I live in a safe house, in a safe neighborhood, in a safe city.  But last night, across the street from my house, in the primary school parking lot, somebody blew up a car!

Oh Sydney you so crazy!

All I want to do is bicycle bicycle bicycle

After 9 months of relying on Sydney's public transport, I finally got a bike.  Unlike Chicago, Sydney's streets are anything but straight.  When the city was being built, nobody ever put a second thought into expansion.  It was as if every time a new street needed to be created, they found some drunk, toothless man to take a machete and walk through the woods clearing a path.  Streets widen and narrow on a whim, and no warning is given when one lane ends and a new one begins.  The trains were built at ground level, and nobody ever thought of having railroad crossings.  Street signs?  Who needs em!  I was looking at a bike map the other day, and my quickest path to work consists of a back alley, a pedestrian easement next to a middle school, more than one sidewalk, and many busy, narrow streets.  On top of all this, the topographical landscape is grueling.  Hill after hill, all the way to anywhere.

I contemplated all this in these 9 bike-less months, and thought it might be tough, or even not worth doing.  But after getting a bike and riding around in the summer sun, jacarandas in bloom, pedaling down residential streets without hands on the handlebars, I remembered why this was my choice method of transport for two years in Chicago.  Bikes are awesome.

Music musings

Not much has changed.

Local 1 is still on strike in front of the Congress plaza Hotel.  It looks like the CTA got some new upholstery, but people still leave apple cores and peanut shells on the train floor.  Everyone lives in Logan Square.  There are wild turkeys in Rhinelander. The same people frequent the same venues.  Reckless is still one of my favorite places in the world.   

Much like the election, this homecoming has been a flourish of excitement, followed by a relapse into bad, predictable behavior, and inevitably, disappointment.  If only I could hand-pick about four friends, cheap cheese, and baseball, and airmail them to Sydney, I'd be in business.

Yesterday I bought 16 issues of McSweeney's for $94, shipping included.

Pope Yes spells Popeye's.

The Pope is in town.

Somewhere between 300,000 and 500,000 "pilgrims" have come to celebrate World Youth Day, a major publicity event for the Catholic Church.  They're from all over the world- Brazil, America, Africa, Mexico, Spain, and right here, in sunny Australia.

The Pope has been in Sydney since Sunday, but his official welcoming is today.  He's made a couple statements that couldn't possibly cause controversy.  In regards to the future of the Catholic Church: "It's great."  In response to the apology given by the Australian government, asked for by Aboriginal and Anglo Australians alike for years: "It's great."

I sit in the break room at my dead-end retail-hell job, reading about existential existence and troubled youth while the department store mainstay ladies take off their shoes, exposing their swollen feet, eyes glued to Dr. Phil.  I can hear the "pilgrims" chanting outside while they, and others, wait in line for their turn to browse the brand new Apple store on George St.  Maybe they'll buy an iPhone.  Maybe not.

I went to Catholic school for 13 years, actively and passively participating in a lot of ceremonies, rituals, and sacraments.  I've never seen anything like this.  The "pilgrims" wear their country's flag, on their lapels, or around their necks, or sticking out of their backpacks.  They seem proud and unaware, as is expected from Catholic tourists I suppose.  They buy commemorative anything and take up too much space in the train tunnels and storefronts.

Why not hold these events at Homebush?  It was designed for the 2000 Sydney Olympics.  It offers large venues, accommodation, and is located where it won't cause disruption to the working class.  Then again, if they hold these events in downtown Sydney, it would certainly help the publicity of the city.

The Pope is in town.  So are the media clowns, PR specialists, and 300,000 to 500,000 rabid "pilgrims", hell-bent on consuming a materialized religion, poised for the accelerated culture of the 21st century.

It's come time to start writing about my (lack of) adventures since I haven't been keeping in regular contact with a lot of friends.  My friends only deserve the best, and since you're probably just a voyeuristic creep I met at a party once, you get the internet equivalent of a cube steak served cold.

I'd like to take a minute now to discuss a few things that I've been at least momentarily obsessed with the past few months.

Tea: Who knew?  It's great!  It tastes good, it can be good for you, and it comes in a wide variety of colors, flavors, and caffeine levels.  It's like Bagel Bites- you can have it any time of day or night.  I especially like earl grey and green tea infused with lemon.

Loudon Wainwright III: This carries over from an ongoing obsession since last year.  I started listening to "Prince Hal's Dirge" a lot, which is the angriest song I've ever heard by him, which is not to mirror the waning anger inside me, but which is to signify that Loudon is some kind of minor god, full of spite and revenge.  Also, Vetiver covered "The Swimming Song" on his last album and now they play it on the radio here.  This leads me to my next minor obsession...

Swimming in the ocean:  When I was a kid, I hated swimming in the ocean.  I couldn't do it for very long without getting the water in my eyes and mouth, and it was much akin to when Johnson & Johnson's baby shampoo got in my eyes.  I got really used to the salt water though, and it actually doesn't hurt at all (except that the water all gets up my nose and makes it run).  I also never really liked swimming much because I didn't see the point- you stand around in the water, maybe splash around, and that's about it.  The only way it was fun was when you added an activity, like going down a water slide or playing Marco Polo.  Or...body surfing!  You wait for a big wave to come, then start swimming with it, and wham!! you end up 15 paces closer to shore in no time!

Flight of the Conchords:  Ok, so my parents have On Demand, and I watched one episode of it last summer with my cousin, RP, and some stoned kid, leftover from a party that my sister and cousin had, whom I saw hanging out in the Dairy Queen parking lot later that evening when I was getting ice cream with my grandma.  Awesome.  Anyway, the episode wasn't all that funny.  It was the first episode, you know, where Jemaine wants to hook up with Sally, even though Bret had recently dated her.  That part was kind of funny, but I didn't like the "Year 2000" song, so I didn't check it out any further.  But now that I have, man am I glad I did!  Cameos from Eugene Mirman, Todd Barry, Dimitri Martin, and Daryl Hall!  Transistion time...

Hall & Oates:  If you know me well, or have ever been on a road trip with me, you'll know that I have a spot in my heart for Hall & Oates that takes up both ventricles.  This year marks my obsession with the back half of the Atlantic catalogue, including Side 2 of Abandoned Luncheonette and War Babies.  It gets kind of dark and pleading in there somewhere.  It comes after that soft Philly folk but before their really commercial stuff, and well before Lyme's Disease came into the picture.

Join me for my next installment, when I'll discuss clean jokes, ABBA, Scrabble, cooking, and the dianetics sign on Pitt St.