For those few readers who don't know this about me, I spent almost all of my teenage summers out in the rural woods of New Mexico teaching boy scouts how survive in the woods—stuff like how to not get eaten by bears—at this huge ranch called Philmont. It was a great time, and it is one of a handful of experiences in my life that I can pin down as powerfully life changing. Most of the staff out there have the same feeling about the place, and what comes out of this little phenomenon is what I like to like to think of as the Phil-network.

The staff at Philmont are almost all in the midst of some sort of education, working hard to delay being all those grownup things that loom when room and board are no longer provided. This means sooner or later they, or rather we, scatter away to follow life dreams. This turns out to be a wonderful thing, because wherever you go, the Phil-network provides. In town for a few days, eh? Need a place to stay?

Let me explain. You would think that down here in upside-down world that is Sydney, there is no way that my quaint New Mexican ranch would have connections here. But there is not only one, but now two. Today, I happily did my part for the Phil-network by meeting up with Sarah for lunch, who found me, via Bill, via P.J!, via this very here blog. Meeting up with second or third degree friends is not something I normally find myself doing, but given the Philmont connection, I knew I had nothing to worry about. We come from the same place. And now I have a new Sydney friend... Good stuff.

There are major things that the Phil-network has provided me. Who talked me into living with him in New York? A Philmonter. Which friend introduced me to my girlfriend? A Philmonter. Given that fact, Philmont could be to blame, as much as anything, for me living in Sydney right now. Hmm. Maybe Philmont makes my world bigger.

http://video.google.com/blogpost?fp=1&docid=-6024069842823931948&siteindex=0

Posted by Colin J Allen at 8:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I ran out of coffee in the house yesterday, so this morning I stepped outside to get my cup of get up an' go java goodness. After living five years with Duncan Doughnuts as my corner coffee shop, it is a pleasant change to have a handfull of quality coffee venders on my block. The Starbucks encroachment is a comfortable neighborhood away, which keeps prices down and the roast not burnt.

The closest of these coffee joints is one by the name of LOTL. It is right down the street from my house, but I don't go there because they do not have regular hours. They are always closed in the morning. I have been trying to figure out how they manage to pay the bills if they are not serving when people are in greatest need for caffeine. I finally get it now. The coffee shop is a front. In the back, there are a bunch of journalists making a magazine. That would explain the late opening hours then, wouldn't it?

Come to find out that LOTL, is not a fancy european name like Illy or Tazzo. Nope, it is rather is the name of their magazine. It stands for lesbians on the loose. A good title for a lesbian travel magazine, sure, but it does ring kind of odd as the name of a coffee shop. Would that mean that the employees find freedom by making me a long black coffee? Not to get picky here, but if this is a coffee shop run by a bunch of journalists, I would have to think that some copy editor would have pointed this out. If say, Psychology Today were to have a coffee shop in their office's foyer, wouldn't you expect that someone would be there for you to talk about your problems?

While we are on the topic of coffee shop names, why did Starbuck's name itself after the overly loyal first mate of a ship that hubris and providence sank?

Posted by Colin J Allen at 4:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I had an absurd enough birthday last week that I feel that it needs a quick mention. Here I was on the day before my birthday doing my usual work on the computer, when I get a case of the afternoon tea-time sleepies. I can no longer look on the screen to get anything done, so I decide to get out and get some fresh air. It being the middle of the afternoon, the hottest part of an unreasonably warm spring day, I was confused as how I was still a little chilly in my sweatshirt and long pants.

By the time I got home, I realized that the only thing that I'd be doing for the rest of the day would be cocooning in the bed to stay warm. I'd been hit with one hell of a fever. I would be sweaty and clammy for the next two days, and I'd end up sleeping through almost my entire birthday. It certainly made this birthday not one of the ones I hope to tell the grandkids about.

'I remember my birthday in '06... my fever was so hot they used my forehead to light the candles...'

Actually, that does sound kind of grandpa-ish. It's always the bad experiences that make the best stories.

Don't feel bad for me fellow reader. It all worked out in the end. I had recovered by Friday afternoon, so my plans for a BBQ on Saturday went without a hitch. Kangaroo was eaten, as were with other meats, by my friends down here. A good time was had.

Also, there is a chance that a certain lady friend of mine will take me to the Opera this week. He he.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 4:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I was lamenting today that I have yet to find any really odd stores here in Sydney. I haven't found their version of the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Shop, or their equivalent of museum of barbed wire, which I think is somewhere in Kansas. I know that they must be out there, but how does one find places like this?

Come to find out, a good way to get to these places is just to step into doors that you would otherwise think twice about going into.

Let me preface this that when I was thinking about this 'find wacky places' mission, I was strolling through Kings Cross. This neighborhood is somewhat of a bohemian epicenter that happens to be in fierce conflict with the forces of gentrification. While it is not as edgy as it was back in the 80s—seemingly like every other every bohemian hotspot—brothels are legal down here, and the Cross still remains the city's red light district. Nowadays you can have an espresso before you head upstairs for some whoring.

I have heard rumors from a fellow traveler of mine that there is a bookstore somewhere in the area that puts nearly all other bookstores to shame for sheer disorganization. Books and disorganization are two words that I like to hear together. There is something about searching for novels in a cave-like environment that is very comforting to me. You just don't get that same feeling in your local Barnes & Nobles. Which is probably for the best.

The small store is on a side-street. It has a sign in front of it that shouts BOOKS in red neon. Pass through the uninviting narrow doorway, and you find yourself navigating through narrow isles filled to the roof with books and magazines. While not disorganized, this place does have the cave-like atmosphere down to a T. The store owner is a large man who coughs loudly and unhealthily. This man is not going to find a book for you. Period. And perhaps in his best interest to avoid navigating himself through the narrow isles, lest he cause a cave-in.

On a closer look, I realized that this is not your usual used book store. This place has a lot of magazines. Thousands of them, from floor to roof, all in mint condition, all in plastic sleeves. Someone has put a lot of effort in keeping these babies in top condition. This store is not so much of a used book store as it is a used magazine store. A used porn magazine store. So if you don't mind shelling out $50 ASD, you can get your very own vintage 1975 Australian Playboy. Which month do you want? We are talking thousands of girly magazine here.

What can't help but wonder is how did this collection start and how did it get so enormous? Is this the project of one lonely man who decided to profit off of his vices? Perhaps word got around Sydney, and for those men who wanted certain magazines out of the house, yet did not have the heart to toss them in the recycling bin, off they went to smut's greener pastures, this bookstore.

I consider today's 'find wacky places' mission a resounding success.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 4:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I am going to quote from the email I sent to my parents describing the wedding. I think that it hits the high points of the trip, and I can't be bothered to write a new description from scratch. And for those who don't like reading, the Online Fisheye Photobook is still there for you to look at.

The wedding was a blast, as was the entire trip. I am very happy that I was present for this special moment in Eric's life. And it was all the better being the best man, which is basically like being given an all access backstage pass to the event. I got to be with Eric the moments before he stepped into public view, and to ask him if he really wanted to go through with it, or if we were going to high tail it out of there. Of course, he decided to go through with it.

The ceremony went very well. One of their mutual friends composed a song for them the night before, and about half way through the piano/singing number, she started crying. As did the bride. Perhaps the groom, but he was facing away from me. Waterworks throughout the building turned on.

Just when everyone was getting their tear ducts in order, Eric and Lynn start reading their declarations of love, which they had written wrote beforehand but only the minister had the honor of a sneak preview. Lynn and Eric could hardly get through them as chocked up as they were. Liberal passing of kleenex ensued.

I had the job of giving the rings to the preacher, which I managed to fumble through. The audience was forgiving of my sudden lack of coordination, probably because they were happy to see that I didn't drop them. After a good speech from the preacher, it was a vow time. I do's were passed back and forth, rings exchanged, and kisses shared. Hu--Rah!

All in all, it was a short ceremony, light on the dogma and heavy on the sappy stuff. I couldn't have asked for a better show. Plus I think that there is a direct relationship between one's enjoyment of a wedding and one's proximity to the bride and groom.

With the dinner afterwards, I had the terrifying pleasure of doing the best man's toast. I think I managed to give the crowd a good mix of humor, heartfelt love, and embarrassing stories about Eric and I walking around naked at Philmont. The preacher gave me props afterwards, so I figure that I did alright.

I was half of the DJ team for the ensuing dance floor festivities. I basically chose all the music for the night and Jeff, the MC, chose the order of songs. This worked out with great success, and everyone made a fool of themselves on the dance floor, myself included. So after stressing about non-offensive music all the week previous, the songlist all worked out.

Eric and Lynn seem really happy. Through the whole wedding, everyone around them was more nervous than they were. They were beacons of calm throughout all the festivities. Funny how that works out. It goes to show they they must be pretty happy with their decision.

I am supposed to send you thanks from them for the napkins. It was cool to use them when I had dinner with them a few days afterwards. Looks like they'll get some use from them. Of course, they'll give you thanks directly, but you did well giving them something that will have daily use.

Hmm. As far as the rest of my New York tale, it involved basically running around and seeing and talking to as many friends as I could. I pretty much I got to spend time with all my top-tier friends, which was very rewarding. I ate mexican food. I ate bagels. I drank the local brew. I read the physical manifestation of the New York Times (much better than the online version).

On leaving from JFK, on board the plane to LAX, I did manage to delay the flight a half hour. No, I did go to the correct airport, and I did get there on time, despite an hour delay with the airport's AirTran. (By the way, there is nothing worse than being delayed when you are on airport grounds... got a story or two on that problem).

Do you remember that Scott made me an iPod case out of a glued-together book with a dremmel-made space inside for the iPod? It looks like a normal book, until you open it and see that there is an iPod cut into it. Very unique. So unique that, after passing through security without a hitch, somehow somebody figured out which plane I was on and where I was sitting, and dispatched a flight attendant to double-check that I didn't just slip a bomb onto flight to the city of Angels. After the flight attendants had me step to the back and display my great brotherly gift to them, they let me sit back down. Then the pilot, a huge ex-military type came over to my seat for a look, just to be sure. After convincing him of my benign intentions, I successfully avoided having my flight destination altered to a military base in Cuba. Two days later, I was back in Sydney.

God knows how they tracked me down between the security gates and my seat on the plane, but I must say that they guys at JFK have their act together. I have more confidence now that they really thinking outside the box over there.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 10:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm back from a wedding in New York. While it was a great trip, it sure was a long flight to get there. For those of you who know Eric March or Lynn Peterson, here is what happened from the perspective of the best man. Even if you don't know these two, have a look at these pictures. You can do great things with a fisheye camera. Nothing like a fisheye lens to spice up party pictures...

I did this picture book somewhat in a rush, so I am sorry if I botched any names or anything else. Please contact me and I'll sort it out.

The Wedding, as the best man saw it.

It is late here. A description of the wedding will come next.

Posted by Colin J Allen at 12:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)