USC 5 subject notebook with me to use and when I first started getting handouts, I noticed they stuck out of the pockets. I looked around and sure enough, all the notebook paper over here is longer than ours. Also, it’s punched in a much different way than ours. We have the customary three holes down the side. The paper here has about seven. Most notebooks are either 2-ring or 5-ring, so to accommodate both of these, they punch the paper with seven holes. It looks funny to say the least.

Onto entertainment, there are a few shows that surprised me with regard to their lack of popularity. For starters, not many people here watch the Simpsons; maybe 20%. It’s not hated in any way, it simply isn’t that well liked. Now Friends and Seinfeld, on the other hand, seem to be hated with a passion. Most people admit that the humor in Seinfeld is completely over their head, which I can understand. But the hatred of Friends kinda surprised me, especially when you consider the fact that the British version of Couplings is well liked over here. As far as American shows that are loved, well LOST and The O.C. easily top the list. Family Guy, Scrubs, and Futurama are not far behind. (yeah I know, Futurama. That show sucked!)

When it comes to speech, they shorten almost every word to end in either “ie,” “y,” or “o.” Breakfast is brekkie. A can of beer is a tinny. Afternoon is arvo. It’s quite annoying, but I have to admit, it starts to catch on.

One common speech pattern that doesn’t grow on you, however, is how they tend to not complete a sentence. For instance, let’s say that it’s extremely hot outside. Well, if an Australian was describing the weather, they would most likely say, “Oh, it’s hot as out there.” My response is usually something along the lines of, “HOT AS WHAT?! YOU KEEP FORGETTING TO COMPARE IT TO SOMETHING ELSE!” That still irks the hell out of me!

There are payphones everywhere here, which is no longer the case back home. Bellsouth swooped in and removed all the public phones five or six years ago, but here, Telstra is still going strong with them. Also, all cell phones are done on a pay-per-minute plan. People buy a cell phone and then buy minutes as they go along. They pay, say, $30 bucks and whenever they run out, they just add more minutes. There are no monthly plans like we have back home and I just find that odd.

And speaking of phones, the phone systems here makes about as much sense as a President Bush press conference. It’s amazingly complicated to make a simple phone call in this country. First off, phone numbers can be however long they want and I’m not talking about area codes and whatnot. I’m looking at a receipt right now that has advertisements on the back. Want some Dominos? Then call 131-888. Want someone to come clean your carpets? Then call 4954-2600. Why does this number have an extra two digits? WHO THE HELL KNOWS! No seriously, nobody here even notices shit like this. I’ve asked at least five people and they just shrug and give me the “who cares as long as I get my pizza on time” face. But the fun doesn’t stop there. Oh no. When I was down in Sydney, I noticed a sign advertising a realty company, whose number started with 999. The other digits? 5359. I turned to the guy next to me and asked why that number had seven digits and his reply was, “Uh…because that’s what the phone company gave them!” Thanks, douche bag, I thought they just picked those numbers out of a hat and then magically it became his phone number! Seriously, it makes no sense whatsoever.

My next installment later this week will feature a list of Australian words and their American counterpart. After that will be my review on how they do classes over here. If you have anything else you’d like me to write about, then drop me a line in the comments!

Well, as you can guess from the entry below, I was a tad “socially happy” last night. We had a going away party for Josh since he leaves tomorrow and I went down with all of our mates. I then woke up this morning feeling like rubbish. That’s about all I remember seeing as how everything in between is a blurry haze. Hopefully, however, the pictures and movies that I’m sure were taken will help refresh my memory.

Any long time reader of Shyzer should notice a trend, however. Every time I get hammered, I run to Shyzer and start posting. Back home, I’m what you would call a Drunk Dialer and if there was some catchy name for a Drunk IMer, I’d be that as well. Just ask Clay; he has the logs to prove it. But I am also a Drunk Shyzer-er. I’ll always inevitably reach a point where my mind goes “Hey, go post on Shyzer!” and then my mouth will scream out “IT’S SHYZER TIME!” and I will run off to find a computer and post a few garbled sentences. Whenever I wake up the next morning, I usually see my rant and delete, but today I figured why not leave it up? It’s a post, is it not? So I’ve created a new category for all my retarded messages and will begin leaving them to drop off into the archive for all to see.

And to everybody who found great hilarity in my drunk banter last night, I’m glad you all enjoyed it. I would say it won’t happen again soon, but I think everybody knows that would be a lie. I am now off to shower and take a much needed nap, for my head is screaming at me to stop looking at this damned computer screen.