I don’t want this to become an immigration blog. I also know that’s the question looming over everything at the moment, so I’ll rip this bandaid off quickly:
I’m waiting for my work visa to come through. In the meantime, I’ve applied to a few jobs (hoping they’ll sponsor me outright), started the leg-work of meeting with recruiters, completed my skills assessment for my next visa hurdle, and even become active on LinkedIn, albeit on my own terms:
Beyond that, I keep the whimsy alive with DIY motorcycle maintenance, helping friends assemble flat-pack furniture, and learning how to do the Hard Sudoku on the NYT Puzzles app (but don’t get me started on Connections).
In this update, I’ll cover:
- A long stroll
- I thought rabbit’s feet were supposed to be lucky
- News from the home front (it’s mostly about my cat)
- A road trip that has a reason to happen
- Blast from the past
- Those who help me get by
- Closing statements (everything must go)
This isn’t everything that happened these last few months, but I gotta draw the line somewhere and this is already pretty long.
All hail The Big Walk!
In July, a friend asked if I’d like to play The Big Walk with him and a few others. While the scheduling has been a bit hectic given that I’m on the other side of the world, it’s been a very cathartic and enjoyable experience.
The Big Walk is made by the same company that made Untitled Goose Game, and is exactly what it says on the tin: a game where you and friends go for a big walk. In the process, you solve puzzles that require coordination and cooperation. It’s peaceful in a way many video games aren’t: it’s just meandering around the map, using proper radio nomenclature on the walkie-talkies, and basking in the confetti shower after you solve a puzzle.
Part of why I enjoy the game so much is the people with whom I play. The four of us (or five — depends on the day) have similar types of humor. For example, we’ve decided that the item each puzzle unlocks looks like a nipple: I don’t know if it’s actually called that or if the entire group should go to therapy, but it’s on the red thing on the blue character’s back in the above picture (though the light in his hands could also be interpreted in a Freudian way).
Regardless, the nipple is held in a clamp that opens once the puzzle is solved which is, of course, a nipple clamp. The jokes write themselves.
Also, you can raise one or both of your arms as part of the in-game communication (right vs. left, etc). We mostly raise our arms and chant loudly to celebrate finding something. When we found the backpack, it was “All hail the backpack” which everyone else then echoed. When we found the Monorail station, we chanted “Monorail! Monorail!” in a trance-like three-syllable cadence while milling around. This makes us sound insane, but it’s good fun.
Lastly, I cannot climb the rocks very well (I know, skill issue). Rather than wait for me to “get gud”, the others have, on multiple occasions, carried me up the rocky slopes. I like to think they do this is out of the kindness of their hearts, but I know it’s mostly because I slow the group down. Regardless, I appreciate the help.
All in, I recommend this game. It’s a fun way to spend time with fun people.
Rabbit hunting
On my first day at the Sydney office, my then-manager now friend Warren (you may know him as ‘Wazza’ but I’m too self-conscious of my American accent to say it) told me that I was a South Sydney Rabbitohs fan. And so I was.
For my confused American readers, South Sydney Rabbitohs are a rugby team, informally referred to as the Rabbits, Bunnies or Souths (Wikipedia). For those who think it’s weird to name a team after rabbits:
The club mascot is the rabbitoh, a […] term [from] the early 20th century to describe hawkers who captured, skinned, […] then sold rabbits at markets [shouting] “rabbit-oh!” […] to attract buyers. (Wikipedia again)
While I’m not a massive NRL fan, I like it enough to passively follow it and attend a few matches — five, actually. A few have been blowouts and a few good games, but none of them were wins for Souths.
At the start of August, I saw them lose for a sixth time. This time, they played the Cronulla Sharks (obligatory nod to the Engadine Maccas, etc). They’re not a weak team (read: we knew it’d be a tough game) but we chose this game because the stadium was conveniently located.
The silver lining was that it was a beautiful day to sit outside and watch a game. Sydney weather and I get along for about three months out of the year, so this was a welcome day to sit in the sun. And someday, I’ll see this team win.
Domestic affairs
In the last month, the cooktop and hot water heater have had to be replaced. When combined with the Metro train line opening again, I’m expecting my rent to go up in the coming months.
However, having tradies in brought out a new side of Caesar: He’s an attention-hungry fiend who likes people. Because aside from being the darling of the vet office when he visits, he followed all of the tradies agent around my apartment practically begging to be pet while they were here. Sadly, none engaged him, but boy howdy did he try.
Since apparently he’s just such an easy-going cat, my next goal is to introduce him to Auntie Adriana’s house so I can leave him there when I adventure. This conveniently segues into my next bit.
The call of the road
Since the last update, I’ve had to acknowledge that my three-week road trip to Alice Springs is probably not going to happen while my visa stuff is over my head. Meandering through western Queensland with no mobile signal sounds like heaven, but my anxiety wouldn’t let me enjoy it right now.
However, I will be going to Melbourne at the end of September, and planning against a concrete date makes it far easier to follow through. I’ll be reaching out to people who live there once I finalize my plan a little more about hangs, etc.
At the risk of being a ‘woke libtard’, I’m choosing not to fly there specifically because there’s more ecologically-friendly ways to get around. And it’s getting harder to be okay with it, especially after watching the glacial collapse in Nepal. Melbourne is connected by land and I’m not pressed for time — I don’t need to fly. Instead, my options are:
Option 1: Walk
It’s 9 days of walking. Fuck off.
Let me try this again: I have three options:
Option 1: Ride the hog
Take my motorcycle down the A1 along the Sapphire Coast, Wilson’s Prom, then into Melbourne. I’d come back to Sydney inland via Wagga Wagga. Because it’s all two-lane highways,it’s ~13 hours one way, which I’d split into two or three days.
The advantage of this is a) ADVENTURE and b) I’d have my own means of transport while in Melbourne. The main obstacle is the weather: this spring has been very warm, and I don’t want to sit on a bike for three days in 30C/90F heat.
But provided it’s not too hot, this sort of trip is why I got finally got my full motorcycle license.
Option 2: Ride the rails
A 10 hour train from Sydney directly to Melbourne’s CBD. It costs less than a flight, I love trains, I’d still get to see the countryside, and I wouldn’t even need to be sober the entire time. Downside is that I’d have no independent transit around Melbourne, but I’d live.
I’d definitely get the “First Class” ticket though, as the $20 price difference is apparently what it takes to separate yourself from the meth heads on the train.
Option 3: The Julia
This offers the best of both worlds: a one-day, 9-hour drive and I’d have local transport. I don’t need to book tickets or be precious about timing, though I do have to stay sober for this option.
The downside is that Julia is getting decidedly more rickety these days. Not unreliable — she’d make it just fine — just less comfortable than before: parts now rattle and squeak, the drone of the highway is getting louder as one of the door seals slowly fails, and I only have one functioning steering wheel audio control. That last one was a cheap aftermarket addition by Yours Truly, but it’s still broken.
My professor from DePaul
At the start of August, my university informed me that one of my old professors had to retire for ‘medical reasons’. The university sent an email to students who took his class, asking for messages that they’d compile into a book to celebrate his time there.
First of all, what a thoughtful gesture. And second, I was surprised by my own reaction to it; it’s been [redacted number] years since my time at DePaul, and lot of my time there has been reduced to a distant memory, if I remember it at all.
Yet, as I detailed in my response to them, it was somehow very formative for me despite it being a one quarter class about romance literature.
There’s a lot to unpack beyond just “I took a cool class in college” but I’m not going to do it here. Something something the importance of a good educator and/or the nature of brief but lasting impressions of strangers. Take your pick, and know that I probably agree with you.
Photo evidence of my emotional support structures
As is becoming tradition, I’ll end with photos of people and other happy things. I don’t have a ton this time around, but I’m, once again, feeling appreciative of friends who invite me to things like hikes, parties, and pop-up events. Sometimes, I attend begrudgingly and sometimes I struggle to avoid my “Seinfeldian” rants (again: do not get me started on Connections in the NYT Puzzles app). But it’s easier to find the will to pull myself along when I don’t feel like it when I have people who encourage me to do so.
So without further ado, (some) photo highlights of the last few months:
Closing statements
The title of this post comes from an expression: “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” which is a nice way to frame my current state: I am alive, and mostly well. Some days are more productive than others, but my aim is to enjoy the good days and survive the bad ones. And if the Sagrada Família can be under perpetual construction for nearly 150 years and be a UNESCO World Heritage site, taking a month to get around to fixing my flat bicycle tire is acceptable, too.
Also, I got the entire 8-season run of Scrubs on DVD for $21 AUD/~$14 USD!
Auf Wiedersehen, lovelies.