Entry 34: New Zealand Bound

Just a quick entry today as I am a bit busy. I am trying to cram too many things in a small time window before I leave to New Zealand tomorrow. I am taking part in an operations research conference in Auckland. It should be fun. I will write a longer entry when I get the chance.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Entry 33: Olio

Time for a grab bag.

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I heard Ed Asner doing a radio interview the other day and it turns out that he is a “9/11-truther” (aka conspiracy nut). He went so far as to imply that the US government somehow intentionally collapsed the twin towers after the planes crashed into them. From the linked article:

“No high-rise has ever gone down by fire,” Asner explains. “Those buildings fell at the rate of gravity in ten seconds, flat.”

This whole thing is absurd to me (and no doubt many others). I’m sure the Bush regime has some secrets concerning 9/11, but I have trouble believing they were nefarious to this degree (just inept and misguided). Plus, the thing about many conspiracy theorists is that they use unexplained phenomena as “proof” of their theories. As in, “nobody can adequately explain why the buildings fell so fast, therefore it’s a government conspiracy.” The huge problem with this argument is that it ignores the fact that stuff happens all the time that not even the most qualified experts among us can explain or predict. I mean, it’s not like we have a huge test bed of cases of commercial jets careening into skyscrapers at top speeds. Given such a chaotic system, who could possibly predict the outcomes with any precision and confidence? What’s the more believable explanation, that the crashes somewhat unexpectedly caused the buildings to very quickly collapse, or that the US government orchestrated the entire thing and brought the buildings down in some covert manner? I don’t think I’m being naïve by going with the former.

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S and I went to the beach again this weekend, one in Newcastle this time. (There was a lot of junior high tail running around, I’ll tell you that much.) I got burned on a strip of my arm where I must have failed to spread on sun block. One underrated thing about having a wife is that you have somebody to rub sun block on your back. I used to hate it when I’d go to the beach with my jackass friends back in the day, and they would never put any on for me. “Look man, if I could apply it myself I would. I can’t reach my back. I’m just asking you to slather a little lotion on back, not perform fellatio on me. It’s not that big a deal.” They’d never go for it. All I ever wanted was to not get burned. Curse this pale complexion.

Anyway, they had a shark warning at the beach today which was a bit unnerving, but it didn’t seem that serious. If it was serious, they need to work on their siren, because it sound like somebody was blowing into a kazoo. It certainly wasn’t very alarming. Everybody cleared the water for about 15 minutes, and then they said it was OK, again.

I took a little dip myself. It was nice. I tried to body surf on the waves, but mostly just ended up getting water up my nose. I’m thinking about getting a body board. I’ve done that a few times, and it’s pretty fun. The only problem is that I only saw kids doing it, no adults. I’m worried that I’d be mocked by the real surfers.

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So, the engagement of Prince William is big news here. Before this story broke, I swear to you, I didn’t even really know that there was a Prince William. Maybe the name would have rung a bell, I’m not sure. Anyway, I couldn’t care less about all this. I consider it my patriotic duty as an American to ignore all things related to the British Crown – 1776 baby, 1776.

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Two shocking stories have rocked the sports world recently. The first is that Cam Newton, a big-time college football player might have solicited money from a university (gasp!). The second is that Tony Parker, a big-time basketball player might have been unfaithful to his wife (double gasp!) actress Eva Longoria. Really, Eva should have done the unfaithful math: Mega-bucks athlete plus Frenchman equals a bunch of stories in which the words “I didn't mean to hurt anybody” and “hopefully it will amicable” are going to appear.

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So this new airport scanner has become a hot topic. My take on it is I don't really mind if they use them. Who cares if somebody sees some sort of distorted x-ray image of you for a few seconds? The only worry I have is that when I go through it the female screeners will become so enamored that it will actually be harmful to their performance on the job.

Seriously though, what's the big deal? I'm not convinced that it will really make us so much safer, but if it does great. The drawbacks seem pretty minimal to me. If it makes security lines go faster, then I'm totally on board.

I love the argument that instead of this we should racially profile to increase security. Really? That's the answer. I don't think the terrorists are stupid. If we started racially profiling, I don't think it would be too hard for the evil-doers to find a white dude or chick (American Taliban, Jihad Jane) to dress up like a dignified businessperson and have them do their bidding. I mean, c'mon. It's not like if we started racially profiling we'd be finding bombs under turbans and stuff like that. Profiling just seems like a ridiculously easy measure to sidestep.

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I’ve really been getting into mixed martial arts these days. It’s a very compelling sport. I love the show the Ultimate Fighter (it’s like the Project Runway of mixed martial arts), and I watched UFC 123 this afternoon.

I have a few suggestions for making the sport more interesting though. First off, the scoring needs to be changed. As it is there are 3 rounds (or 5 rounds for a championship fight) and each round is basically scored as a win, loss, or tie for the fighters. There are two problems with this. First, a fighter can barely win two rounds, and then get dominated in the other round and still win the fight. This is what happened today between Quinton “Rampage” Jackson and Lyoto “The Dragon” Machida. There was basically no action in the first two rounds, nobody really landed anything serious, and then Machida completely dominated the third round nearly knocking Jackson out. But the judges awarded the first two rounds to Jackson, so he won the fight despite the fact that, on the whole, he got his ass kicked and basically inflicted no damage on his opponent (which he graciously admitted after the fight).

Second, a fighter can convincingly win the first two rounds and then just “run-away” the third round, winning the fight, but boring all the spectators. This is what Maiquel Falcao did in his win over Gerald Harris.

Both of these issues would be relatively easy to fix. First, simply score each round in a less binary fashion – make all rounds out of 10 and give 1 for a really poor performance, 5 for an average performance, and 10 for a great performance. So, the scoring for Jackson/Machida could have been 4-3 Jackson, 4-3 Jackson, and then 7-3 Machida, giving Machida the victory 13-11, which would have been way fairer. Second, declare fights a no-contest if fighters don’t engage throughout the fight, or at the very least give fighters a “no-round” on their record if they just stall for a round. If you get too many no-rounds then you can’t fight for a year or you get a dock in pay or something like that. It’s not fair to the audience to buy a ticket to watch a guy run around the ring for the last 5 minutes.

Entry 32: More Beaches

[Bondi Beach, Sydney.]

Yesterday S and I went to Bondi Beach to see a free art exhibit called Sculpture by the Sea. Bondi Beach is a very beautiful (and apparently very popular) beach in Sydney. The name reminds me of 1988 US Olympic swimming star Matt Biondi – one of several now-obscure Olympians that I that I remember ardently rooting for as a lad (Mark Lenzi and Steve Timmons are two others). Anyway, the name Sculpture by the Sea is a bit misleading since there are many sculptures. Some of them were cool looking, some were hideous, but most were just there. (Oh, look, a red thing wrapped around a silver thing.) All in all it was a good exhibit and a beautiful day.

[Throngs of people at the Sculpture by the Sea Exhibit.]

We got off to a bit of a rocky start though. Newcastle is just a bit too far away from Sydney to have a proper day trip. To get there at a reasonable hour, S and I had to wake up early, and by the time we actually got to the beach we had been traveling for about 4 hours. We were both extremely hungry, but were having trouble finding a decent place to eat, because all the restaurants were full. (Apparently a free exhibit on a beautiful beach, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, in a city of 4.5 million people draws a big crowd. Who would have imagined that?) After several arguments and empty, profanity-laden threats by both S and I to “just turn around and go home”, we final settled in at Bavarian Bier Café.

[A crowded deck overlooking the beach that reminds me of parties at my old apartment in DC, back when it was my friends' apartment, where twenty people would stand on the rickety dilapidated deck. This one at least looks sturdy.]

It turned out to be a decent place. The food was pretty good and it’s tough to hate on an establishment where you can sit outside and drink half-liter steins of beer, but we did have a few issues with the staff. First off, they twice forget to bring us a bread basket we ordered. Well, actually they forgot it once, and then when we reminded them of it, they mistakenly gave it to the couple sitting next to us (who didn’t say anything because they probably just figured bread came with their meals). Then they brought us shots of some red concoction that we never ordered. We didn’t take them, but they showed up on the bill anyway. When I initially paid the bill I didn’t notice this. (The service was also quite slow, so I gave the server my credit card immediately when she arrived, so that we wouldn’t have to wait another twenty minutes to flag her down again to pay.) I brought this to the attention of a staff member and we had the following exchange.

[Feet.]

Me: Hi, I was charged for this [pointing to the bill], but we didn’t order it.
Her: Vell, [she had a German accent] it’s zee same bill vee brought you before. You have paid already.
Me: Yeah, I know. I didn’t notice it before.
Her: Vell, it is finalized. There is nothing vee can do.
Me: Can’t you credit my card or something?
Her: No. It is finalized. You should have a look first before you pay.
Me: Can I talk to your manager? [We walk inside to the manager.]
Her: [To the manager pointing at bill] This “gentleman” says he did not order these drinks, but he has already paid. It is finalized in zee computer. There is nothing vee can do, is there?
Manager: [Friendly] Probably. [To me] How about if I just give you $8 in cash?
Me: Well, it was $24 actually, 8 times 3.
Manager: Gotcha [She reaches into till and gives me the money.]
Me: [Beaming with a Cheshire Cat grin at the staffer.] Thank you.

[This piece was called Pipewang.]

Because the manager was so nice to me they saved some future business. Now, if I’m ever at Bondi Beach again looking for a place to eat, I will consider Bavarian Bier Café. Actually, I probably won’t, because I’d want to try somewhere new, but still. I appreciate the way the manager handled things. As for the staffer, what the hell? She was acting like I was asking her to deduct $24 out of her personal paycheck. What does she care? And I like how you she was trying to convince me the transaction was “finalized” and there was nothing that could possibly be done. Give me a break, it’s a restaurant tab, not divine scripture.

[A shot along the coast.]

Anyway, after lunch we walked along the beach, met one of S’s friend K and looked at all the sculptures. K is an American who has been living in Sydney since May. She was telling us some stories about her stalker. He’s not a real stalker (hopefully) just a guy who can’t take a hint. He apparently texted her roughly ten times, called her a few times, and put a note under her door (they live in the same apartment complex) all without her responding. He’s a 34 year old man, by the way. I could understand if he was 24 and just didn’t know any better, but 34? C’mon dude, give up. I mean what’s next, smoke signals?

OK, gotta go. S wants to play cards. She’s on a gin-rummy kick, because she found out that she’s better than me. For now, at least. Let me get a few games under my belt, analyze some strategies, and I won’t be fun to play with for long.

Entry 31: Vanuatu Trip, Part II

[The Blue Lagoon.]

We woke up relatively early on Saturday to go on the Blue Lagoon Tour. This consisted of going to a beautiful blue lagoon, where you could swim and kayak, and where a villager dressed as Brooke Shields reenacted scenes from the 1980 movie Blue Lagoon. (OK, that last part isn’t true.)

The tour consisted of only five people, the guide, me and S, and another couple, much older than us (they were retired), who lived in Australia, although the man was Scottish. They were pretty cool, but the man was so concerned with “getting his money’s worth” instead of just enjoying this little Eden in front of us. Whenever things weren’t exactly as he thought they would be – like they only had two kayaks instead of four, so we’d have to take turns – he would tell the guide, “You should have told us that before we made the booking.” The guide, to his credit, mostly just shrugged his shoulders and ignored him. The best part about the Blue Lagoon Tour was that I got to swing Indian Jones-style off a bank into the water.

[Another scene from the Blue Lagoon.]

After the Blue Lagoon we went to another beautiful spot where we had some “light refreshments” (cookies and juice) and swam some more. It started to rain there, but I didn’t mind too much, because it was still quite warm. The Scotsman stayed in the van when he saw the rain saying, “The only people who go out in weather like this are lunatics and Englishmen.” On the way back, he and I were discussing the local beer Tusker, saying it was pretty good, and he turned to his wife and said, “I hope you haven’t anything planned, because it’s a six pack of Tusker and a newspaper, and that’s me for the day.”

[The other spot we went to on the Blue Lagoon Tour.]

Going to and from the lagoon we used a road built as part of a project that S helped manage (from the States) a few years ago. The driver even showed her a sign commemorating the road that said the project’s name on it. She screamed with excitement when she saw this, jolting to attention the Scotsman who had dozed off a bit, but now thought he was missing something extremely interesting, “What? What? What is it? What is it?” He chuckled when he saw it was just a road sign.

[A bottle of Tusker, the only beer brewed in Vanuatu.]

That night we went to a fancy resort called Iririki for dinner. It was great, but we forgot to bring some sort of time telling device, so instead of constantly bothering people to tell us the time, I came up with the idea of using the time-seal on our camera. I stand by it that this was an ingenuous idea, but it didn’t really work out. I got the wrong initial time difference between the camera and reality (it wasn’t my fault, some woman gave me the wrong current time), and then we just ended up taking a lot of pics like this one, so we could see the time.

[A picture of my foot I took so that I could see the time.]

The next day we went dune buggy driving, which is quite awesome to do in a country with virtually no vehicular safety regulations. You just bomb around in these little go-karts through the streets, on the beach, and through the trails of the villages. The latter is a bit nerve racking, because the village kids will frequently mob your buggy, while it’s moving, to ask for “lollies” (they sell candy at the shop to throw out to them and the proceeds supposedly go to the village). They get so close and they are so young, sometimes not much older than 3 or 4 years, that it’s a wonder they still have two feet.

[A pic from the website of the dune buggy company we used.]

I did all the driving. S wanted to drive, but I don’t think she was ready for the trial by fire that would ensue. She would have liked some practice and instruction, instead of, “That peddle is go, that peddle is stop, keep up with the pack, see ya,” which is what we got. The whole time I kept thinking about how this would never be allowed in the States without tons of waivers, a closed course, insurance, etc. which frustrated me a bit. Obviously it’s not a good idea to let little kids get within inches of fast moving vehicles, but there must be a happy medium between that and all the bullshit safety regulations we have in the States. I use the adjective bullshit, because that’s what they are. I think the overwhelming majority of our regulations in the US aren’t about safety. They are about power and money (big surprise, I know). Either it’s a politician wanting to give you the illusion they are making you safer (even if they aren’t), or it’s somebody covering their ass so that somebody else won’t sue, or it’s somebody trying to rip you off in the name of “safety” with inspection fees, fines for violation, and insurance costs. (And often that somebody is the government.) It’s a fine system we’ve worked out for ourselves, and by fine I mean completely crappy. I’ll leave it at that before I start to sound like some anti-government, anti-regulation zealot (which I’m definitely not). Actually, I’ll say one more thing. Guess where our buggy tour guides took us for a break – a bar to get a beer. Not in the US.

[The writing below "ANZ" is example of Bislama, a pidgin English language. I couldn't understand it at all when it was spoken.]

Anyway, the buggy tour was our last real event of the vacation. The next morning we took the long and boring flight back to Sydney followed by the long and boring train ride back to Newcastle. I definitely could have a stayed a few more days in Vanuatu.

Entry 30: Vanuatu Trip, Part I

[A color-accented view of the Pacific Ocean through some greenery.]

Finally, I get a little bit of time to blog. Things have been quite busy for me since we got back. I am going to break this blog up into two parts, a la The Brady Bunch whenever the Bradys would go on vacation. Be it the Grand Canyon or Hawaii, they would always have multiple episodes.

So, if you’re reading this blog and you’re only vaguely familiar or perhaps not familiar at all with the existence of an island nation called Vanuatu, don’t feel bad about your lack of knowledge (well, feel a little bad). They’ve only been independent since 1980, so they are younger than I am. We ended up going there, because I have a wife who likes places slightly off the beaten path, and frequently prods me to agree to vacation at such places. Often these are places I would never want to go. Often these are places I don’t think anybody but she would want to go. It’s not uncommon for her to initiate a conversation, out of the blue, like the following.

Her: “Hey, can we go to Tora Bora someday?”
Me: “Um… isn’t that the mountain region in Afghanistan where they train Al-Qaeda fighters.”
Her: “Yeah, but I heard it’s beautiful.”

So, when she suggested we go to a tropical island, I was all in. It’s quite a nice place to vacation, actually. We were talking about how we wouldn’t be surprised if it becomes a huge tourist destination in the next few years or so. It seems like there is always a country that gets the reputation of being a chic tourist destination and then blows up overnight, Thailand for example. Who went to Thailand 15 years ago? Now, everybody goes. Vanuatu has the potential to be a place like that. And if it happens I’ll say, please, been there, done that.

[A view from our resort.]

Anyway, we stayed at a nice resort called The Benjour. I liked it – very pretty, nice, and clean, but not too ritzy or expensive. The rooms were individual bungalows which was cool. When we arrived there they told us, “Things here are really laid back. People like to take it easy and not focus on their watches all time. Everything runs on island time,” which loosely translates to “Look, don’t get on our cases if service is a little slow.”

[A cool picture S took in Port Vila.]

Our first night there we just sat by the water, had a few cocktails, and recovered from our 4:30 wake up that morning. It was a great night. The next day we went into to town on a bus (which is a bus in the same sense as a VW Bus is a bus) and saw a little bit of Port Vila. It seems like a pretty cool city. For somebody like myself who has never been to a developing country you see a few strange things (there are literally no stop lights in the entire city, the roadways are basically an anarchy), but it’s not too hard to adapted, and the city is quite safe, from what we’ve been told, and the people are mostly friendly and helpful.

[A bus jam on the streets of Port Vila]

At night, we went to a cultural feast that was completely hokey, but fun nonetheless. (It seems in Vanuatu they eat meat and potatoes just like we do!) My “favorite” part about the feast is that the only thing they had to drink was that crappy McDonald’s-style orange drink. I’ve never known what that stuff is. It’s not juice and it’s not soda. It’s like orange flavored Kool Aid, but it’s not that sugary. I hadn’t had it in years, but I remember drinking that stuff at functions when I was a kid from a giant vat with a McDonald’s logo on it. Apparently, it’s the appropriate drink for a cultural feast with Vanuatu villagers.

Actually, I did have another drink there, kava, a mild sedative. Everybody got in a line and chugged some out of a stone cup as part of a ritual. It didn’t taste great, and it made my tongue numb.

[Some dancing.]

The entertainment at the feast consisted of music making and dancing by the villagers. This part was pretty cool. We missed the first half of it though, because there was a mix up between our resort and the bus driver and by the time somebody actually came to pick us up the show had already started – island time.

[This is the part where the white people dance too.]

Anyway, that’s all for this entry. Coming up next entry, dodging naked village kids in dune buggies.