First Stop: Osaka

I'd like to start by saying that this would be SO MUCH EASIER to do on a computer rather than this...thing. Also, I'd like to apologise for the lack of pictures in this one. There have been a few technical kinks that need to be worked out. there should be a few on Facebook though, so go for your life!

Anyway...Osaka, I haven't seen much more of it that the airport, train station, hotel and attached restaurant row, but so far it's pretty much everything that TV, the internet and animes have led me to believe Japan would be like. (Minus the beer-drinking penguins, unfortunately.) There are hilarious billboards, advertising the health benefits of 'Green Cholera', little flag-curtain things hanging over the doorways of restaurants, and highly confusing food products.

There is also booze in the vending machines, which makes me think that this is a far better destination for schoolies. I didn't realise, at first, that I was purchasing a beverage from the 'Alcohol Corner' and was quite schocked to find my lemonade burning my throat with the fury of a thousands vodka shots. Mother took upon herself the onerous task of drinking the rest and got quite squiffy. By the way, Drunk Mum lies on a hotel bed, pissing herself laughing over the fact that the Japanese word for 'Spain' is 'Spain'. Yep, hilarious.

The food's great, even the fast food. However, we had the awkward task of trying to explain at 10pm to the guy at the tempura place that we didn't want pork. I can only say 'Iie katsu' so many times before I hit someone. But he got it eventually, and the result was DELICIOUS FRIED GOODNESS. Mmmmm...

Ooh! There are also hilariously shaped sculptures in the hotel lobby. Oh, the joy and wonder I felt upon seeing this piece of 'art'. Unfortunately, I can't post it here right now, but again, look on Facebook. You'll know the one I'm talking about.

The TV is as bizarre as Youtube would have us believe, by the way. Especially the ads. If you've seen the Mr Sparkle episode of The Simpsons, it's something like that, only better. The hotel room is also really high tech. The light switches are all flat and futuristic-looking, the toilet has an unnecessarily large range of buttons and bidet options, and the mirror in the bathroom has a heated patch, so that when the bathroom's all steamy, there is a fogless section of mirror! OMG!

The hotel lobby, on the other hand, appears to be trying to be The Plaza in New York. There are bellboys with those big golden trolleys with the arching handles on them. Also, the floors and countertops are stone and there's a really bitchin' chandelier like...everywhere. And an indoor garden with trees. Don't forget the indoor garden with trees!

Finally, I should mention the abject terror one feels at every moment. It's the terror of committing a terrible faux pas. Like Mum. Nearly eating miso soup with a spoon. I could have DIED! Oh, the humiliation!

OH, one more thing. About the flight over here:
1. There was the most obnoxious man in the metal-detector line AND on the plane. He needed to be hit. Hard.
2. Free socks. What's not to love?
3. They played Gotye as we disembarked. It made me deliriously happy.

That's all for now. I hope to be able to provide pictures by the next post. Cheerio!

My Magical Trip of Adventure and Discovery!!!

First off, I'm per-fick-ly aware that I haven't written a post since...March? April? I dunno, some time ago. But I have a very good excuse. I got bored.

But now, school's almost over, and in just over a week I'll be jetting off to places unknown. (Japan, London, New York, Mexico, Los Angeles)

I'm gonna get AAAAAALL up in that.

Now, since you all are tragically deprived people who can't go on such an awesome trip, I'll be keeping a sort of travel-journal-bloggy thing to keep y'all up-to-date on my adventures, so you can live them vicariously if you like. There'll be stories and pictures and presents (I lied about the presents) so be sure to read them. There'll be a short quiz when I return, and those of you who fail won't get any presents. Oh wait...

Eye Candy

Now, before my heterosexual male readers (and lesbian female readers...equality, y'all!!!) get all excited, this post isn't going to be filled with pictures of incredibly attractive, oiled-up, semi-naked girls. Sorry.

Okay, you get ONE hot girl.

No, the focus of this post is going to be on that ever-popular device used in pretty much every sci-fi, action, and generally male-focused movie and TV show ever. The pretty, pretty man person. And as many girls can testify, those guys can be VERY pretty.

Now, let's not over-generalise here. I'm not saying that in order to appreciate a good outer-space thriller or comic-made-movie you have to possess a Y-chromosome (Although it does help). Hell, I'm a girl and I LOVE a good science fiction double feature. But let's face it, the writers and casting directors of these things do their darnedest to attract a wider demographic than some guy dreaming of a more adventurous life by living vicariously through his on-screen heroes. They also want to attract the girlfriends of this type of person (IF there are any).

How do they do it? Hugh Jackman.


Hmmm...maybe not his manliest moment...



There, that's better. Crazy Eyes and all.

How many women agreed to see the X-Men movie trilogy (plus stupid-ass prequel) simply because it promised Hughey with his rippling biceps in a wife-beater singlet? A lot? I'm guessing a lot.

At this juncture you may be thinking, "Well, that's just one movie." I could probably list a hundred different examples of tricky TV producers luring unsuspecting girls in with promises of candy. (Ooh, that sounded bad) But, no. I'll just use the show I happen to be watching at this very moment.

And by the by, if you haven't seen this show:
1) Too bad, I'm not elaborating on the storyline so things make more sense
2) You should watch it. It's really good.

Dark Angel
It isn't difficult to see why guys watch this show. Post-apocalyptic world. Transgenic mutants. Lots of ass-kicking. And of course, Jessica Alba in a tight, black leather catsuit. (You don't get a picture. I said only ONE hot girl photo). Plus there are lesbians, motorcycles and tons of beer.

For the girls, apart from all the chicky attitude and girl power, the main attraction is the man candy. No, I don't mean this guy.


Although...he DOES have his charms...

I'm talking about Jessica Alba's character's main love interest in the show...



Logan Cale: Making gratuitous spectacles sexy since 2000

He also fights corrupt governmental powers and writes poetry. What more could you want?
And then there's this lovely specimen. He happens to be a clone of Jessica Alba's character's quasi-brother. It's complicated...

Alec only has pointless glasses in one episode, so...

Let's face it. Nobody in the real world is that attractive. (Okay, maybe the latter could be because he was designed in a lab...) They're there simply to give the girl folk something good to look. Now, I enjoy a good fight scene or shoot-out as much as the saddest, nerdiest guy out there, but even I get distracted when Logan gets all smolder-y or Alec gets shirtless. Girls are programmed that way.
Just like how guys get distracted when they see this...Oh wait, I said no more sexy girl pictures. Sorry.

To summarise, the evil people behind these shows play on the weaknesses of we mere mortals, luring us into watching entertaining shows with images of unnaturally attractive people...

I'll find my inner outrage in a minute.

P.S.
No, this post wasn't just an excuse to put up images of pretties on my blog. Well...not entirely, anyway. I needed SOMETHING to balance out the Chuck Norris.

Coffee

I like coffee. I mean, REALLY like coffee. (Please don't read into that anything that might be interpreted as some sort of attraction to the beverage) I just really like it. To drink. That's all...

MOVING ON!

The wonderful world of coffee started with a shepherd and his sheep (Or was he a goat-herd with goats? Testimonies vary). Anyway, this man who herded some sort of animal noticed his flock of that sort of animal munching on some unusual berries. When the animals then started bouncing around like popcorn kernels on crystal meth, he decided the berries were worthy of further consideration, and took them to an order of monks who roasted them, ground them, and drank their juices. Mmmmmmm...



Don't even TRY to talk to her before her morning coffee.

And after hundreds (Maybe thousands. I haven't done that much research. This IS just a blog...) of years, we got Starbucks and Kopiko lollies. Now, I understand that at the moment you're thinking, "Yes, Gracie, this is all very interesting but why blog about coffee? Bit overdone, is it not?"

WELL!

I figured I'd give a not-that-comprehensive breakdown of why coffee is legendary. Or should I say, legenDAIRY. No, wait, you can have it without milk. I'll stick to legendary.

1. Caffeine
"Caffeine isn't a drug, it's a vitamin." - Anonymous

Just ask Rick James, bitch.

Now, this "Anonymous" guy sounds pretty smart to me. After all, how could anything that wakes you up, tastes awesome, and can be served as both a hot and cold beverage be bad for you? Caffeine is what makes my History teacher so entertaining. Caffeine is what gets you through exam block. I maintain caffeine is what makes the Earth turn on its axis. That's right, Gaia is completely doped up on bean juice.
 Of course, I cannot write this section without stressing the inherent dangers of caffeine. For instance, and take it from someone with experience in this area, DO NOT, under any circumstances, imbibe Red Bull after having ingested 20mg of Codeine. You will be tripping balls. ALL DAY.

School was not fun. Ever tried to understand cellular respiration when your head is spinning? And your classmates are laughing at you? And the air tastes purple? Yeah, not fun.


Weirdest Spanish class EVER.

 But other than that, CAFFEINE RULES!!!

2. Coffee Guy
I have a favourite hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that I like to sometimes visit before school. And it's not just their killer Irish-cream latte that keeps me coming back. Is it the fun music? The nice atmosphere? The proximity to my train station?

NO! It's the smokin' hot barista.

Full cream or skim?

I know, it's tragic. But what better way to start the day than with a cappuccino, a croissant, and something pretty to look at? And he makes REALLY good coffee.

3. Fortune-telling
When my dad's family moved from Egypt, some of the locals heard tell of a mysterious woman from across the seas who could read fortunes from coffee grinds. My great-grandmother. Every afternoon, my father would come home from school to find his living room full of strangers ready to have their futures foretold by the mysterious "Madame Eva". She would get them to drink a cup of Greek coffee, which leaves a black sludge at the bottom of the cup, then turn the cups upside down to let the grinds run down the sides.

The sediment would run down the inside of the cup in little rivulets, and "Madame Eva" would then interpret the patterns into vaguely mystical-sounding predictions such as, "There is a path in your future, and it is a clear path, unless something comes to block it."

Yes, I'm descended from a gypsy con-woman.

I see a bolt of lightning in your future...and possibly some seaweed...

4. Nom-iness
Okay, so sometimes a bad barista (unlike the one mentioned in point 2) will nuke the coffee beans into next century and the resulting beverage will taste like a cross between tar, ear wax and cat piss. But a GOOD cuppa, not too hot, with just enough milk, lots of froth, and a dab of sugar is enough to make one go weak at the knees. (If the aforementioned coffee guy hasn't achieved that already).

So, in conclusion, coffee is ambrosia from heaven. Anyone who says otherwise is upsetting heaven. And will be smited (smote?) with a lightning bolt...and possibly some seaweed...

The Youth of Today

 Yes, I know, I've already written a post on how much young 'uns suck. But there is more to say on the subject.

I'm in my final year of senior school, and in my mind this should provide me with power and superiority over younger (and therefore inferior) grades. I certainly remember being a teeny-weeny 13-year-old regarding the Year 12's with awe and worshipful devotion, never dreaming I could one day be like them: omniscient...powerful...seventeen.

Yet here I am, and I've realised that the Year 8's these days are nothing like that. They're not humble, sweet and devoted. No, they're complete shits. And should die. Slowly.

The unfortunate thing about kids who've just entered high school is that they don't immediately grasp that they are no longer the biggest and the baddest. They are at the bottom of the food chain, and need to learn that WE WILL CRUSH THEM AND EAT THEIR SOULS!

Now, I'm not generally an antagonistic person, but when they purposefully squeak their wet shoes on the rubber floor of the train, or listen to Justin Bieber through speakers, or play games on the computers at lunch when I FUCKING NEED TO PRINT MY ASSIGNMENT, or make out in public (which, let's face it, is pretty much CP), I can't be held responsible if I lose my fight against the urge to hold their heads under the wheels of an oncoming truck.

There is no excuse...


I mean, the other day I was in the library at school and a few boys were playing chess in between the stacks, when there were perfectly good tables a few metres away. When I -politely- pointed this out to them and asked them to shift their game to a more logical and convenient location, they proceeded to suggest I perform something upon myself that I'm certain is anatomically impossible. There were several problems with this-

1. I needed a book.
2. They were playing chess in their lunch time, which automatically made them too nerdy to even come close to pulling off such audacity.
3. I'M BIGGER, OLDER, SMARTER, HOTTER AND BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY WAY SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY AND USE A TABLE YOU OBNOXIOUS LITTLE SHITS!!!!

4. I really needed that book.



They shall BURN!!!

They get worse every year...

Dad

As I mentioned here, my dad is awesome. This is not good.

I know what you're thinking:
1. There's no way a dad can be awesome.
2. Assuming he IS awesome, how is that bad?

Well, I should probably clarify. He's fun, social, and enjoys torturing his children more than anything in the world.

When I was in Grade 1, I had a tendency to forget my lunch and have to get it from the school canteen on credit, meaning my parents would have to pay the next day. I'm pretty sure Mum thought I was doing it on purpose just so I didn't have to eat the crappy food I always brought to school. It wasn't purposeful, even though my lunches always sucked because -
a) Mum made me make my own from the age of 6 and
b) We only had yucky (read, healthy) food in the house



The way I saw my lunch box

Anyway, one day my father got completely fed up with me forgetting my lunch and decided to make me suffer for it. During his lunch break, he came to my school and walked into my classroom 10 minutes before the bell was supposed to go for lunch. Naturally, I was losing my shit, thinking I was in trouble for something.
After having a quiet word with my teacher, Mrs Schofield, he came to my desk and asked me to remove the books from it. He then laid a tea-towel across it as a table cloth and placed a small vase with flowers in it, a knife and fork, and a candle (unlit because Mrs Schofield wouldn't let him light a match) on the table in front of me. He then turned on a pair of portable speakers that began playing sweet strains of classical music. Finally, Dad placed in front of me a plate covered with a silver mixing bowl acting as a plate cover.

My entire class held their breath as he lifted the bowl to reveal...this.



A cracker, a layer of peanut butter, another cracker, even more peanut butter, and a sugar-snap pea

Dad then retrievded his camera from his bag and pointed it at me. "Eat it."
I reached for the monstrosity, tears of mortification in my eyes.
"With the cutlery."

The cacophony of my classmates' derision was too much to bear. Even Mrs Schofield was pissing herself laughing. I ate that, that THING with the knife and fork provided and Dad snapped many, many photos. (I'd post them up here but I have no idea where they are)

When I'd finished, Dad smugly packed up the place setting, and put in its place a brown paper bag containing my real lunch. "Now, Gracie. You won't be forgetting your lunch again, will you?"

I knew at that moment that my father was a psychopath.



Seriously, would YOU trust him?!

 What's the moral of this story? "Don't forget your lunch?" NO!!

The moral is, Dad is awesome. You see, after over a decade of therapy, I've finally come to see the funny side of that story. And I'm certain that, from anyone else's point of view, it would have been hilarious from Day 1. But why is this awesomeness a bad thing?

Well, as a young adolescent, I had always found it frustrating when my dad was more popular than me. Why couldn't he make stupid jokes like everyone else's dad? No, he had to be funny and charming and always up for driving me places. Oh, wait...

Okay, all that may not seem so bad. But imagine if you had a friend who thought it was HILARIOUS to start calling him Daddy. And he played along. And she continued with this. Creepy? Disturbing? You betcha. She even says he likes her more than me... She doesn't even claim to be my sister. She's just Dad's daughter. Period.

I think some more psychotherapy is in order...

P.S.
The story of Dad delivering my lunch was told amongst my peers for 3 more years. Until I changed schools.

Precious Little Flowers

I recently hurt my left shoulder quite badly by walking into a metal rack in a women's clothing shop and doing deep tissue damage. I ended up wearing a sling for a week, in a heavily drugged stupor. And yeah, I know that it's the worst injury story ever. I should probably make up a story about a brawl in Faeryland that ended up with me getting rammed in the shoulder by a unicorn. Minotaur? Centaur? Something-taur....

Anyway, around that time, my 52-year-old father was just starting to heal from an injury to HIS shoulder. He stoically bore this wound, didn't wear a sling, and continued his tango dancing despite the pain. Yeah, my dad's like a tango-dancing Chuck Norris.

The thorns are sticking into his gums, but he don't care.

What is the point of this little story? People are getting wussier.

I firmly believe that each generation becomes more epicene than the last. Just listen to those stories our grandparents tell of how when they were our age, they lived in a cardboard box in the middle of a road, and every morning when they woke up (at 10pm, 2 minutes after they went to bed), they had to lick the road clean, then walk 400 miles to work (Not school. They didn't go to school). This was in the middle of Sydney, mind you. Apparently it was a wasteland in the 40's.

Even if you don't compare today's kids with old people, they're still really delicate. I think back on the sort of messed-up, gory, racist, slightly pornographic stuff I used to watch as a small child and realise that, even though I didn't turn out as a sociopathic serial killer, I'd NEVER expose 6-year-olds to that kind of stuff. That sort of stuff seemed completely acceptable (at least in MY screwed-up family) for a small child to watch. Then again, the 90's was a freer time.

Sesame Street was different in my day.

To conclude, I think it's time we revamped the youth of today. Maybe it's too late for my generation. And perhaps even Gen Z (They're all shits, anyway). But I think we should get babies chewing tobacco as soon as they're weaned. And have teeth with which they can chew...

We need the race of super-humans our grandparents were if we're going to survive the impending apocalypse. And there WILL be an apocalypse. I'm on the organising committee.

Fear

I've had an epiphany: Australians are terrified of ethnicity. I don't mean that we're bigoted bastards going round lynching people for having a tan. No, I'm referring to that fact that as soon as an Australian (and perhaps someone from another Western culture, although I'm not really sure) is confronted with the chore of pronouncing a vaguely ethnic-looking name, they panic and start spouting random syllables in the hope that some will stick.

As the proud owner of a last name that sounds faintly like a sneeze, I find this incredibly frustrating. Perfectly intelligent people can easily end up sounding like gibbering idiots simply by addressing someone. At the very least I'd expect a whole-hearted attempt to sound it out pho-ne-ti-cal-ly.
But, no. Instead they hyperventilate, curl into the foetal position, and call me Miss Anasthasafansaffajipoo. C'mon people. You can do better than that.

UPDATE:
This, of course, doesn't refer to certain Eastern-European names. When there are no vowels, all bets are off.