Archive | August, 2011

Somehow almost entering a 16k and the economy are related.

15 Aug

City 2 Surf 16k "Fun Run." Fun, my ass.

It was raining when I hopped a cab at the Sydney airport. I asked the driver if it was supposed to last the full day. “Don’t know!” he replied cheerfully. “Just started, but it looks like it doesn’t plan to give up, does it?”

Fortunately, in the 45 minutes it took me to reach the city, check into my hotel, and grab a cup of coffee, the rain subsided. The sky remained  grey and threatening, but I didn’t need an umbrella. So at 7am, I set out to get my bearings.

New York may have the reputation as the city that never sleeps, but I quickly came to believe that Sydney is the city that doesn’t sleep in, because the streets were overrun by people at 7am on a Sunday. They were all dressed in running gear and moving in one  direction, so I slipped into the crowd, determined to see where the action was.

Some people were in costume, so I found myself walking in a group of human bananas, with diaper-wearing grown-ups ahead of us and a lone man painted completely gold to our rear.

Of course I started interviewing people, and I learned that I just happened to arrive during the annual City-2-Surf event — a fun run/walk from downtown Sydney to Bondi Beach. It’s one of the largest events of its type globally each year, with 85,000 participants.

This was when I realized that Aussies really are tougher, because not only do they willfully hunt crocodiles with their bare hands, but their “fun run” includes many hills and is 16 kilometers. I’m pretty sure that in the US, anything more than a 5k ceases to be described as “fun.”

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Good on ya, mate!

13 Aug

I think they need to stamp "spiders" all over this map.

You may not hear much from Pithy this next week. I just landed in Australia, and I fear the connectivity in my hotel room + my tendency toward jetlag will conspire against frequent posts. Alan will probably be grateful for my silence, since he finds it a bit galling that he only just arrived from four months in London and I’m now skipping town.

All week, the reminders of my imminent departure seemed to plague him. He’d see my half-packed suitcase, the Sydney guide book or my passport and I’d heard a garbled, “ARGH!” followed by, “Are you trying to rub it in?”

For the record: I wasn’t. I just tend to be OCD, so I pack in advance. (Unlike Alan, who — returning from London on Saturday — managed to chuck all his belongings in a suitcase approximately 30 minutes before he left for the airport. I’m not claiming my way is correct. I’m just pointing out how well we complement each other. Different strokes, people!)

But I must admit, I found it fun to get a rise out of him in other ways. I’d ask (with a straight face) if he thought it was possible I’d pick up an awesome accent while I’m in Sydney. “No! You’re only going to be there a week!”

Then, after letting him believe we’d changed the topic, I’d randomly (and enthusiastically) bust out, “Good on ya, mate!”

He would pause, shake his head, and say, “Don’t even think about trying to incorporate any Aussie (Ozzie?) expressions when you come back. Do I need to remind you? You are only there one week.”

I would like to point out that — in the wake of his four months in the UK, most of which was spent working with other Americans — I have overheard him use Cheers, Smart and Brilliant in the course of normal conversation. I’m just saying: “Hi Pot. I’m Kettle. Nice to meet you.”

And no, I don’t expect to adopt any new phrases. I have no interest in being a poser.

Besides, I expect I’ll be too busy teaching them how to dance. (I did this at a discotheque in France once, dancing wildly to Eminem while declaring “Detroit in the House.”) After all, someone has to put the “Big D” in Down Under.

Detroit in the house, mates!

 

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At least I didn’t scream “GO!”

11 Aug

Because during the day, an alligator avoids eating children.

The other night I whipped into Safeway on my walk home from work to pick up a few items for dinner. On my way in the door, I passed Melissa, the woman who bought my old condo. (I still live in the neighborhood so we shop at the same store and bump into each other occasionally.)

Naturally, I tapped the glass, waved and said, “Hey stranger!” as we passed each other.

She caught my eye, smiled, and — as soon as the door held still — said, “Hey back! It’s been forever! How are you doing?”

And as she said that, my mind finished its computer-like body scan of her and realized she was NOT, in fact, the woman living in my old place. She was a complete stranger. Albeit one who bore an uncanny resemblance to Melissa and was willing to humor me, but a stranger nonetheless.

Embarrassment must’ve registered on my face, because just as I started to say, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! You look like someone I know –” she broke out in a huge grin, saying, “Wow! I totally thought you were someone I used to work with who lives in the neighborhood!”

And then, with the best-timed “jinx” ever, we both shrugged and said, “Small world!” at the exact same time. Had we met under different circumstances, I’m sure we would’ve been BFFs.

It’s always awkward when you mistake a stranger for someone you know — I think it harkens back to childhood, when (without looking up) you accidentally took a stranger’s hand, thinking it belonged to your mother. This instance (with the Melissa-look-alike) was about the best case scenario because we BOTH were confused.

Now let’s jump into the Way-Back Machine to check out the other end of the spectrum.

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It was like being the designated driver for a bunch of nerds.

10 Aug

The hosts of Planet Money: Alan Davidson & Alex Blumberg

First, an admission: I’m a huge dork and I love “behind the scenes” glimpses of programs I follow. That explains my ticket stubs from NBC’s studio tour (including the SNL set) in New York and NPR’s “Wait! Wait! Don’t Tell Me” show in Chicago.

So it should come as no surprise then that a few weeks ago when NPR hosted a live recording of Planet Money‘s podcast in DC, I eagerly snapped up a ticket. Turns out, I’m not the only nerd in DC. The venue (a Synagogue in Chinatown) was sold out with 800 attendees. I love living in a Nerd Mecca.

One of my friends — whom we’ll call Honer in this post out of a) respect for her privacy and b) her Honorary Nerd status — also picked up a ticket, so we made plans to meet at the show, 30 minutes before doors opened. As my work day wound down, I began receiving texts from Honer, regretting the wine she had consumed the night before.

Not going to call it a hangover, but my head hurts.

Not sure how I’m going to make it tonight. It’s officially a hangover.

Would you think less of me if I show up with a roadie? I think this situation calls for hair of the dog.

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If third graders worked in offices, this wouldn’t be funny.

5 Aug

First a bit of back story… I’m a pretty easy going person, so my knee jerk reaction if someone can’t do something or doesn’t have what I need is, “No worries.” And I almost always mean it.

Last week at work I was typing that exact phrase into a chat window in response to a co-worker, when it struck me as funny if — instead of saying “no worries” — I actually wrote back: “I HATE YOU.” Don’t ask me why, but that completely tickled my funny bone.

I was still giggling at the thought when a work buddy chatted me, so I had to explain why I was laughing. The great thing? He completely cracked up too. We immediately both adopted the phrase (but only in response to each other), but used it infrequently enough that each time it popped up it caught me off-guard and struck me as hilarious all over again.

I encourage you to try it, but only with a work buddy. If you do it to a non-buddy, they will think you are an asshole.

Anyway. So last night, I thought I would share this tip with the world (by which I mean the small handful of people who follow my twitter feed out of sympathy). Except, instead of posting it where you’re supposed to tweet, I sent a direct message to one of my followers. This is what I wrote:

Work tip: the next time you’re about to type “No worries” in response to someone who can’t help you, instead type “I HATE YOU.”

That triple cracked me up. First, because it’s just a hilarious tip to share. Second, because it looked like I had personally sought them out for these words of wisdom. Third, this person had reached out to me about six months ago, asking if a restaurant they represent could quote my review on their website.

Steal my content? I will cut you.

I had given them permission, and thought I was pretty cool about it. Instead of bartering for a credit at the restaurant, I simply asked that they link to my blog to drive traffic back to the source of the original article. The tweeter said she’d check and see if it was possible.

Did they link? No. Did they post the entire content of my review on the company’s website? They did. Did I get a kick that it was in the “media” section, between two legitimate restaurant reviews written by real people, while mine had to be attributed to someone named Pithy Pants? I did.

[Note: they’ve apparently since wised up and realized I’m in no way an official restaurant critic or journalist, because when I just checked the site, that entire section was under construction. Maybe they’re running background checks on all the content they repurposed from strangers?]

In any case, I like that after six months of not communicating, the way I reached out to this person was via a direct message giving her tips on how to be awkwardly aggressive. And even sweeter? That our previous exchange had ended with her promising to look into linking to my blog, and my writing back three simple words:

Cool. No worries. 

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