I Am Paid Per Word

Oh hello there,

This past weekend was my best so far of my time here in Australia. Friday night I saw two of my favourite bands, Broken Social Scene and Stars, Saturday I went to Surfer’s Paradise with two French friends and an Australian friend, and Sunday I laid around outside playing guitar and watching The Sopranos on my computer. I know that watching a TV show on your computer does not sound fun when compared to a sweet concert and one of the most famous beaches in the world, but rest assured Sunday was friggin’ phenomenal.

Before I go any further, let me first congratulate C-Dep on the comment he made regarding my dream. He is the winner of this month’s contest. The contest called for contestants to make a previously happy person question their self-worth in 300 words or less. Once again, congratulations Chris.

Today I looked for a job. I have been applying online for a week now, but with limited success. So today I decided to start banging on some doors and handing out some resumes. With my boundless charisma, I knew that a job was but one gap-toothed smile away. Etienne and I went to the mall and applied for the same jobs. We did not go in together, but we did hand out our resumes to the exact same places within ten minutes of each other. I know this wasn’t a very good idea, but I am banking on the fact that my resume will probably be valued over his because I speak fluent English. Of course, he is probably banking on the fact that I have a dirty beard, dirty hair, and wore my fedora while he was dressed to the nines. We’ll call it a draw, I guess.

Those who know my aversion to physical labour will laugh at this story. I walk out of a store after just submitting my resume. A woman comes up to me and says, “Are you looking for a job?” I say, “Yeah! Why? Are you looking to hire?” She says, “Have you ever done physical labour?” I don’t even think about lying. “Nope,” I reply. Then, after realizing I sound like a bit of a pansy, I add “but I play a lot of sports so I mean I do physical stuff.” Smooth, I know.

She then asks, “Would you want to do some physical labour? For a builder?” I think for approximately half of a second and respond. “No, I don’t believe I would.” We exchange our pleasantries, and I walk away thoroughly pleased that I was able to escape the prospect of working hard for my money. I don’t think my hearing aids could take it because they would go dead from all the sweat that would pour out of my body in the Australian sun. That was a nice way of justifying my decision. But in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit I wasn’t even thinking about my hearing aids. I was thinking about my back, my knees, my shoulder, and my hips It ain’t easy being a 75 year old trapped in a 22 year old’s body.

I have a bad memory when it comes to everyday stuff. There is a water fountain at school that shoots about a foot in the air when you first push the button before it settles down to its normal 5 centimeter arc. I always forget about this initial burst at the push of the button. Consequently, every time I drink from this fountain I receive a blast of water to the face that helps me identify with the plight of the female adult film star.

I also just figured out yesterday which one of the nozzles in the shower was hot and which one was cold and also which way you have to turn them to shut them off (Yes I have been living in this house over two weeks). Prior to yesterday, my showers consisted of me turning on the shower by turning both nozzles, then stepping under the water. Then it would either be too cold or hot so I would turn to adjust the nozzles and realize I forgot which was hot and which was cold. I would then realize I did not know which way to turn the nozzles to make them hotter or colder. You can see how much of an adventure this became. 3rd degree burns and instantaneous frostbite wreaked havoc on my body. You know how I finally memorized this information? When I was thinking about how I should write it in my blog. When I realized how stupid it made me sound, my brain got offended and took action. It compiled the shower information and now has it stored in my memory banks. However, I liked this new adventure every day and I am now quite upset that my brain has deprived me of this. In retaliation, I am still telling you about my lack of memory to spite my brain.

I realize that my brain has to be functioning in order for me to even be writing this, but it has been a complex chain of events and I would prefer if you just let it be.

To summarize my memory problems, let me put it this way: if I was a lion, I would probably continue to go to the same watering hole long after the other lions realized that the buffaloes and gazelles no longer gathered there. I would die within days. Thank god I am a human.

Alright, now let me tell you about the concert and beach!

The concert: I went by myself. I struck up a conversation with a guy on the train into the city. He ended up being a 19 year-old homosexual. His name was Johnny Boy, and he even had a hand gesture/symbol to accompany his name whenever he said it. He did not know the band I was going to see. When prompted, he informed me his favourite singer is “Britney motherfucking Spears. She is just the BADDEST! Me and my friends just crank that and dance all night long!” We did not share similar musical tastes.

There is always one person at a concert who is rocking out a little harder than those around him. That guy or girl who cheers extra loud and has that extra hop in their step. I was that person. Stars and Broken Social Scene rocked out and I loved every minute of it.

When I got home, there was a little bit of a shindig going on at my house with the international students. My house has become the de facto hang out house because of its size and because of the immense popularity of its tenants (I’m talking about me!). So we partied the rest of the night and it was a good time. I must admit that I consistently fall asleep before everyone else when we have our get-togethers. Most of the other international students are 19-20 years old. Those extra few years are killing me.

Saturday I went to Surfer’s Paradise. Wow. I have already been to Surfer’s once since I have been to Australia. I did not document it because it was raining that day and, in all honesty, it was really nothing to blog home about. But this time? It was unreal. Beautiful sunshine, huge waves, and a 22 year old who wishes he could be 5 years old for the rest of his life. A perfect combination. I played in those waves for so long. I stayed out in the waves for an hour after my friends had gone back in to lay on their towels. It was too much fun to go in.

When I woke up Sunday, moving my limbs was a chore. My back and my hips were punishing me for battling the undercurrent all day Saturday. And believe me, the undercurrent is a force to be reckoned with. It doesn’t just move you. It has its way with you. Of course, I decided to run against it all afternoon so I didn’t drift too far from where our towels were located.

Listen, I know this is getting long. I am gonna wrap it up now. When I first got in the water, I was scared of sharks. Kinda got over it but the thought is always there. Sunday, since I was sore, I just lazed around. Awesome.

OK well thank you for reading this mini novel. The denouement has always been my weak point. These were originally going to be three posts and now they became one due to my procrastination.

Once again, thank you for reading this. If you are reading this and I haven’t heard from you, drop me a line. It’s nice to hear from all of you.

Til next time,
Donaldhino

(Random Australian fact: Burger King and McDonald’s are just as prevalent in Australia as they are in the rest of the civilized world. However, Burger King is called Hungry Jack’s. McDonald’s is still called McDonald’s, but it’s nickname is not Mickey D’s. It is Macca.)