Avez-Vous Vu Les (Bon) Mots?

Back in October I was reading Saturday's Globe and Mail in Montreal, and in the Arts section I chanced upon a book review that would have made me fall off my chair if I wasn't sitting cross-legged on my bed, or shot liquid out my nostrils if I happened to be sucking on a beverage. One topic I seem to have an insatiable appetite for is language history. I own at least 5 biographies of English, and almost bought another a few days ago. Whilst my knowledge of my own language is exemplary, I am effectively ignorant of others. The problem with language is that it dictates access to itself, so whilst histories of English in English are as plentiful as England's land is green and pleasant, histories of other languages in English are somewhat rarer. However, here was a review informing me of a book, a book I had dreamt of but whose existence seemed fanciful, a history of French in English. To say I was pleased would be an understatement. I was ecstatic.

There was one slight problem though, being a new book, The Story Of French was only available in hardcover. Actually, at the time of reading the review the book was not available at all. Obviously, that very day I had hurried down to the Chapters on Rue Sainte-Catherine to search for it, only to be disappointed upon being told it was yet to hit the shelves. It was only a few weeks later, in an East Village Barnes & Noble, did I have to contemplate the dilemma of whether to purchase a hardcover book.
I do actually own two hardcover books; a biography of Suede and Bill Drummond's wryly titled "How To Be An Artist", so I cannot claim to maintain a paperback purity for myself. However, I do find myself more attracted to the ideals of the paperback as opposed to the hardcover. As a strong believer in universal access to education, the hardcover, with its inflated price and inconvenient physicality, seems to be very much opposed to this ideal. That said, it was only about 30 seconds after I first handled the book before I was standing in the queue waiting to pay.

The book consumed me as I consumed it. Hilary would come home from work to find me sitting on the chair in her room grinning like a goose as I read. She would be perplexed to why I would prefer to sit around reading rather than be out exploring New York. But I find this topic endlessly fascinating. My enthusiasm for language change and theory expresses itself physically; it makes me jump, flail my arms and whoop obnoxiously.

What was most intriguing upon reading this book was being able to assess the differences in attitude towards language between English and French. Everyone who has at least some exposure to French would be familiar with the idea of bon usage. This is the belief amongst French-speakers that there is a perfect French that they are constantly in need to strive for. As well as a purity to the language that requires protection. These ideas were part of the reasoning that led to the formation of the Academie Française; an institution designed to maintain the language. The Academie's initial mandate was to standardise the spelling, grammar of the Parisian dialect of the Langues D'Oïl (the northern Romance dialects of the French territory). Paris being the country's political centre, its dialect was the most powerful, and would eventually become Standard French. Standard English evolved in much the same way due to London's political might. After this achievement, however, the Academie became more concerned with language protection and maintenance. What I've always found amusing and rather ironic about this is that French, like all modern languages (with the exception of Esperanto), came to its current state due to the process of language change (either evolution or Creolisation). If Latin had attempted to protect itself in the same way that French does, French would not exist!
Nowadays the Academie makes decisions of what words should be used, and invents new terms for modern concepts. It acts kind of like a gardener, weeding out what is unacceptable and attempting to nourish what it considers the language's best attributes. One interesting thing about French is that it sees little point to synonyms. They are perceived as affecting the clarity of the language. This is in complete opposition to the attitude of English which prides itself on is its synonyms. While French will discourage the adoption of new words, English will beg, borrow, steal, maim and murder to obtain more. English has ransacked other languages to the extent that only 10% - 15% of the modern dictionary consists of words of Anglo-Saxon origin. English's insatiable appetite for new words led it to not only obtain "warranty" from Norman-French, but then go and grab the exact same word from Parisian-French to give it "guarantee" as well (warden and guardian arrive the same way). While French insists on clarity, English is obsessed with adaptability. English's most high profile acquisition of recent years has been the word "schadenfreude". Whilst English can express the concept as "taking pleasure in the pain of others", it saw that German could express the idea in a more succinct fashion and so took the word for itself. Yet English doesn't just take from other languages, some of its most fruitful harvests come from its own dialects. The inventiveness of Afro-American slang is a fertile and constant source of new words for English.
And this is where the Acamdie's task is pointless. Language will never be stagnant. There is no perfect French, because language is always in a state of flux. The same way that English borrows heavily from its own dialects, French does and will do the same. Whilst the psychological impact of bon usage may still be prevalent, it is arguable that its hold on the mindset of African French speakers is less so that on its European and North American speakers. Most French speaking Africans already use septante and nonante (seventy and ninety) instead of the archaic soixante-dix and quartre-vingt-dix. And it is from the slang or argot of France's north and west African immigrant communities that French youth obtain most of their "cool" expressions. Expressions that, over time, will find their way into mainstream usage.

Yet it's not just the francophonie who are seduced by the idea of bon usage. French is still the second most taught language second language despite its declining international status. Although it carries no superior attributes than say, Basque or Zulu (or any other tongue), the ability to speak French still carries the perception of an educational weight. Many West African nations only offer higher education courses in French, rather than their native languages because of this perceived eminence.

I actually finished The Story of French on the train between New York and Chicago several weeks ago, and have been wanting to write something about it ever since. However, like languages themselves, this topic has an immeasurable amount of tangents on which I could have diverged. Attempting to restrain myself to a more succinct piece has been rather difficult. And so it is more than likely that topics of a similar nature will be revisited on this page as my own evolution diverges on its immeasurable possible tangents.

2006: These Things I Believe

It's fast approaching the end of the year, and while for most this is a time to be joyful and merry, for those of us who believe our musical opinion is worthy of promotion, it is a time to make lists.
This year, I have to admit, was the year I fell out of touch. I can no longer claim to be hip to the beat. I am no longer the "go to guy" for cool and interesting music that I used to be (or used to think I was). And so I must admit that this year's list doesn't excite me that much. I feel it's a rather conservative selection of music, very pop-centric and indicative of my lack of effort this year to attempt to discover new and innovative sounds. I'm positive there are amazing albums out there that I've missed, and even albums you'd expect me to have listened to but I didn't (The Decemberists). This is far from a definitive list of albums of 2006, it's merely the best of what I purchased this year. That said, it still does include some great albums. Do yourself a favour.

20. Mogwai - Mr Beast
Mogwai's 6th album proper (not including EPs, remix albums and compilations) was, to me, their least interesting. Alan McGee (surprisingly their manager now) was proclaiming it was the greatest art rock album since My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless", but it wasn't. It's still Mogwai though, and their very existence deserves kudos.

19. Thom Yorke - The Eraser
2006 was not only the year I lost touch, but also the year I joined the chorus and decided that Thom Yorke whines too much. Previously I'd been aghast trying to explain to all and sundry that "No, you don't get it, he just has a really dark sense of humour, and the vocal delivery is part of the joke!". But with this, his first "solo" (apparently we're not allowed to call it that) album, I did start to think "Yeah, maybe he does whine a bit too much". Musically the album is quite excellent though, even if glitchy beats went out of style in 2003 (don't worry Thom, I still dig 'em as well).

18. I Am Robot And Proud - The Electricity In Your House Wants to Sing
Toronto native Shaw-Han Liem has one of the coolest/cutest monikers in I Am Robot And Proud and his (early) Múm-esque instrumental lush electronic pop suits it just fine. This is the perfect Springtime album, but as I didn't have a Spring this year (I had two Autumns instead) it didn't get nearly enough of a...umm... rotation on my laptop(?).

17. The Hidden Cameras - Awoo
This was the album where Joel Gibb decided that "less is more". He took away the orchestra, the choir and the overt homosexuality, yet unfortunately he was wrong. While the album does contain some great pop melodies, the album is just not that awesome slap in the face (or on the arse) that "The Smell Of Our Own" was.

16. TV On The Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain
Just because Kyp Malone has the best afro since OJ Simpson in "Naked Gun 2 1/2: The Smell Of Fear", it doesn't make TV On The Radio the coolest band in the world. The hype this year for this band was almost as omnipresent and suffocating as the current smoke haze that has enveloped Melbourne. That said, this still was a pretty good album. "A Method" has a whistling melody equal to that of Peter, Bjorn and John's "Young Folks". David Sitek may be a bit too self-satisfied with his (supposed) innovative abilities, but Tunde Adibempe is one smooth mutha on the microphone.

15. Stereolab - Fab Four Suture
I wish to go on record stating the "Cobra and Phases Groop Play Voltage In The Milky Night" is Stereolab's best album. How you like them apples? All you people who think that anything post "Emperor Tomato Ketchup" or "Mars Audiac Quartet" is rubbish are morons, that is when the band started to get interesting! I like albums like "Peng!" and "The Groop Played "Space-Age Bachelor Pad Music" just fine, but I love "Dots and Loops", the aforementioned "Cobra and Phases...." and "Sound Dust" and I also really dig "Fab Four Suture". Although lacking the consistency of some of their previous albums, tracks like "Interlock" and "Get A Shot Of The Refrigerator" are as good "Miss Modular" or "The Free Design" or even, dare I say, "Ping Pong". Ha!

14. Malajube - Trompe L'Oiel The population demographics of Montreal are thus: 54% Francophone, 28% Allophone (having neither French nor English as a mother tongue) and 18% Anglophone. 50% of that 18% of Anglophones are known as "hipsters" and are either in bands or think they are in bands. Actually, this isn't true. The majority of hipsters in Montreal are not permanent residents, they're imports from the rest of Canada and will be gone as soon as they get too fat for their skinny jeans. Malajube, however, are locals and while musically they sound like every other Canadian band du jour, the sing in French and so I don't have to be shy about liking them.

13. Final Fantasy - He Poos Clouds
The title track concerns Owen Pallett's sexual interest in Link from the Zelda game. You see, Owen is not just a computer game nerd, he is a classically trained, game-obsessed, completely awesome, gay, super-nerd! When he's not fighting robots in far off galaxies, or arranging strings for The Arcade Fire, he's making his own wonderful pop gems. The track "This Lamb Sells Condos" contains the best line of the year "...and his massive genitals refused to cooperate."

12. El Perro Del Mar - El Perro Del Mar
That Swedish education system must be something else. As well as making Swedes some of the most learned and worldly people, it also seems to be able to teach them how to write amazing pop songs. Sarah Assbring attaches her wrly miserable lyrics to gorgeous girl-group melodies and arrangements to make Nordic seasonal disorder seem like the coolest thing ever (no pun intended).

11. The Research - Breaking Up "Twee" is such a harsh word. So what if Russell Searle sits with his crappy casio on his lap and sings his self-deprecating songs of love lost while his female band-mates "la la la" in the background? It doesn't make it... ok, well it does make it twee, but it doesn't make it a crime.

10. Destroyer - Destroyer's Rubies
There's a drinking game that involves listening to a Destroyer album and taking a shot whenever Dan Bejar makes a reference to either another Destroyer song or album, or a New Pornographers song, or mentions a girl's name or a myriad of other reoccurring themes that he writes about. Dan is indie-rock's greatest wordsmith (sorry Colin Meloy), and his dramatic mock-Bowie delivery suits his verbose verses perfectly. Although, it seems strange that for such a gifted writer that almost every chorus on this album consists of nothing but him singing "la la la" or "ba-da-di-da". Although maybe that's the point?

9. The Fiery Furnaces - Bitter Tea
Oh, I momentarily forgot about the Friedberger siblings when declaring Dan Bejar indie-rock's greatest wordsmith. Whilst "Bitter Tea" lacks the glorious ridiculousness of "Blueberry Boat", it still has enough bat-shit crazy pop gems such as "Nevers!", "Benton Harbour Blues" and "Waiting To Know You" for me to bestow some other over-zealous and highly subjective title upon them. I think I'll just go with "Geniuses".

8. I'm From Barcelona - Let Me Introduce My Friends
"I'm going to sing a song with all of my friends and we're I'm From Barcelona". In fact they weren't from Barcelona at all, but Jönköping in Sweden. There was 28 of them and they made some of the most wonderfully upbeat naïve pop songs this side of The Wiggles. Oversleeping, building treehouses, collecting stamps, making mix-tapes, whatever your interest there was a song here for you. Pity they all look like a bunch of Vice Magazine rejects though.

7. The Blow - Paper Television
It would be too much effort for me to compile a list of my favourite tracks of the year, but if I was to do so both "Parentheses" and "Fists Up" would be in the top ten, possibly even top 5. And if "Pile Of Gold" didn't sound like it was some Berlin anthem that got lost in 2003 and ended up in Olympia in 2006 it would be up there as well. This album also contains the most fun line to sing along to of the year - "I guess I'm on the long list of girls who loves the shit out of you, whoa!"

6. The Pipettes - We Are The Pipettes
Even if their music sucked I would love this band. Shit, I had a picture of Rose on my desktop before I'd even heard a single note. Luckily for me they are completely awesome. Dare I say "Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me" and "Pull Shapes" were the two best singles of the year? Apart from the fact that the early demo version of "It Hurts To See You Dance So Well" is vastly superior to the version that appeared on the album, oh and the recording of the title track sucked as well, this was an almost flawless pop album. Be gone with you, naysayers! Sure they had a gimmick, but that just added to their complete awesomeness.

5. Love Is All - Nine Times That Same Song
Usually my rules would dictate that as this album was released in Sweden last year it can't be included in this year's list. However, just this once I plan on breaking the rules as I didn't purchase it until it was released in the UK in January. That, and the fact that it just too astonishingly good to leave out. I really liked this album, but after seeing them in Montreal I decided that I absolutely loved it. It's the dance-punk (with a Riot Grrl residue) party album of the century! Ever! They have a saxophonist who looks like a Swedish Stephen Merchant. Come on!

4. Belle & Sebastian - The Life Pursuit
This almost escaped the list due to me thinking that because I had an illegal download of it back last November, that it was actually released last year. The hardcore B&S fans didn't seem to rate "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" too highly, however I am unsure of how they view "The Life Pursuit". That said, I don't really care because A) I am the hardcore and my opinion supercedes anyone who claims to be more hardcore than me and B) It's a completely awesome album. The fact that the band's songs now funk and groove shouldn't dissuade anyone more accustomed to their earlier fey and restrained songs, they are still just as witty and charming. This album returned to being predominantly written by Stuart, which I think we can all agree on is a good thing.

3. Joanna Newsom - Ys
The way I've been ranting a raving previously on this blog you'd have thought this album would be my number 1 of the year for sure. Well, although it is fucking incredible and I maintain the urge to mow down anyone whose ignorance states otherwise, it just didn't receive enough listens compared to the following two albums. That said, holy shit, on ambition alone this album should be receiving Noble and Pulitzer prizes, Olympic gold medals and motherfucking sainthood. With "The Milk-Eyed Mender" the harp was the gimmick; "Oh isn't she quaint playing a harp", but it's her lyrics that are the draw with "Ys". I want to quote, but I shall restrain myself, and where would I start anyway? Where would I start!?

2.Danielson - Ships
From the Danielson Famile to Br. Danielson to now just Danielson, Daniel Smith and his merry band of brothers, sisters, in-laws and friends have made some of the most joyously skewed weirdo Christian pop songs of the last few years. That sentence seems a bit odd seeming I'd say that they are the only band making joyously skewed weirdo Christian pop. This is the album where Daniel got a little more mature and focused in his arrangements. The songs are still ramshackle by most people's standards, but don't feel like they're about to completely fall apart like on previous albums. The opening four tracks on this album are just so ridiculously good, in fact if anyone can think of a greater opening four songs to any album ever I will eat my hat. Remember everyone: "Be just who you're made to be Pappa is so mighty pleased with thee"

1. Camera Obscura - Let's Get Out Of This Country
It wasn't just Daniel Smith who was maturing this year, Camera Obscura went from being a pretty decent Belle & Sebastian tribute band to being a completely awesome, time to drop the comparisons, über-pop band with this their third album. "Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken" is one of the most charming pop songs I've ever heard. And the album danced as well! Where previously the band may have shuffled and tapped their feet a little, now they were writing dance-floor fillers, the aforementioned "Lloyd..." and "If Looks Could Kill" were bound to get any party started. "Come Back Margaret", "Let's Get Out Of This Country", "I Need All The Friends I Can Get" and the gorgeous "Razzle Dazzle Rose" were all killer pop songs. The album has no dud moments whatsoever and I would marry Traceyanne Campbell in two seconds flat.

Sunday Keeps On Rolling

With some exceptional timing I’ve been staying back at my old flat in Carlton. Early last week Georgie moved into the building next door, and with a few weeks left on the lease she has kindly allowed Amy and I to camp in her old flat (the flat I lived in up until July when I left the country). The flat is in the greatest location in the city; two blocks north of the city centre, and a skip though the Carlton Gardens to all the hip and happening hang-outs in Fitzroy. The only downside is that being accustomed to the area when Amy and I do find a place we will no doubt be slightly deflated by it not being as convenient.

Traditionally, Sunday is the day I go visit my parents. Having sold my Daewoo before leaving the country in July, I now make my way there via public transport. So it’s back on the old Glen Waverley Line. It’s been 6 years since I’ve had to catch this line, but I still know every detail of it intimately. The line runs along the public school belt and is usually packed with Scotch, St. Kevin’s and De La Salle boys, Korowa and Sacré Coeur girls, and co-eds from Wesley and Caulfield Grammar. During the week this would be a most fearful experience for me. Although I am now 27 years old, in the presence of school kids I revert back to my 15 year-old self. The year 12 boys are all taunts and fists to me, while being 19 and a half before I first spoke to a girl, the school girls are entirely and frightening alien. Luckily for me, being a Sunday, the school kids weren’t around. Another benefit of it being Sunday was the “Sunday Super-Saver”. It’s only been in the last two weeks that I’ve discovered this ticket. For only two and half coins you can purchase a ticket that is valid all day Sunday in any zone! It is wonderful. A daily Zone 1 and 2 ticket is a hefty nine coin seventy. 6 days of the week one would only require a Zone 1 and 2 ticket to get to my parents place, however on a Sunday things are slightly askew.
Usually there are three buses that I could potentially take after arriving at Glen Waverley; the 754, 753 or the 850. However, on Sundays there is no service on either the 754 or 753, which only leaves the 850. I would usually shy away form the 850 as it goes into Zone 3, whilst the 753 and 754 buses remain in Zone 2 up until where I need to depart. This is where the Sunday Super-Saver truly proves its worth as it enables me to travel on the 850 without having to purchase another ticket. Unfortunately, on a Sunday, the 850 only runs once every hour (on the hour), and on this day the train I caught arrived at the station just a couple of minutes past the hour. Now you’d think with missing the 850 that I would be stranded, but there was one more option available. The 888 runs straight along Springvale Road from Nunawading to Chelsea. The bus is a pillar of the south-eastern suburbs public transport network. While the route may not have the fancy twists and turns of some of the other routes, it has a certain stoic distinction to its mandate. Rain, hail or shine the 888 will always be ploughing back and forth along Springvale Road. It is one of those reassuring constants that remind you that the world is in balance.
So rather than wait another hour for the next 850, I jumped the 888 to the Brandon Park Shopping Centre. This is still some distance from my parents place so you have to slip on your walking shoes and follow Brandon Park Drive up to Cootamundra, jut around into Farnham, skip through Lum Reserve and you’re up the top of my parents street – Phoenix Drive. It’s a good forty minute walk, but a pleasant one.

The Chapter In Your Life Titled.....

A few weeks ago I was in an East Village Barnes & Noble searching out books to take on my train trip when I had something of a revelation about the progress of my life. It was more a feeling than a concrete clear and purposeful idea, and it carried no real insight, but whilst flicking through the latest issue of The Believer I believed that I had the impetus for achievement and the desire to keep myself constructively occupied. Now this may sound like some ridiculous hippie self-help bullshit, but for a compulsive procrastinator with chronic self-doubt being constantly en marche is essential.
In order to facilitate this new-found attitude, as well as providing material to occupy me during my train ride, I purchased a book by Rory Stewart detailing his walk across Afghanistan following in the footsteps of the 15th Century emperor Babur. I thought the juxtaposition of reading this book whilst riding a train across the US was rather amusing. It was basically an attempt to prove a point to those who thought my train ride was “insane”. I also purchased Reza Aslan's “No god But God: The Origins, Evolution and Future of Islam” I figured with the Democrats controlling both the House and the Senate, I should really get to know the religion of our soon-to-be overlords (should probably enrol in Arabic classes at the CAE as well). Also I feel my knowledge base is very Caucasian-centred and need to expand it.
This may come across like I’m trying to portray myself as having some insatiable thirst for knowledge. But a more accurate assessment would be that I have a fear being uninformed. I’m extremely self-conscious about my lack of university education and I believe that one way around this is to read non-fiction. Another, more helpful, way is to actually attend university, which is my intention in the new year.

Whilst in the bookstore I may have been upbeat, my return to Melbourne hasn’t gone as I expected. There weren't crowds of people bearing palm leaves lining the Tullamarine Freeway as I made my way from the airport. Maybe I wasn’t as popular here in Melbourne as I perceived, or maybe my popularity waned during my absence, but I think I may have over-estimated the reception I’d receive upon my return.
I must admit that my behaviour in the last week hasn’t done anything to rectify this situation. I’ve destroyed one very dear friendship with my perpetual confusion and utter stupidity, become a highly annoying pest to others and thrown a tantrum at the State Library because I could access my Gmail through their wireless service.

Amy and I went to see The Lucksmiths last night. I was just thinking about The Lucksmiths the other day when I jumped the Sandringham Line (the name of a song of theirs) to Prahran. Much of my yearning to be overseas has stemmed from the Australian cultural cringe, I’ve never been comfortable with my national identity. However upon deciding to return to Melbourne I did feel a strong desire to attempt to embrace the city.
The fact is I have always loved Melbourne, I’ve just hated its association with the rest of the country. Whenever overseas, if asked where I am from, I always say “Melbourne” rather than “Australia” in the vain belief that the person asking the question would be aware of the distinction.
The Lucksmiths are able to transcend all the cliché and stereotypes about the country and portray Melbourne as it is. Their songs are the sound of the section of Fitzroy bordered by Alexandra Parade, Brunswick, Smith and Johnston Streets. They are Victorian bungalows and London Planes buckling the asphalt. While this imagery is lovely and reassuring, it had the unfortunate effect of providing unrealistic dreams for Amy and I in our house-hunting. It would be extremely desirable for us to be able to find a lovely house in an agreeable and convenient area, however budget constraints and sizable competition are hampering this ideal.

And so at present my New York revelation has become somewhat deflated. I'm homeless, jobless and once again feeling rather stagnant.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

LA: The city of angels, the city of dreams. Actually I didn't know whether LA is officially "the city of dreams", so I googled the phrase and found links for New York, Paris and Bombay. So I've been trying to find another phrase that may suit. It may not be as catchy, but I've come up with Los Angeles: the city with a 1:1 ratio of park benches to homeless people.

Although it is almost winter, it is still t-shirt weather in southern California. While the sun may be shining, there's a haze the hangs permanently over the downtown area which lends a certain suspicion towards the conditions. I asked a gas station employee if he ever had trouble breathing, and he said "It varies from season to season, Grant"

I even though I'm fairly prejudice against a city such as LA, with it's palm trees and lack of density, there's still this "Holy shit, LA!" feeling you get every time you step outside. With this in mind and with a few hours to kill before I was to head to the airport to meet Kate and hang out before we got on our separate flights, I decided to go against all my natural instincts and do something touristy. So I went to Venice Beach.





Being a Tuesday morning there wasn't really much activity going on along the beach front. But it was nice to take a bit of a walk. There was a concrete lip separating the pedestrian and bicycle parts of the walkway and I found myself some enjoyment walking along it for a good section of the beach.



When I was in New York, I spent a considerable amount of time hanging out by the basketball court on the corner of West 3rd and 6th Avenue. I was hoping that if I stood there long enough some of the guys would pick me for a game. It never happened though. I guess they thought that this cracker-ass didn't have the skillz to pay the billz. Little did they know that I have the ball-handling ability of a young Steve Carfino, as well an almost unblemished record from the free-throw line. So while New York wasn't giving me any game, I was sure that I could score some court time in LA. Unfortunately, 11am on a Tuesday morning doesn't seem to be a very popular time to play basketball down on Venice Beach as the courts were completely empty. My hoop dreams were shattered.



As the hotel I'm staying in is right next to the airport I decided to spend the latter part of the afternoon chasing planes around. Just down the road Avis have this rather large carpark that the planes pass right over as they are preparing to land. It proved an excellent spot to take some photos.





As we were both flying back to Melbourne on the same day, over the last couple of weeks Kate and I have tried several times to get on each other's flights. Unfortunately this hasn't been possible. I'm currently sitting back in my hotel after spending some time with Kate as she flew in from New York. Kate had her first burrito of her trip, and changed into her newly purchased green American Apparel tracksuit, which looks suspiciously like John Howard's power-walking tracksuit, for the flight home.



Although my flight leaves three hours after Kate's, her flight goes via Auckland and so only lands 5 minutes before mine. We've organised to meet each before going through Customs. So although we may not have been able to fly together, we'll at least give the impression that we have to the people waiting in the arrivals hall.

On A Train Devouring The Land....

It’s not often I throw around a word such a “hero”, and it’s even less common for me to use it to describe myself. But as I sit here in Penn Station in New York waiting for my train to depart I’m kind of thinking there is something heroic in what I am about to undertake. It’s is 3.40pm on Friday the 24th of November, in 5 minutes this train will leave the station for Chicago, from Chicago I will jump another train all the way to Los Angeles. I’ll arrive sometime on Monday. Who knows what lies ahead? Adventure? Danger? Romance? I have my trusty laptop so the journey will be well documented. ALL ABOARD!



Moving out through Manhattan at the moment and I’m in a mood that can best be described as “Fuck Yeah!” It’s a gorgeous autumn day, the sun is beginning its descent creating an orange haze the compliments the browning leaves to perfection. I’m listening to Montréal’s latest art-rock sensations, Malajube, I mime along too in love with life to be concerned with the fact that I can only understand half the words.



Fuck it. Fuck the poetry, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my entire life! This is undoubtedly the coolest thing I’ve ever done. I’m unconcerned with the hyperbole here, as this is pure joy. I’m not shy to admit to a tear in my eye. I thought getting the bus was amazing, but it’s all about trains for me now. Trains, trains, trains, trains, trains, trains!! I’ve got to catch them. This is what I have to do with my life. Motherfucking trains!! Why haven’t I been into trains until now? I mean, I liked them fine, but was always more a bus person. I guess it’s because I’ve never really taken a long train ride. Apart from the time I got the train from London to Leeds to see a Leeds vs. Liverpool game (when Leeds were still in the Premier League) I can’t recall a train ride of significance that I have been on. The train ride to Leeds wasn’t anything spectacular though. It was green. This guy my cousin Lucy and I lived with at the time called Matt worked for Sky TV and he managed to jimmy a couple of free tickets to the game. I had a soft spot for Leeds at the time as it was not only the period when both Harry Kewell and Mark Viduka were playing for them, but Paul Okon was in the side as well and even though he’s rubbish Terry Venables seemed to have a thing for him and would often start him. It was a pretty uneventful game. Diouf scored for Liverpool in the 83rd minute or something to give Liverpool a 1-Nil victory. Leeds fans seemed resigned to their decline by this stage, so although they seemed disappointed I think they knew the loss was inevitable.





I’m into the mini Snickers. The mini Snickers is a good mouthful of confectionery. I’m tempted to see how many I can fit in my mouth at once, but as the train is rather full and as of yet I do not know any of these people I think I’ll save the experiment for a less populated section of the trip.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. Americans love their holidays. Hillary told me this is because they work so hard. She also told me that the reason why the Australia dollar is worth less than the American dollar is because Australians don’t work hard enough. I tried to explain that as a resource and agriculturally based economy it was more advantageous for Australia to have a lower valued dollar. She wasn’t buying it though.
Most non-Americans have a vague idea of what Thanksgiving is about; something to do with pilgrims having some sort of feast. Pilgrims, Santa Claus, Halloween, the Easter Bunny, Americans have a history of non-reality based festivities, but Thanksgiving is an opportunity for people to get together and enjoy themselves and this is ultimately a good thing. I tagged along with Hillary to the flat of friends of hers. Mei, who had been out in Melbourne earlier in the year, also flew in from California. There was much food and alcohol consumption, and merriment ensued. Games were played and bonds were formed. Thanks were given.



There’s an Anglo-Indian sitting across the aisle from me. Well, Anglo-Indian could be a misleading description as that is a term used to describe an ethnic group in India. He’s an English guy of Indian origin. Anyway, I’m just about bursting to converse with him about cricket. I want his opinion of England leaving Monty Panesar out of the current Test in Brisbane. Ashley Giles is rubbish. Panesar is the best thing to happen to English cricket since Ian Botham stopped smoking fags in the slips cordon. Duncan Fletcher thinks he has an exposed tail, but playing Giles isn’t going to help much, the problem is with their top 6. Playing a pie-chucker who can bat a little at the expense of a genuine wicket-taker is just stupid.



Listening to Joanna Newsom’s “Ys”. In a previous post I’d made a remark about Newsom that would be challenged by an anonymous commenter. I chose to ignore it at the time, but it has stuck with me and after once again marvelling at the absolute genius of “Ys” I feel the need for rebuttal. “Raving hippy” is the entire point! No-one writes lyrics in such a fashion as her these days. The sheer amount of effort put into this album is worthy of respect alone. But also her over-dramatic themes, archaic phrasing and terminology display a certain wry perspective. To take her entirely seriously would be to deny language its multifaceted applications! And deny the young lady her obvious intelligence.
Furthermore, she isn’t in the property of hipsters. Trends change every 3 to 4 minutes, there’s no way a hipster would be able to sit through a song like “Only Skin” at 16 minutes in length without fretting about whether it was still cool or not to be listening.
I feel somewhat ashamed that I’ve had to stoop to defending the obvious, but it’s night-time now and there’s nothing to look out the window at and so I’ve gotten a tad grumpy.

It’s now around 10.30pm and the train hasn’t moved in the last half an hour. It seems we are stuck behind a freight train with mechanical difficulty. This was not in the plan. Although it’s pitch black outside and there would be no scenery for me even if we were moving, the lack of movement is frustrating all the same. Movement, movement, movement, it not only feels good to have the ground passing underneath you, but there’s a symbolism here. This trip is sort of an “onward and upward” journey for me. This is the beginning of me finally being able to get some ideas and goals to achieve, to stop being a “drifter”, as my mother refers to me, and yet here I am 7 hours out of New York and I’ve once again become stagnant. One could say that this is out of my control, but that’s an excuse I’ve used far too much in my life. Why aren’t I out helping to fix the freight train? If I was truly a “go getter” that is what I would be doing. People who move and achieve don’t see excuses they only see challenges, challenges that need solutions. It’s most likely that even if I did attempt to go help fix the freight train I wouldn’t be allowed off this train, but I’m still yet to make the attempt. What is my problem? Maybe Hillary is right about Australians just not working hard enough?

2am: The Feds just stormed the train and busted down on some mutha. Well, it wasn’t that dramatic. The train stopped in Rochester and the police got on and escorted some guy off. I was hoping they were going to smack him around a little, but it didn’t happen. I’m a bit confused, that’s not what occurs in the America I know from television.

Just out of Cleveland now. It’s 7.30am. Outside is real Americana: Heavy industry, weatherboard houses, huge open skies and baseball fields. The English guy and I are desperate for a cricket score, but we ain’t going to get it here.
Time is passing extremely quickly. I don’t think I slept much, yet the morning came surprisingly fast. My enthusiasm for the trip had waned through the night, but now I’m able to see again I’m once again thinking this is a wonderful idea. The English guy has even more ambition than me. Whilst not attempting it all at once, he is heading to Seattle from Chicago then down to San Francisco, across to Denver, back up to Chicago and over to Boston. Makes me feel like I’m just jumping the Frankston line.





I’m wondering that, although I am unable to post this as I write, it’s still going to have a lame “live blogging” feel to it. You know how every South By South-West Festival Pitchfork are all like “Yeah, we’ve got live blogging from SXSW!!” and make it out to be the greatest thing ever, but then it’s just William Bowers going “Oh man, The Arcade Fire are playing ‘Neighbourhood #3 (The Power Out)”’ I love this song!” I’m hoping this will be a little more interesting.

My English co-passenger and I are now on excellent terms. We’ve discussed the weighty topics of the day – politics, cricket and Radiohead. He agrees with me that Conservative leader David Cameron is a “flash in the pan” (first time I’ve ever used that expression!), Monty Panesar should have definitely been included in the current England side and that Amnesiac is a rubbish album. His family are actually from Bangladesh, his parents immigrating to England just before the war of independence, which technically makes them from East Pakistan, but I won’t get picky.

Because of the earlier delays the train is running rather late. I have no idea how far out we are from Chicago, but my next train leaves in three hours. I’m hoping that we are less than three hours from Chicago. I wanted to get a meal there and find a nice big packet of Ruffles Salt & Vinegar crisps and other delectable snackie-treats for my onward journey. I’m still upbeat about this being achievable.
I was so excited to rediscover Ruffles when I got to Canada. Kate and I were discussing this the other day. We both agreed that it was a awful shame when they were no longer available in Australia. It was around the late-90s, a brutal period for the Australian snack consumer, as one may recall from a previous post, this was around the time that Jolly Ranchers also stopped being sold. People talk about the Depression, but let me tell you that the late 90s were no picnic either. Literally.

Coming through the suburbs of Chicago now. The Sears Tower…umm…towers over the city.



After we arrived in Chicago, my English friend and I went and got ourselves a burrito. He’s been good company. No idea what his name was though. It’s a shame he won’t be on the next part of my trip. The streets of Chicago were very quiet. Everyone has abandoned the centre of the city for Thanksgiving weekend. One thing that was very noticeable was how clean the streets were compared to New York. In the brief couple of hours I was there Chicago actually seemed like I really cool place. I made a mental note to return one day.

I’m on the Los Angeles bound train now. Although unlike my New York to Chicago train, there is no power-point at my seat. Furthermore no-one understands the term “power-point” and people have started speaking to me slowly and loudly as they think that English isn’t my first language.

It's several hours outside Chicago. The leg from New York to Chicago seems luxurious compared to this. As well as no power, I don’t have a double seat to myself either. I have a man next to me. A man with a goatee as well! I don’t trust men with goatees. They are sinister. He gets off in Albuquerque, I hope no-one gets on.



I’m 28 hours in to the journey and I’m not as positive about it as I initially was. My bottom hurts and I want to have a shower. It’s 7pm on Saturday evening, it won’t be until around midday Monday before I can have a shower. I think this will be the longest period I will ever have gone without a shower. It’s not a record I will be proud of. I’m known throughout many lands for my impeccable personal hygiene, this is proving damaging to my reputation.

Having scoped the train, it seems there is only one power point on the whole motherfucking thing! And some arsehole is using it to watch a movie. I’m pretty pissed off about this. On the previous train there were two points to each seat! I’m running on 41% battery here and I’m not changing trains again! This is a serious situation. I need to stalk that guy out. I need to get up in his face and try and get him to move.

Ha ha! He’s gone and now I’m the only arsehole with power on the train! As Snap once sung “I’ve got the power!”

I’m unsure about how much sleep I had last night, but it can’t have been more than two or three hours. Despite this I’m feeling surprisingly awake. It’s approaching 9.30pm Saturday night. Although I am a big fan of sleeping, if I don’t go near alcohol I am able to stay awake for long periods of time. I’m actually considering seeing how little sleep I can survive on this trip. Why not? I’ll have a day and a half in LA to sleep before getting on my flight. It’ll be an interesting challenge. I’ve just started reading a book by this Scottish guy who walked across Afghanistan, and now this journey of mine seems pretty lame in comparison. So I figure I’ll add an extra dimension and try complete it on as little sleep as possible. What have I got to loose?
I’m actually wanting to get back to the book, but if I shut my laptop someone else will grab the power-point and then who knows if I’ll be able to get it back?

The guy who runs the café on the train is awesome. I haven’t been down there yet, but his announcements are great. He just told everyone that the café closes at 11pm and will reopen at 6am. He added “…and I’m neither your mother nor your dietician, so if you want pizza or hot dogs for breakfast then I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Back in New York, whenever Kate would get on a downtown train she would start singing Petula Clarke’s “Downtown” (which would prompt me to start singing Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”). Because of this she asked me to download the song. So a few days ago I did and now I’m obsessed with it. Everyone knows the song to some extent, but when you listen to it closely it’s completely amazing. It has a melody, arrangement and swinging beat that would make The Pipettes weep into their polka dot dresses. It seems a little strange that I’m singing “Downtown” when I’m going cross-country, but I’m not concerned about having an inappropriate soundtrack to my adventure. I mean, I’m now listening to “Judy And The Dream Of Horses”, and that’s hardly relevant.

The train has been stopped in Kansas City for the last half an hour, luckily I’ve been able to pick up some wireless and check my email, the Victorian election results and the cricket score. They sure do love their neon in Kansas City. I think “Jack Stack Barbeque” has almost blinded me. I wonder what a “stack barbeque” is? Or is that Jack’s surname? Either way I’m sure the place is inedible.

The train is starting to get cold. They’ve pumped the air-con up. Why do they do this? They did the same thing last night. They should be making it warmer. No-one has blankets. The train staff are sickos. I’ve an extra t-shirt in my bag. I’m considering putting it on. If they think they are going to beat me they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve got gloves in my bag as well should it come to that.

I’ve decided I’m never going anywhere ever again without company. Not even down the milk bar. I’m not shy to admit the whole Montreal adventure failed due to loneliness. Montreal is actually extraordinarily fascinating, but I just couldn’t handle being there by myself. And as this train winds its way through the Mid-West in the early hours of Sunday morning, I sure could use a shoulder to rest my weary head. I have trusty pillow, and she is always good for a hug, however she is not the best conversationalist.

Grant: “Even though I bought you, I don’t consider you, like, a Russian bride or any shit like that. We’re equals.”
Miss Pillow: “…..”
Grant: “You know, it’s like arranged marriages, they work out. They grow together”
Miss Pillow “…..”
Grant: “You don’t need to speak, ours is an unspoken bond. I just want to say that I’ve been through a lot these last few months and you’ve stuck by me. I just want you to know that I truly appreciate it.



I bought this big fuck-off jumbo sack of M&Ms in Chicago and I’m attempting to eat them by colour. I’m working on brown at the moment. Just when I think I’ve got them all another one appears. It’s frustrating. I’m desperately wanting to move on to yellow.

The sun is starting to rise now. I did actually sleep for a while. I ended up curling up on the floor next to the heater like a dog. It was fairly awful, but there are possibly worse places to sleep. I feel like there’s something akin to Nordic seasonal disorder happening to me on this trip. As soon as it is light and I’m able to see out the window I feel alright, it’s when the sun goes down that it starts to be difficult. I’ve still got one more night to endure. But for now it’s morning and having just past a wheat silo with “Colorado” on it, I can only assume I’m in Colorado. It’s flat and it is just farmland as far as I can see, but the train must be approaching the Rockies shortly.

I’ve actually made the lounge car my home. I abandoned my seat about 10pm last night. The only power point is in here, so it’s where I need to be. I’ve got myself a nice little corner and feel reasonably comfortable here. The car was empty last night, but due to its large windows and room to move it is starting to fill up now that the sun has reappeared. I feel like a meal, but I guess one of those is still a day away. I could go see what they have in the café, but I’m not sure I would trust anything.

Starting to approach the Rockies. I don’t know whether we are going to go through them, we may be too far south, but they are definitely visible on the horizon at the moment. It’s so flat where we are at the moment, and then the snow-capped mountains just rise out of the flatness. I’ve been resisting the urge to listen to Godspeed, You Black Emperor!, but these epic landscape are making it difficult for me to restrain myself.



This is all ‘cliché visions of America’ stuff, but it’s still great to see it first hand rather than through the television set or picture books. It’s incredible! I’m so alive and enthused again. This truly is a worthwhile experience. Right now I am so glad I am doing this. Right now I so happy that I am me.

I feel I’m a reasonably good conversationalist, however since Chicago I’ve yet to converse with anyone. I’m being very distant and aloof towards my fellow passengers. I think I’m just trying to absorb the experience, but maybe interacting with others might be part of that experience? Who can really say? “Experience” is so subjective. I’m really quite content just to sit and watch the country go by. I’ve done a minimal amount of reading so far. It’s just been me, my iPod and the landscape, and it's not half bad.



Goodbye Colorado! Hello New Mexico!



New Mexico is the only state where Spanish has official status alongside English, which makes it America’s most linguistically sensible state. Louisiana still has French as an official language, but it’s more for historic purposes as the French speaking community there is now minimal. America itself though has no official language. English is merely the default language. There is a lobby group that perceives Spanish as a big enough “threat” that they wish English to be officially legislated as the language of the country. It’s somewhat ironic that while the rest of the world deals with American English’s dominance there are some in America who perceive it to be in a vulnerable position. Although it’s probably fair to say these people just hate Mexicans.



A couple of young amigos have got on the train in Raton, New Mexico. They seem to find something amusing about my pink socks. I guess they don’t see many pairs of pink socks this far south. I have another pair in the bag that’s with me, but I doubt purple would be much of an improvement.

I don’t think there is any real etiquette concerning the consumption of M&Ms, but there is two different ways I like to eat them. I very much enjoy grabbing a handful and picking out the various colours three or four at a time in either order of favourites or reverse favourites. But also there something immensely gratifying with just pouring a whole pile into one’s mouth and gleefully chomping them until they are able to be swallowed. I’m sure there are various other ways to enjoy this confectionery item, but these are the two I use predominantly. If anyone has any other methods I’m always open to suggestion.



The train is going past what must be part of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and there’s a series of pueblos on the banks of what I overhear to be the Rio Grande. I’m day-dreaming about if I could have anyone along on this trip with me who would it be? The thing with this question is that I’d actually prefer to have one of my friends rather than, I don’t know, Nelson Mandela or hot-female-celebrity-du-jour. I did drift off before though thinking that being able to trade iTunes libraries with Carrie Brownstien would be pretty cool. I reckon Nedelle would be pretty nice to have along for the ride. I’ve been pretending that she wrote “Ghost Ships” about me (“Now I’ve found the man among men…..it may sound crazy, but he’s a perfect 10”). I can’t see whom else it could be about.



We are now in Albuquerque! In brand spanking New Mexico. I was too busy rocking out to Sleater-Kinney on my iPod to hear how long we were going to be here. I’m kind of wanting to run over to the Burger King and get some chips, but I fear the train leaving without me. I guess I’ll have to do without. It’s about another 16 hours to LA, so one could say this is the “home stretch”. I’d calculated that the whole journey would be 64 hours, however I forgot to compensate for the time differences, so it’s an extra three hours on top of that. I’m unsure on whether we are currently ahead or behind schedule. I haven’t eaten anything of substance today, and can’t really see an opportunity to rectify this until I reach LA. I’m basically just keeping hunger away with a strategic combination M&Ms and Jolly Ranchers. There is actually a dinning car (car or cart? I’ve been using car, but I’m not positive it’s the correct term) where you can get meals, but I’d be rather suspicious of their quality. Also I very much doubt they’d have anything for a dairy phobic vegetarian. It’d probably be all battered cheesy steaks and milk-soaked pork-dogs.
The sun is starting to set and so I won’t have scenery for too much longer. At least being reasonably far south and heading west will prolong the light for a little while. I actually enjoy the train during the day, it’s only night-time when it becomes difficult. I guess that sounds rather pathetic of me, like I’m scared of the booger man or something, but trust me, traveling by train at night by oneself isn’t particularly pleasant.

I feel the ride has been fairly uneventful so far. I’ve documented some random thoughts as I’ve gone along, which has been fun, but there haven’t been any major revelations as I hoped there would be. That said, I’m feeling very comfortable with myself at the moment I think I’ve reached a point where I don’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed of being myself. Dare I say I feel “spiritually centred”? I think this whole trip (since leaving Melbourne) has been the final stage of breaking through my cocoon. When I land back in Melbourne, the caterpillar I once was shall be dead. I will be a beautiful butterfly, ready to fly towards whatever I desire.

My hope for a little bit more daylight didn’t really eventuate. It’s just after 7pm and it’s been pitch black for about an hour and a half. I fear it shall be a long night. The train stopped just about an hour ago and we were still in New Mexico, I don’t know whether this is an indication of the train running behind schedule or the fact that the state is rather large. I wish I had a map so I could join the dots between towns that the train has stopped in. I feel like this hasn’t been the most direct route. I don’t actually mind, the majority of people aren’t taking the epic journey I am, the train needs to service various towns, and I don’t expect it to go directly to LA. I just wish I knew where I was going.

I have some company in my little area now. The area has three seats, but I’ve had them all to myself since I decided to relocate here from my allocated seat. Two young girls were wanting to watch a DVD, and as my little area has the only power-point I let them sit here in order to give them access to it. I’m hoping they won’t hang around for too long though. As last night, I am wanting to make this area my bed. As well as a power point, it also has a nice little heater vent, and while the floor may not be too comfortable, it is at least warm (and allows me to stretch my legs out).

We are now into Arizona, and about to stop at the town of Flagstaff. On several of our stops I’ve been able to find a wireless connection, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to find one at this stop. I’m wanting to find a map of the US so I can trace exactly where I’ve been since leaving New York. I’ve been making mental notes of the towns the train has past through, so I’ll be interested to see the route.

I was able to jimmy up some wireless in Flagstaff, Arizona and get a map of the route. We have come a lot further south than I expected, but I suppose LA is rather far south itself, so it makes sense. I was thinking the train would go across from Chicago and then come down the coast of California, but it’s cut pretty much a diagonal. The journey looks a lot more epic on paper than it has seemed from the train.

I’ve been doing some socialising, the young girls and I have been talking to a 40-odd year old guy. He’s been fun. Big technology buff, loved talking about his computer, and had just bought himself a new whiz-bang digital camera. I actually managed to get a few good downloadable software tips off him. He was all over Picasa 2. Says it’s better than Photoshop.
It’s only around 11pm, but I’m really interested in going to sleep. Unfortunately, they haven’t turned the light off in this car yet. I can’t recall what time they did it last night. It was possibly around 2am before I decide the floor was the best place for me. It wasn’t particularly comfortable last night, but for some reason I’m really into getting down onto the floor tonight. I think I just want it to end as soon as possible. Not that it’s been too bad. I’m really just desperate for a shower.

Once again the floor wasn’t so flash. It wasn’t as warm as I remembered it either. I feel like I have bruised hips. And I had a bad dream. It’s now 5.30am and the train has stopped in San Bernardino, California. As I now have a map I can see that this is the last stop before LA. I believe the train makes a few suburban stops in LA though before reaching my destination, which is Union Station.

The train is now about half an hour out from Union Station, so it’s running about an hour ahead of schedule. I have a hotel room booked for tonight, but as it is only 7am at the moment I think I’m going to have to do some waiting around before I can get my room.



Today Sunny California is anything but. It is grey, hazy and raining. I think the haze is permanent, but I don’t think the rain it. LA is ugly. Really ugly. Maybe it’s just the badlands around the train-tracks, but the city just seems to be made solely of concrete, and there are these odd-looking palm trees growing randomly.



I’ve made it. Achievement! I think I deserve some sort of kudos for this. Although, that said, I don’t think the trip was too difficult. It was definitely unpleasant for some of the time, but it was far from the “insanity” that some people believed when it was in the idea stage. I’m currently sitting in the lobby of the hotel where I’m staying tonight. There’s not a room available for me yet, so I just need to wait. Surprisingly I’m not that hungry. Seeming I’ve only had two proper meals in the last 4 days. Maybe after a shower my hunger will surface.



Unfortunately I couldn't find a map with just the specific route I took. Nor could I find a way to actually highlight the route I took. But you can follow my first train north from New York City and across New York State to the Great Lakes, then along the lakes to Chicago. From Chicago the route went down through Illinois, across Missouri, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and into California.

Anything Else?

Last week whilst eating at a conventional and family friendly Thai restaurant with Emmy, we received this bill for our meal. See if you can spot anything odd about it.

The Name Of This Song Is "More Action!"

In a previous post I'd expressed the hope that once Kate arrived in New York my daily struggle with indecisiveness would be eased. Usually when I hope for something all I am provided with is the sound of God's cackling laughter, however this time my hope has been more than fulfilled. Ever organised, Kate has arrived with not only a list of activities, but a daily spreadsheet with each activity allocated to a day. The only thing I have to do is to decide what to wear.



Although the schedule has developed a little more flexibility, a few days ago a little issue like "zero visibility" wasn't going to get in the way of ticking the Empire State Building Observation Deck off the list.



As much as the staff at the Empire State Building attempted to dissuade us from going up (one security guard even offered to get us "in the clouds" another way), my skepticism about it being "absolute zero visibility" paid off when we were able to lean over the edge of the building and see down perfectly well.



Something that would never even cross my mind to investigate would be the attending of the taping of a television programme. Kate, however, is a little more astute than I, and she was able to secure tickets for not only The Daily Show, but also The Colbert Report (woo!).

Many will be familiar with The Daily Show in either its daily format, or in its weekly "Global Edition", and many will agree that it is a very good programme. The show is quite a smooth operation. It is filmed about 6.30pm and goes to air at 11pm that night. I would have thought a lot more content would go into the taping of the programme and any stuff-ups would be edited out before screening. However, there were no stuff-ups, they ran straight through like it was filmed live. Very professional.
We also got to see the opening of the Global Edition being filmed, and anyone in Australia who cares to watch SBS at 10pm next Thursday will be able to see us (well, me at least, I wasn't watching the monitor for Kate) as the camera pans through the crowd. Woo! I was explaining to Kate today that this will be my second television "appearance" after my sister had a letter of hers announcing my birth read out on Romper Room.
After the filming of The Daily Show we had to run three blocks to the studio of The Colbert Report. Unfortunately, The Daily Show ran overtime due to the taping of The Global Edition introduction, and so we had to wait until the first ad break before being able to claim our seats.



Most non-North American people who watch The Daily Show would know Stephen Colbert as a reporter on the show. However, now Colbert has his own show and he has developed from being fairly amusing into being the greatest guy in the world. Having developed a sizable fondness for the man whilst in Canada, to be able to see him in the flesh was almost overwhelming. For all of those out there who are so desperate for me to be a homosexual, Colbert is the man who just may convert me. Although his opposition to gay marriage or any form of homosexual activity could prove a problem, it still won't dampen my admiration for him. He could be the man I've been waiting for.

Other activities have included shopping, where I have finally bought myself a proper belt to keep my jeans up (although I did have to make an extra hole in it), a most educational visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and a leisurely stroll through Central Park to marvel at its autumnal splendour.