Abroad in Australia: Chicago GSB to Melbourne BS

I Reckon We're All in it Together

2008-03-25T02:52:00.000-07:00

A Texan farmer goes to Australia for a vacation. There he meets an Aussie farmer and gets to talking. The Aussie shows off his big wheat field and the Texan says, "Oh! We have wheat fields that are at least twice as large!"

Next, they walk around the ranch a little and the Aussie shows off his herd of cattle. The Texan immediately says, "We have longhorns that are at least twice as large as your cows!"

Meanwhile, the conversation has almost died when the Texan sees a herd of kangaroos hopping through the field. He asks,

"And what are those?"

The Aussie asks with an incredulous look,

"Don't you have any grasshoppers in Texas?"

It's easy to stereotype. It's what the human mind does to make sense of the plethora of unavoidable information. But it's more important to break through stereotypes, shatter existing paradigms, and see things at more personal and magnified levels. I will never forget the human-sized grasshoppers, which Aussies call kangaroos.

Here's to the continuation of the conversation,
Zach

So Long Australia

2008-03-25T02:29:00.000-07:00

I'm a born again American. Life is good.

My name is Roo! How do you do?!?!

2008-03-23T23:43:00.000-07:00

The Easter Kangaroos – Hippitus Hoppitus to You and Yours!

2008-03-23T23:17:00.001-07:00

Today is Easter Sunday in Australia. “Happy Easter from the future!” I told my sister in a voice mail message after scarfing down eggs and bacon, which is the closest thing to Jillbee’s delicious Easter ham I am going to get in Australia.

Nick and I had been in Byron Bay for a week and had a hankerin’ to find some kangaroos. As you may have read in my past writings, I am yet to see a kangaroo or a koala in Australia. Three frickin’ months and no kangaroo! Only kangaroo poo and a near kangaroo attack. As of Sunday morning, I had this conspiracy theory that Australians made up this mythical creature as a ploy to get tourists to come down under. I told an Australian friend this theory, and he was quick to retort that many Australians would rather only have Australians on the large island. There goes that theory. Regardless, it was time to venture on and seek out this Unicorn Marsupial.

We arrived at the Carrumbin Wildlife Sanctuary, home to Australia’s wildlife including all mythical creatures. The brochure promised roos and koalas. We paid the student discount (thank you MBS) and headed in the direction of the kangaroos, only to be intercepted by Jane. Jane was wonderful! She asked us if we wanted a free personal-inside-scooped-tour. What an amazing tour! The problem was, she could not leave the south part of the park for she was working the welcoming area. The kangaroos were on the north side. But Jane was worth this wait and more entertaining then any fury animal we could have encountered. Thanks for the great tour, Jane. As promised, we shall send you a pin from Chicago to supplement the collection!

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/ByronBaySwanSong/photo#5180929802832721778

Yes, that first picture is a real crocodile. He looks like he is smiling and has a lazy eye. “Hey buddy! Over here! Ha, yeah you, over here, there, crook-eye Carl! After seeing crocodiles, snakes, frogs, fish, and lizards we finally got to the Koala exhibit where I met Jordie. Love me some Koalas. Unfortunately, you cannot have one as a pet in Australia or the United States. I had this great plan to plant a small forest of Eucalyptus trees in my back yard and in the middle construct a human version of a Eucalyptus tree, where I could relax in the trees and nap with Jordan and my new pals, since Koalas sleep 18 to 20 hours per day. Before I found out having Koalas in the U.S. is illegal, I practiced how I would relax with my new buddies.

Next was the moment I have been waiting for! The three month wait was about to end! I was about to fulfill a promise to my Grandma Jean and ride in a kangaroo pouch! YES! THE KANGAROO FLATS!

All of the stories I heard re: attacking kangaroos turned out to be false. These little fellers were more like cats: lying around in the sun, eating, and caring less if you were there or not. Nonetheless, they didn’t mind to be fed the $3 Roo Food and took a liking to a head scratch. Much like Ryan Auer, come to think of it. “Grip thy skull,” he would often say. He also loves Wombats. Auer did you see the wombat pic?

Grandma, I must apologize. I tried to get in a pouch, but turns out they try and box and kick you when you attempt to enter. Kind of like the kangaroo from Looney Tunes. How did he always have those red boxing gloves? Sooooo wily. But it feels great to have experienced a kangaroo. I am now finally ready to head home. As the sub par George Bush once said some years ago aboard an aircraft carrier outside of Iraq: “Mission Accomplished!” Ha. Three days in Melbourne then BARACK TO THE FUTURE I GO!

Hippitus Hoppitus,

Joey Bornaroo

This One's For You, Ahmad

2008-03-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

See you Wednesday night, brother! Chicago aftteeeeeeeer paaaarrrttttyyyyy!

I've Created a... FRANKIE!

2008-03-23T20:14:00.000-07:00

The day after my St. Patrick’s Day pub crawl, I decided I needed a break from the 18 – 21 year old Australian backpacker scene that roams the Arts Factory hostel and the streets of Byron Bay. My liver also needed a break – it was all Guinessed out. I walked by the Didgeridoo pit and observed that I could make my own Didgeridoo for only $160, which includes the wood and paint. Ding! I should paint my new guitar!

I headed into town and found a small Ma and Pa owned art store. “How do you paint guitars?” I inquired to the overweight and disgruntled Australian store keep. He attempted an answer, but neither of us knew what he was talking about. "Acrylic," I guessed? "Grumble, mate, grumble, cheers, yeah… that sounds about right." I purchased tubes of green, blue, orange, and white and two different sized paint brushes. Next stop, the drive through beer store! I decided to stroll through the drive-in utilizing the walking-through-the-late-night-Taco-Bell-drive-through style of the olden high school days at PCEP. I recall myself and Dave Meyn attempting to order a couple of Gordita meal deals on roller blades, only to be denied. Boy was that Dave Meyn graceful on them skates! Triple sow cow, Dave! Ohhhhhh! Toe lutz! Ahhh, the grace!

Equipped with the necessary tools, I headed back to my hostel room, turned on some James Taylor, and went to work. "Walk down that lonesome road/all by yourself/don't turn your head/back over your shoulder... If I had stopped to listen once or twice..."

I decided to go with an Australian inspired guitar paint job. The phrase “paint job” makes me laugh. I choose to give my guitar a PJ that represents the natural lay of the Australian land, without the cities or residents. Ocean to beach to bush to open desert with the Southern Cross shining high above the inland desert.

The guitar is named Frankie. Please ask Ahmad why I named the guitar Frankie. As for the golden dollar? I will explain that in a later blog entry, which will be inspired by a more recent visit to a Wildlife Sanctuary outside of the Gold Coast.

I will see a kangaroo… oh yes… I will see a kangaroo,

Ole Monet

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2008-03-16T23:55:00.000-07:00

Thelma without Louise. Sherlock sans Holmes. Shaggy with no Scooby Doo.

Australia

with no Ahmad, is like St. Patrick’s Day without green beer… so I decided to drink Guiness. My goodness!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, McCarthy. The leprechaun on the left closely resembles you. I think. Actually, its more like Fulsies' black fro with a dirty, grubby, grimy DMC beard.

I am currently typing from the Beach Motel bar, where no more than three months before, Dr. Dyck and I enjoyed on our Byron Bay bar crawl. It was this night he found his love of meat pies and I found my love of recording obliterated backpackers trying to hide from the police in bushes. Johnny, I’m coming home soon brother. Make sure my room is still purple… er lavender… ah, that is a manly off-blue before my arrival on the 26^th.

I flew into Gold Coast this morning at 8AM, picked up yet another white Toyota Corolla and headed out 25km past the shire and to Nimbin to buy souvenirs for my family. After purchasing my Father’s gift I headed to a… eh… clothing store? That is, if you can identify any shop in Nimbin as having only durable textile goods. Many items in Nimbin are perishable. And by that I mean smokeable.

“Hi there! I am trying to find a gift for my Mum and Sister. Any thoughts?”

“Sure.”

She floats on over to the candle, incense, and bead embedded wall. She reaches into a wooden woven basket and pulls out a pair of Nimbin-marijuana-leaf-embedded underwear.

“Come on! Not cool! Really? How about something more necklace like?”

I left the store and headed to the next everything store.

“Yello! Hi there! I am trying to find a gift for my Mum and Sister. Whaddya think?”

Mary smiles at me, eyes dental floss-ish open, and walks over to a wall with assorted t-shirts, sun dresses, and bongs. She reaches up to a shelf and grabs a pair of marijuana-G-strings.

“Really? No way! What is going on here!”

Apparently, Oedipus Rex was a Nimbinian. Time to get out of high-dodge and head to Byron Bay. Here I am on my personal unwind, drinking a Guinness on the beach, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day different than ever before – elated. And for the first in many a 17 March, without 15 green beers in me. Ahmad, I am off now to find Frankie. FRANKIE! And the Dude is meeting me out at the bar tonight to celebrate the holiday. He's gonna wear his green leather jacket. DUDE!

Whiskey is the Life of Man, I Drink it From an Ole Tin Can,

Ole McBornemeier

Happy Birthday ,Tyler TYLER!

2008-03-15T23:43:00.000-07:00

Happy belated 70th birthday, Tyler! 69 was a big year for you!

Hopefully this gets you in the guitar playing mood. We have some magic to write for the Schulte-Fortier wedding.

Strums,
Busker Melbounemeier

Paaaarrrrrtttttyyyyyyyyyyy Farewell to Ahmad

2008-03-15T23:03:00.000-07:00

4:57:05

2008-03-13T14:37:00.000-07:00

Excerpts taken from an article on the Six Foot Track Website, by A. Woolford, 2003.

"To get a feel of what the Six Foot Track is all about and the amount of effort that is required to complete the course, it’s important take in some relevant points. It’s a little more than a straight 45km run. Many hiking web-sites describe it as a 2-3 day hike. I had heard that a four hour marathoner can complete the Six Foot Track in six hours."

Ahmad's best previous "flat" marathon time was 3 hours 17 minutes.

"This (Megalong Valley) stretch of track was easy going through the valley with plenty of time to take in the views. Although the track was flat, firm and the width of a fire trail, at about the 4-5km mark into the race I spotted someone who had fallen. Three runners were assisting him and they advised help was on its way. I don’t know how he fell but he had blood streaming from his head, arm and leg. This incident should have told me something, but I didn’t know what at this stage."

Thankfully, Ahmad's only infliction was a bloody nerpple. Think Andy from the Office.

"Parts of this next section also included some creek crossings where the water was only ankle / shin deep. I opted for the dry route again stepping from rock to rock. I saw one guy who must have stepped into a deep hole in the creek (or fell in). He was soaked from head to toe. After crossing at another creek I heard a loud splash behind me (some rocks were a bit slippery)."

Not this day. Water levels were too high. The mighty Ahmad had to wade in the water and run the rest of the race with soaked Asics.

"I also realised that this was the section of track one of the runners at the start had warned me about. I went to the edge and looked down and quietly declared, 'he was right, you wouldn’t be found if you went over'. This was further reason to look at self preservation at this stage of the race. Decided to take it easy and take in the atmosphere that was building."

Ahmad did not take it easy. He thundered ahead and finished in just under five hours: 4:57:05, well ahead of his estimated finish time. "I just hope I finish, Borney." And finish he did. Among 900 hundred runners who have finished a marathon in under four hour, Ahmad placed in the top 200. 4:57:05 is equivalent to a flat marathon in LESS THAN 3 HOURS! Amazing.

Congrats, my friend. You are indeed Superman. Now stop training and come drink some friggin' beers with me. Koalas and wallabies suck at beer drinking games.

You Inspire Me to Mediocrity,
He Who No Longer Drinks Alone

All Studies, No Fun = One Hot Lil' Potato

2008-03-12T21:31:00.001-07:00

http://www.economist.com/world/na/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10837223

Since I am studying all week, I cannot experience a blog-worthy adventure such as a tandem sky dive with a kangaroo. Instead, my exciting study break consists of beef jerky, diet coke, and catching up on U.S. politics and sports. This article was particularly interesting. To paraphrase, the Economist states that Hillary can only win the primary by mud-slinging and coercing the superdelegates. Even with a win in Pennsylvania, she most likely cannot catch the mighty Obama in delegate votes. There is a chance Ms. Clinton can come back, if Barack slips or if the remaining states overwhelming vote in Ms. Clinton’s favor-- for this to happen it seems that each voter would have to become Charlie Brown-esque, allowing Lucy to bruise their asses repeatedly with the ole football pull away maneuver. By that I mean gullible.

But what is Barack to do? He will not sling extreme heaps of mud in return, because it would erode his "hope" and "courage" infused platform. I hope he keeps the high road (with maybe a teaspoon or two of said mud). But does he want to leave that ball in Clinton's court? I can only pray that the Americans in the remaining ten or so voting states stay strong and ignore the politically spun negative kangaroo poo, which serves as her only presidential hope for 2008.

Clinton -- asked again (in a 60 minutes interview) if she believes he is Muslim -- continued: "No, no, why would I -- there's nothing to base that on -- as far as I know," she added. She emphasized the word "I."

What? Are you kidding me? This is what you have come to? Some pundits claim she was pressed and meant nothing by it. Kangaroo feces. Every spin is planned – her camp is full of evil professionals. Between this and the racial comments from her husband and top aid (who just rightfully resigned), it is obvious she is on her last pitiful limb.

Yes, I am liberal and would rather see Hillary than McCain come November. However, a JFK-esque candidate such as Barack may entire the limelight once every 50 blue moons. No, Barack cannot waive a magic wand and fix things with words of hope, but he can instill hope in Americans. And hopefully he can begin to chip away at some of the anti-America hate that exists around the world. Even here in Australia, 25% of the time when meeting new people, I am backed into a corner over the last eight years. One ignorant fool went so far as to tell me we planned 9-11. I think policy-wise, Hillary and Barack would be quite similar as a Democratic Commander in Chief. But as the representative of the United States, and potential role-model to our citizens, I would rather hear rhetoric of hope and courage than dirty polarizing words that encourage any two existing sides to remain separate.

Phew. All kinds of fired up. Surfing in Byron Bay and partying at the Byron Bay East Coast Blues Fest are just around the proverbial corner after these wretched finals!

Hee-Haw,

Ole Donkey

The Great Ocean Road

2008-03-10T15:53:00.000-07:00

“They should call this the F*cking Awesome Ocean Road,” exclaimed Lubnik as we roared down the Great Ocean Road in our rental micro-machine silver automobile, equipped with steering wheel on the wrong side. “It’s definitely above average, that’s for sure,” I replied. The road starts about one hour west of Melbourne on the southern coast, and extends 200 km west. The Great Ocean Road is breathtaking, life-changing, and for a driver from America, quite difficult at first to navigate. “Dude, stay right!” yelled Lubnik as I naturally veered the car to the left. The American human mind is used to aligning itself physically just right of the left side of the lane. During the first hour, if my mind daydreamed to champion-esque visions of Rich Rod’s Wolverines or bobbed along to the tune of the Pottbeleez on the radio, I would snap out of it with the sound of tires rattling on the left shoulder. Within the hour I was a regular Mario Bornadretti, weaving in and out and up and down the scenic coastal drive.

Every turn on the Great Ocean Road revealed a new breathtaking and paradigm shifting view of Australia. We took our time and drove the 200 km over the course of 15 hours, starting early and making several adventure stops on the way. Our first stop was at a golf course that was rumored to have hundreds of kangaroos. Two months into Australia and I was yet to see a single frickin kangaroo! Three different sources, all Australian, proclaimed that said golf course was the home to millions of kangaroos. We drove around the course with expectations and excitement running high. 20 minutes of pointless wrong side of the road driving and nothing! Then we saw a llama. “F*ck you, llama!” we yelled as we continued the search. We finally pulled over on the far side of the course and wandered onto the 14^th tee to ask some AARP golfers where the hell these varmints were hiding. “Excuse me, ma’am. Hi there. We would very much like to see a kangaroo. They have been so evasive! Even a dead one would be great,” I remarked, but quickly cutting myself short as I observed her grimace at the term dead one. “Oh my, um ok, yes, just walk over that hill and down the range and you will see trillions of them,” replied the nice golfer lady. We walked through the course to the practice range and finally saw… kangaroo poo! Damn it! The marsupials had surely been there, as evident by the trillions of kangaroo turds. Grroooosss. Yet it was remarkable how spherical each movement was. The kangaroo hunt battle had failed, but we were anxious to carry on and hopefully win the kangaroo hunt war later down the road.

Next stop: a beautiful waterfall 10 km off the main road. We hiked down to the base of the waterfall only to see a sign: “Photo shoot in progress, do not approach waterfall.” Ha, right. Dave and I climbed over the fence and hiked through the stream towards the waterfall. And there, in all their glory, were the future models of the 2009 Indigenous Australians Bikini Calendar. Sweet mother of God. “G’day ladies, please proceed. We’ll only take pictures of the waterboobs… I mean waterfall.” I then went in the waterfall. It was the coldest water I have ever felt, but given my state, cold water was the ideal and necessary remedy.

Stop number three was the Rainforest Treetop Walkway called the Atway Fly. This huge steel walkway is 400 m long and 25 m above the rainforest floor. One word description: peaceful. 75 meters in I heard Dave yell, “Bornemeier! Look! Marsupial!” I looked down and there was our first marsupial. However, it was only a wallaby. This was like looking to see Tiger Woods at a PGA event only to see fat Dick Beam. The hunt continued. Kangaroos 2, Dave and Zach 0. Damn it! Also, apparently in the rain forest there lives and owl called the Southern Boobook. It’s funny, because it’s not a normal name for an owl. Boobook.

Last up was the 12 Apostles. Each apostle is a rock formation that was created by waves knocking against the cliff wall for thousands of years eventually creating rock pillars in the ocean. The number of apostles varies from century to century, as the natural process creates new apostles and knocks down the ole timers. Tis a beautiful and natural cycle. In the photo album there is a picture of a sign with a great explanation if you’re interested. To see these apostles is a phenomenal experience.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/GreatOceanRoad

Dave: “That was a great buildup to the 12 apostles, man. A perfect climax.”

Zach: “Yeah man, we were just building up those proverbial sight-seeing blue balls.”

Dave: “Great foreplay along the coast there.”

Zach: “Then you finish with a 12 apostle orgie…”

Dave: “Wow.”

Zach: “I hope grandma doesn’t read this blog entry.”

Boys will be boys. Sorry, grandma.

We ended the day with a nice dinner at Rock’s Café before hitting the road. There we met John and Gemma who were on their honeymoon after getting married just one week prior in Sydney. Wonderful folks! I hope you two enjoyed the rest of your honeymoon, 12 apostles style! The Sydney Casino came up in conversation. Dave had just been there the weekend before and was kicked out for excessive drunkenness.

Zach: “Tell them how you got kicked out, dude.”

Dave: “Yeah, I was drunk. Me and my mate were being a little flamboyant.”

Zach: “Hmm, instead, may I suggest rambunctious or even just loud?”

Dave: “Yeah… boisterous.”

The journey was coming to a close and it was time to get directions from the wait staff and head back through the bush, a supposed short cut. In receiving directions, Dave learned that there was a 6 km stretch heavily populated with kangaroos! “YES!” I proclaimed at hearing only the beginning of the news. There was a catch. In the waitress’ words, “If you see a kangaroo in the road or even on the side of the road, STOP, and let it hop away. If you try and pass it, it will attack you.” … Excuse me? … “Yeah, my sister’s car was totaled after three of the devils attacked her car last week.” Good god. The kangaroo hunt suddenly became intense marsupial warfare. Man versus wild.

We reached the start of the 6 km only to be confronted with complete darkness and mile high trees hugging the sides of the road. We were trembling with thoughts of attacking blood-thirsty marsupials just waiting for human blood. As I was reading the map, Dave slammed on the breaks. “ZACH!” he yelled. I looked up as my heart was about to burst through my chest. “Dude, it’s just a dingo,” I snarled back. Hearts still at abnormal levels, we continued through kangaroo country. 2 km later, Dave slammed on the breaks again. There 10 feet ahead on the side of the road, we saw two red eyes peering through the windshield and into our souls. It wanted to attack. “Dude, stop! Quiet! Ah! Shit!” After the longest 25 seconds of my life the fanged kangaroo jumped back into the bush. Dave stomped on the gas and we were on our way back to Melbourne, having seen our first kangaroo. Kangaroos 4, Dave and Zach 1. The kangaroos get two extra points for the induced heart assaults. Bastards.

Another amazing adventure filled day down under.

Does Not Want to Ride in a Kangaroo Pouch Anymore,

Zach Blogameier

Number One: Nevis River 440ft Bungee Jump

2008-03-05T23:19:00.000-08:00

Due to classes, studying, beaching, and partying (and surprisingly in that particular order) I have lost the will to finish the top ten. Plus, the top five now includes the Great Ocean Road and Sydney with watching Ahmad aka Superman finish the mountainous Six Foot Track Marathon in under 5 hours! Gou-gough! Until finals are done later this week, here is an edited video that captures the still uncontested number one: the Nevis River Bungy Jump. Listen to the audio as I walk towards the ledge and you can hear my nervousness induced pre-jump self-motivational song. Apparently, I was trying to channel the bravery and strength of my Scottish Great Grandmother Betsy and Grandma (also great, but not by family pecking definition) Jean.

How Sweet the Sound,
Ole Bungy

Australian Football League: St. Kilda versus Essendon

2008-03-05T17:47:00.000-08:00

Footie. Or perhaps footy? Australian Football League. The AFL. It was first explained to me as the NFL mixed with soccer or futbol, but without pads and with more intense hits. I took the tram up to Vodafone Arena in the Docklands of Melbourne to meet up with my mates Nick and Ashish. It was the semi-finals of the NAB Cup, which I later found out was only the semi-finals of the preseason. Basically, I was watching the third and fourth stringers battle it out in the footy equivalent of the NIT Tournament. No worries. Twas a perfect introduction to the sport.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/AFL

The match included the St. Kilda Saints versus the Essendon Elephants. I know for a fact that the mascot of St. Kilda is indeed the saints, as evident by the constant blaring of “When the Saints Go Marching In” over the loud speakers. The Essendon Elephants? Yeah, just a guess and not worth even worth a quick Google due to the eventual $3.00 per minute I will be paying for the internet in this lil’ Starbucks-esque money extracting café.

The game itself is quite easy to pick up. Its quite similar to rugby, but with one key difference: in Rugby players attempt to down the ball in an end zone type area for a try, while in the AFL the players can only score by kicking the ball through the four uprights located at the ends of the playing field. Yet, it was surprisingly rowdy for only a preseason game. The fans were draped in their respective teams’ colors, yelling and screaming their neighborhood chants while sculling down Carlton Draught or Victoria Bitter (which also varies by neighborhood affiliation). This video was taken towards the end of the game documenting Essendon attempting a 9 point free kick to take the lead. Notice the two blokes on the field with fluorescent yellow jerseys. Apparently, they are the “runners” who serve the purpose of delivering messages from the coaches’ bench to the players. Every few minutes, a fluorescent yellow bloke with Herculean calves will sprint out onto the field, deliver a quick 10 second message and then dash back. “When I grow up I want to be a footy winger!” “When I grow up I want to be a cricket bowler!” When I grow up I want to wear a fluorescent yellow jersey and sprint onto the field trying to avoid the play in order to deliver a message to the footy player that I am not good enough to be!”

But St. Kilda came roaring back! My squad! I live in St. Kilda - this is who I barrack for. Yes, barrack. Barrack Obama for President. I made the mistake of saying “cheer for,” only to be nearly beaten by an Essendon Elephant sculling down a Carlton. Although this may have been because said Elephant knew the inevitable:

St. Kilda 94
Essendon 91

Oh when the saints! Go marching in! Oh when the saints go marching in! I want to be, in that number! When the saints go marching in!

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oy! Oy! Oy!

Fluorescent B

Stop. Reflect. Reset... One Month Left.

2008-02-28T17:28:00.000-08:00

“Good god, man! We only have one month left!” I practically yelled at Ahmad after we had just finished discussing the blessing of missing the nasty Chicago winter of Aught Eight. As cliché as it is, the saying “time flies when you’re having fun” has really held true. Or to customize: “Time goes by at uber light speed when having the time of your life.” This has easily been the quickest two months of my life. Applying my LEAD prowess, it is time to stop and reflect on my journey thus far and reset expectations for the remaining month. To reflect on the time of our lives, Filly and I have put together our top ten list. Today I list 10 through 6…

10. St Kilda Festival Party at 45 Clyde

To celebrate the start of the semester at Uni Melbourne, we decided to have our new classmates and other Melbournian friends over for a pre-party of the St. Kilda festival. Since 400,000 people were gathered in our Melbourne neighborhood to listen to listen to music and celebrate, Ahmad and I thought it necessary to blow it out didgeridoo style. It was quite the eclectic crew. “Borney, who they hell are they? Are they from your after hours scene?” Yeah, met them in South Yarra, we watched the sunrise. “Ahmad! Who in the f are they?” No idea. Turned out they were friends of Chris Tholstrup, a GSB colleague. Ahmad made an amazing meat and cheese platter and I garnished the beer. It was the perfect gathering to break in 45 Clyde and kick off the Uni Melbourne semester.

9. Nimbin and the Magical Mushrooms

“Zach, the crazy thing about this city is that EVERYONE is high.” I looked up and noticed an elderly man, age of around 87, standing in the beer garden door way, holding the screen with one hand and a beer in another while scanning the beer garden crowd and grinning. He was happy. “Do you want any magic mushrooms, mate?” We look into the bag he is offering to sell – pulsating fungi. These things were still alive. “I just picked them this morning. Only $50 bucks.” We looked down again. They seemed to be wrestling one another for bag space as the bag was seemingly dissolving before our eyes. “What happens if we take them?” we inquired. “Just drink the tea, sit back with some music, and… … … POOF! YOU”RE GONE!” he proclaimed. “EEE!” we jumped back, terrified. “No thanks, mate. We’ll pass on those Schwarzenegger Shrooms.”

8. Noosa and the Birth of After Hours

After driving for three days in the rain, the sunshine in Noosa was heavenly. According to Ahmad, Noosa was the fortified beginning of the Borney after hours scene. Upon tucking Ahmad and Johnny in circa two in the morning, I headed to the local club called Rock to commence the after hours. There I met some Australians on holiday from Sydney. We danced and drank until 5AM bar close. Oh no, I thought, donde esta la after party? Luckily our group had grown to include two off-the-clock waitresses from The Rock. After the crowds were ushered out, the tap was once again open and the guitars were brought out. Yes! Show me…. Wonderwall! Ding! We then headed to the hinterland (Australian speak for inward from the coast) for the after-after-after-after party. It was at this party, around 6AM, that I finally realized I was in Australia. Two of the blokes were playing Halo 3 online. In the online lobby of Halo 3 there is a map of the world, which has a single miniscule dot for each of the 400,000 or so gamers online at that moment. I looked at Australia on the map, and realized that I was at one of Australian dots. I scanned over and perhaps saw Mikey O’Reilly, a great friend and Sister’s boyfriend, earning his level 23 sniper medal in Houston, Texas. The sun then awoke. And I was awoken from my American stupor – I am in Australia. Life is good.

7. Insane in the Membrane at Good Vibrations Festival

Ahmad and I headed out to the Sidney Music Bowl in Melbourne for one of the most anticipated musical festival of the Australian summer – the Good Vibrations Festival. Kanye West headlined, with Cypress Hill and Thievery Corporation among our must-sees. I should get this out of the way – Kanye West was terrible. And he is a Chicagogian, so I should feel great admiration for him, but the show was absolute crap. All smoke and mirrors and bells and whistles. Female robots from the future. Overbearing light shows. Outfit changes. Why should I have to wait 10 minutes for a new song while this chump changes into a new diamond-studded jumper? Awful. We left half way through his set. But it did not rain on our amazing music filled day. After dancing in a dance-club-trance-tent at 2PM, we headed to the main stage for Thievery Corporation. Their CDs are decent, but their live show is tremendous. A 15 piece reggae-blues-funk band accompanied the two amazing DJs. A new favorite! After a quick downpour the sun came back out and it was on to Cypress Hill.

So you wanna be a rock superstar, live large, big house, 5 cars, you're in charge comin' up in the world, don't trust no body, gotta look over your shoulder constantly!

These guys sounded just as hype as when I saw them back at Pine Knob Amphitheater in Clarkston, Michigan circa 1993. “Ahmad, this is the time our lives, brother!” “I know man! I’ve been jumping up and down with my hand in the air for 45 minutes straight!”

6. Cousin Davey and Janelle Contrasted with Cousin Goodarz

Cousins! Cousins Davey and Janelle are Superman and Wonderwoman. And boy were they hospitable! You see my friends, I am a descendent of the mighty Kennedy Clan of Scotland. My great grandmother Betsy came to America at a very young age, by herself, to start our family. I enjoyed listening to my great grandmother’s beautiful Scottish brogue throughout my childhood. “Aye, Zachary, come ere laddie.” In Christchurch I had the honor of meeting another Kennedy, my great cousin Davey Kennedy and his wonderful wife, Janelle. It was a wonderful experience. And then there was Ahmad’s cousin, Cousin Goodarz. I had the benefit of meeting this young buck last December in Tahoe. Goodarz Filsoof is an environmental studies major at UC Santa Cruz. Their mascot is a Banana Slug. Goodarz enjoys fat blunts, magical mushrooms, and dressing in bear costumes to scare incoming cabin guests. A true gem. A hilarious man. Goodarz, great times my friend. Just focus on those studies so we can continue to have weekends like that. Remember our discussion about gravity on the shores of Tahoe? Don’t let the gravity take you down, brother.

A Snoop Salute to J. Dizzle

2008-02-27T19:07:00.000-08:00

Mr. Dyck! We miss you like you miss an Australian meat pie. Word on the street is the GSB LMG is heading out to the Snoop concert this fine summer evening. If the weather there is anything like Melbourne, I hope the House of Blues has a retractable rizzle. I use the weather as a defense mechanism, you see, because we are jealous. Jealous to the degree that Filsnoop and Dr. Bor-ney had to create a lil’ Snoop concert video of our own. Hope all is well back in Chicago, future leaders of the free business world. Have a good tizzle at the shizzle…

1, 2, 3 and to the 4,

Live Music Group with J Dyck is at the door,

Ready to take make an entrance so back on up,

These quant jocks gonna rip sh!t up!

Its Like This and Like That and Like This,

ZB and AF

Happy Birthday, Pops!

2008-02-24T16:29:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday to my best man, Big Ron Bornemeier. The man, the myth, the legend.

Love you, Dad.

Didgeridoo Bornabaloo: Now Its True!

2008-02-24T16:07:00.000-08:00

What an amazing day! I think perhaps because it is my Father’s birthday, I have been blessed with the Borna-energy that is flowing through the universe today. Ahmad told me a couple of weeks ago that he wanted to purchase Ole Busker a didgeridoo – a gift that will carry wonderful memories for the rest of our lives. What a friend! We headed to the Royal Victoria Market today to find that one perfect didgeridoo for Mr. Bornabaloo.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/Digeridoo24Feb

After rummaging through seven sub-par didgeri-booths, we finally approached an authentic Aboriginal tribe table, complete with Aboriginal art, boomerangs, and a fine selection of didgeridoos. We had Aborigine #1 play a couple of the eucalyptus termite-hollowed-out instruments. One in the key of D and one in the key of C. The one in the key of D had a better sound, ever so slightly, while the instrument in the key of C was much more aesthetically pleasing – the colors and designs are gorgeous! Aborigine #2 then stated, “C easier to play for American white.” I’ll take the C, Mr. Aborigine!

Aborigine #1 and #2 then did a song a dance to the didgeridoo, to perhaps celebrate the sale which I imagine would supply the coming night’s festivities, whatever that may be. After finding instructions on how to play, I headed to the Royal Botanical Gardens to find a serene spot to learn this instrument, which is the world’s first woodwind. Not as hard as I thought! Beeoooowahahhaooohwhhwhahahaooohhwhaha. I thought I had it down! And then a few Australians walked by looking at me like I was frickin’ Frankenstein. “I’ll play you a love song, two dollars!” I shouted. No response.

The night concluded with me joining the movie crew of Cris, Erika, and Brandon to watch Casablanca outdoors in the Royal Botanical Gardens. What a wonderful day. Ahmad, my great friend, thank you for this lifelong gift. I shall play it at your wedding. Beeeeooowaaaaooooowoooaoooooo. Here’s looking at you, kid.

Thanks Brother,

Grateful Zed

Fear and Loathing in Melbourne

2008-02-23T19:41:00.001-08:00

“And that, I think, was the handle - that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark - that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.” – Raoul Duke

Hunter S. Thompson, aka Dr. Gonzo, has been a strong literary presence for me during this amazing life adventure. After rereading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I read the new biography entitled Gonzo by Jann Wenner, founder and still current editor of Rolling Stone. In his writing, Gonzo inserts a 90% non-fiction, 10% fiction character into some bizarre, outlandish, or sometimes political situation. The character is always very Hunter S. Thompson, including Raoul Duke, the main character of Fear and Loathing. It is through this style of prose, genius, and mind-inducing drugs that we have the brilliant Gonzo Journalism writing style.

In the CBD of Melbourne there exists the Rooftop Bar, which is set high atop a skyscraper overlooking the city. On one side of the roof is an outdoor artificial grass movie theater complete with a huge movie screen, uber-comfortable lounge chairs, and a cell phone text service for deliverable drinks. On Thursday, the featured movie was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. After a titillating Consumer and Behaviour class, I headed downtown to meet new great friends Erika, Cris, and Cris’ brother Brandon for the Fear and Loathing outdoor high altitude screening. Enjoyable!

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/FearAndLoathingInMelbourne

Before the film started, and at the time unaware of the drink delivery service, I headed over to the bar to order up a couple of Coopers Ale (green label), my favorite Australian beer. There I met Paul, a thirty something bass player in a punk band who had just dropped a tab of Acid. Lucky for me, and most likely him, the drug was yet to make its presence felt. He asked if I cared to indulge in a mind trip, stating “Just take one of these, Zach, and prepare to enter a whole new spiritual existence…. Just watch out for strangers.” “But Paul, you’re a stranger,” I thought to myself. I’ll stick to my mind-liquid-confidence-inducing intoxicants, thank you very much. Acid Paul then invited me and the rest of the crew to a hidden concert on a lower floor in the building after the screening. Then the movie started. Imagine a 75 degree summer night, sitting in a comfortable lawn chair slanted 60 degrees back. You look to your right and see beautiful skyscrapers against the quickly fading partly cloudy orange dusk sky. You look to your left and see the last few stragglers in their cubes of a tall office building occupied by Telstra or perhaps the Foster’s Group. You swivel your head back towards the screen, and your eye is caught by the moon, which has just popped up over the screen. And then a cherry red convertible filled with Johnny Depp and Benecio Del Toro comes racing towards you…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJ0-GKDHNzY

We then took up Acid Paul’s invitation and headed down to see the band. The band was an awful hair-raising mix of emo, organ, whining, and poorly beaten drums. Please, Sad Band, do us all a favor and act out the lyrics to one of your many suicide songs. Cris and Erika retired (“Some of us have to work, Zach!”), while Brandon and I headed out to another bar after meeting “Rose” who took us to one of the many quasi-secret alley bars in the CBD of Melbourne. “As your attorney, I highly advise you to take this shot of tequila,” remarked Brandon. “Good god, man! That’s the fifth shot tonight! What’s the score?” I replied. “As your attorney, I highly advise you to buy those red roses for our new friend,” suggested Brandon. And I did. Rose was quite pleased. More importantly, we now had the intoxicatingly wonderful smell of roses to combat the wretched smell of the alleys, through which we traveled to find the quasi-hidden pubs.

The American Dream Indeed,

Gonzo Borney

Steinert, Come on Out!

2008-02-22T23:05:00.001-08:00

Steinert, this is my final plea. I believe that you not coming to Australia will be a mistake of large amounts of proportions. When can two great friends ever do something like this again? Party in Melbourne! Ride in kangaroo pouches! Drink VB Beer! Drink Steinlager beer! Gnaw on eucalyptus with koala bears! Bungee jump in Queenstown, New Zealand! All with your buddy wuddy bear boy, Ole Busker Bornemeier. I figure we will not have another chance for such an amazing life experience. Hell, you could get knocked up by the end of aught eight! Try traveling to Australia with a lil baby Steinpup! The dingo would eat your baby! Come on out, Stein! Come on out!

Hugs,

Zachers

Bornablog Recommends: Lightspeed Champion

2008-02-21T20:35:00.000-08:00

“I feel better now I've seen you/ but deep inside my bones feel like timber/and I am shaking from the tension/and I will shudder at the mention.”

These lyrics are from a new favorite guitarist Lightspeed Champion. I read about this cat in the Melbourne Beat magazine, which is the Chicago equivalent of the Reader, but bigger, better, thicker, and with more color… minus the excessive classifieds and lengthy descriptions of art exhibits, to which I think “Wow, it would be cool and sophisticated if I went to this” but then never do. But I digress. I bought the CD. And by bought, of course I do not really mean downloaded illegally on a Bit torrent. Check this guy out. Amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaHJJgoR0-s

Devonte Hynes, currently jamming in Omaha, Nebraska, has created a singer-songwriter acoustic based album that is country-ish, with strong hints of Bright Eyes I’m Wide Awake Its Morning… which makes perfect sense given members of the extended Bright Eyes family are on hand to build and beautify the songs with backing vocals, banjo, mandolin, violin, strings, horns and woodwinds. He lives in Nebraska, is a true Scotsman, and comes from a band called the Test Icicles (Bornagiggle). Simply put, Devonte makes wonderful music with hip-hop influenced lyrics and country-and-western-esque six string strums. Right up the ole proverbial Bornemeier ally-way.

I know the Chicago GSB LMG would approve! Lauren Ludden, the highly credible musical guru, do you enjoy the Lightspeed? Let's go see this maniac back in States come Spring...

Stay Fresh,

Martin Bornemeier

Bornablog... in the Year Twwoooo Thhoouuuusssaannnddd!

2008-02-20T20:45:00.001-08:00

Some of my devote readers (ok, well just Mom, who is my only devote reader… love you Mum!) have asked me to add this button-type-thingy on the right, which sends automatic summary updates of my Bornablog to various personalized websites such as Google, Yahoo, etc. Here she is. Hopefully ole Button Betty works, but I cannot be sure for I have recently learned that I am no longer (or perhaps never was) tech savvy. I always knew I was no Steve Bak or Dan McCarthy, who sit down at their computer like mad scientists muttering “Mrraaaa, nosotros, vosortos niebert, ninebert!”… but in trying to figure out how to do this blasted bloody button, I am now behind in my reading for tonight’s Consumer Behvaiour class. I imagine I am about as skilled at technology as our ole-timer-catamaran-skipper Doug, Captain of the Pride of Airlie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsEinMdLkDQ

DMC and Bak – did I do it right?

Anywho, I believe you just hit that button to the right and "Viola!"... er "Voila!" rather and you have automatic updates! WOW!

Geek Squad,

Surfing in Surfers Paradise, Gold Coast

2008-02-19T22:17:00.000-08:00

15 Feb 2008

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of a wave
I take a look at my life and realize I must rave
Cause I've been blastin and laughin so long that
Even my mama thinks that my mind is gone

We been spending most our lives
Living in the Surfer’s Paradise
been spending most our lives
Living in a Surfer’s Paradise

The sea was angry that day my friends. Like an old man trying to return soup to the deli. And thusly, Nick, Ashish, and I decided it was time to take surf lessons at Surfer’s Paradise in the region known as the Gold Coast. As described in an earlier entry, the Gold Coast is Vegas meets Florida Spring Break with surfing all along the beaches. After a late night out dancing to the tune “Is there anybody out there?” among others, we decided to take lessons from Cheyne Horan Surfing School. From an article about Cheyne:

“No one has finished second more times than Cheyne Horan. Despite the dubious distinction, he remained a dedicated competitor for as long as some pro surfers have been alive -- 18 years. In the face of uniformity, he held fast to his beliefs and, in the end, came out on top.”

Hmmm, not a great way to start a biography, but nevertheless, Mark (not ole First Loser Cheyne) our instructor was top notch. We first learned how to control the board on our stomachs, then how to turn on our stomachs, and then finally how to ride and stand on the big phallic floaties. What a day! Surfing is quite an amazing and thrilling sport… WHEN Steinert heads out here, I plan to take him to Torquay, world headquarters location of Silverchair and Rip Curl. There we will surf the massive water monsters. Check out the pictures of our lesson:

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/SurfingAtSurfersParadise

The instructor was amazing. I rented a board in Coast Rica once and basically only learned how to carry a surf board from the beach to the water and then how to make a wanker of myself. Schulte loves the word wanker. Hey there, soon to be married brother! Anyhow, Mark took us through the lessons step by step and by the end all of us were up on the board! Gnarly! He even put up with our quirky American humor:

“Zach, I reckon you have a knack!”

“Hey, that rhymes!”

“Eh, right then. But remember; just wait until the wave breaks… wait until you see the white of the wave.”

“So don’t surf until you see the whites of the waves’ eyes?”

“Eh… ok, Zach. Good on yah mate.”

If he had taken American History with Mr. Beaman he would have known exactly what I was talking about. NASTY! BRUTISH! SHORT! McCarthy would often let quick poppers rip in class. How those hard seats would echo! Quick tangent, my mates and I from PCEP (our high school) got caught “cheating” in AP American History class because we were trying to minimize the articles we had to summarize (BOORRRRRRIIINNNNNNG) by splitting up the work. Dan Steinert handed in his articles with one summary that had the “Jon Page Seal of Approval” written in the last paragraph. Nice work, Dr. Schteen. Man, Mr. Beaman gave us hell. I wonder if his strong ethical stance has affected me to this day? Between my parents’ wonderful influence and him, I would argue yes. Perhaps it’s the reason why I felt obliged to give the Gold Coast Meter Maids the full $10 for a picture opportunity and coozey when only $5 was required. Perhaps, indeed.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/SurfersParadise

Hang-Ten,

Zach B

"$60? What, no happy ending?"

2008-02-13T20:19:00.001-08:00

An hour later my haircut was done. This was not your average Supercuts $15 and out the door, volume is key to the bottom line type of barber shop. This fine young lady Theresa cut every single one of my hairs. As my Father would say, “Did you get a haircut or did you get your Hairscut?” I got my hairscut, Pops. And get your minds out of the gutter regarding “every single one my hairs” comment. Although for $60, I feel as if I should have had the complete hair removal: Brazilian Wax, Nads-Hair Removal, you name it.

Remember the Flowbee? I think I should just purchase one of these bad labs, because barber shops do not seem to exist down under... only fancy salons. My Mom and Sister go to salons. Don’t get me wrong, Peter Poppaganoopoolous does a wonderful job with their hair as evident by their Borna-beauty, but I am a barber shop guy! Just give me the Corporate Carl Cut and I shall be on my way!

http://www.flowbee.com/

On the other hand, I was heavily pampered. Free coffee as my sides were trimmed, followed by the Chic Sink Session. This included two shampoos, one conditioner, followed by a complete head massage. I almost fell asleep. It was quite lovely, I must admit. All this while sitting in one of those quasi-futuristic massage chairs that everyone has bought for their Father for a past Father’s Day only to find it sitting in the attic, or in our case, the Hippy Den. If you love the Hippy Den at 210 Norwood, I would say now is a good time to email Big Ron and say “Salutations!” for the existence of this beautiful lounging area.

rostbo@gmail.com

Pampered in Paradise,

Zachary Pitt

State of the Borney Address

2008-02-13T19:55:00.000-08:00

Ahmad F. gives his monthly address on the state of the Borney in the middle of the Cypress Hill concert on 8 Feb, 2008.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18iO1q-IOlo

The Amazing Ahmad: A Valentine's Day Salute

2008-02-13T19:43:00.000-08:00

Classmates of the GSB and family and friends of Ahmad. Greetings and good Valentine’s Day to you and yours. I write to tell you that the Ahmad that you have known no longer exists in its pure form. It may only be temporary, but mark my word - on this St. Valentine’s Day of two thousand aught eight, Ahmad is a new man. As Ahmad’s heterosexual male valentine I feel the need to express my admiration in this Bornablog. Ahmad has all but quit drinking, completely quit smoking, and is on an amazing Carl Lewis-ish Lance Armstrong-esque training regiment. While I am quite satisfied with my tri-weekly five mile runs, Ahmad amasses said cumulative distance before he stretches for the first time on a Sunday morning. The Iranian Rocky. Ethiopians eat Ahmad’s dust… have you ever trained in Melbourne, because you must! Ahmad is running a Marathon outside of Sydney on the 8^th of March. But this is no Mickey Mouse League marathon, ladies and gentlemen. Please. While it is still 26.2 miles, its located in the Blue Mountains 90km outside of Sydney. Ahmad is one of 70 runners who had to submit prior marathon times (must be under 4 hours) that will compete in this mountainous miraculous marathon. Amazing. Go get em, brother!

By quitting intoxicants and training heavily Ahmad is amazed by his previously unknown clarity. I would argue he has not possessed such clarity since he was knee high to a Southern Californian June Bug in begindergarten. If they exist there. In reference to a drunken night one month ago Ahmad stated, “the Vineyard [a bar in our neighborhood] was just wobbling back and forth and this was the last 10 years of my life…. I feel so different… I don’t have to read things eight times anymore… my memory is boosted like you wouldn’t believe… its kinda weird… yeah, its kinda weird… such clarity!” Good on you, Ahmad. Mr. and Mrs. Fils, be proud and hold your head high for you have birthed an athlete who has and will continue to reach such great heights athletically, professionally, and friendshipally.

Happy Valentine’s Day Ahmad,

Brother B

P.S. If Ahmad keeps up this new habit of eating and while quitting the exercise after the marathon he may also reach such great widths. The boy loves to eat! Ever time I look at him he has food falling out of his face.

Uni Melbourne Business School

2008-02-12T19:49:00.000-08:00

Classes started last week and in all honesty it is quite nice to knock off the cob webs in the ole noggin and start exercising the Chicago School of thought (where applicable). The classes down under are quite amazing – take Business and World Trade for instance. While this class has some overlap with Managing the Firm in the Global Economy, the key nuggets to take away involve how Australia and Asia are affected by World Trade, and coming soon… a U.S. recession. It is quite refreshing to hear examples about Telstra, the major Australia phone company, or ANZ Bank instead of the American giants. And by the way, ANZ is pronounced “A-N-Zed” because otherwise C and Z would sound exactly the same. The professor is Gary Sampson, former member of the World Trade Organization. In the first class he was quick to point out the recent inactivity of the organization, but had a great story that involved sitting in the front row of a WTO conference where Bill Clinton and Fidel Castro passed each other on the way to their seats, without a nod or smile. Or perhaps Gary missed Fidel slipping Slick Willy a cigar that was to later be used on an intern at the White House.

Consumer Behaviour is an incredible class taught by Brian Gibbs who received his PhD from the University of Chicago. The study goes beyond the pure analytics of consumer trends that may be taught at the Quant Jock GSB, and into the cognitive processes, both conscious and sub-conscious, that occurs in consumer purchasing decisions. Did you know that the color red makes people eat more? Did you know that yellow is the most recognizable color? And that pink is the most soothing color, hence the reasoning for pink jail cells? Also the same reason you feel so relaxed after eating pig products. Quick tangent here, bacon is not bacon in Australia. What they call bacon is ham. What is really tough is trying to out smart these Aussies by ordering ham and still getting ham. I tried taking a picture of Big Ron and Jillbee’s famous Sunday morning bacon breakfasts to the local diner but to no avail. Ham! Ahmad doesn’t eat pork, so he’s definitely not adding value to this mystery. The other other white meat. This class has a fascinating reading list: psychology textbooks, Malcolm Gladwell articles, commercial and advertising analysis, psychoanalytic experiment results. Reading these books in the sun on the beach is quite the treat! Article, bikini, music, article, book, bikini. FLIP. Work on the back tan now. Notes, book, bikini, article, etc. It’s great to be a student in Melbourne! Sorry to rub it in Midwesterners.

Take a Look, It’s in a Book,

Zed-A-C-H

Guest Blogger: Ahmad

2008-02-05T20:36:00.000-08:00

February 6, 2008

Well, after a few false starts (seventeen, I think), I finally decided to make a cameo appearance on the “Fear and Loathing in Melbourne” Borney Blog (Zach’s comments are written in parentheses). First, we finally found a casa (yeah, two weeks ago, you un-current son of a buck)!

Open this link to aid your reading:

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/BorneyExhibits

After sleeping in 8 different places over a two week period, it’s finally official. Thank God. Over this period, we slept in 3 hostels, a car, on a few lawns, and nearly had 8 people crash in our tiny bathroom-sized hotel room. Sorry, again Dyck. (It seemed like a great idea at the time. Who wouldn’t want to keep the NYE party going at 6AM?).

I think we both knew it was time to get our own place when Zach and I both came to the somewhat hazy realization that we’ve slept in the same bed with each other more times in the last two weeks than we have with women in the last two years. (Also scary because Ahmad has night terrors, the jimmy legs, and loves to cuddle – the gruesome threesome as I call it). But, I can honestly say that nothing was worse than waking up to my car alarm blaring and an entire frat party staring at us at 4 a.m. after Zach and I slept in my car on frat row in Ann Arbor during the Michigan vs. Appalachan State game. Apparently, that night Zach got out of the car to piss in the bushes and when he tried to get back in, the car alarm went off. (Ohhh, look at me in my fancy Audi with my fancy car alarm! Sorry bout that fella - the ole ’89 Blazer doesn’t have such luxuries. Or working door handles).

But, hey, don’t be fooled by good news. Yes, we found a place, but this was not your typical apartment search. This was a classic case of Helen Keller leading the blind. Kinda like a real life version of where’s Waldo.

Our story goes a little something, something like this …

When we got back to Melbourne from our East Coast trip, initially, we planned to live in a hostel for three months. Not ideal, I know. But, we figured it would be cheap, we’d have plenty of company, and we wouldn’t have any problems backing out of a lease. We figured we’d live in a different hostel every week so that we could live all around Melbourne. (Worst. Idea. Ever.)

So, we put our master plan in action. At $20 a night, first stop was the wonderful Oslo hostel. More aptly named Guantanamo. My bad, Borney. (We really thought the door could be broken down by some drug-thirsty pimp ready to shank us with something rusty and sharp at any moment).

Upon entering the luxurious Oslo, we were told that we couldn’t check in until 4 because the maid was still sleeping. Sleeping? It was around noon. That was the first sign of trouble. The next troubling sign came during our million man march as we walked up four flights of stairs in 100 degree heat to get to our room only to glance down at freshly minted drops of blood lining the cement stair well. “Hey, just don’t think about it,” Borney replied. Strike two.

We hung in there a few more hours by taking a few balls: the hotel manager with dark colored brown teeth, no air conditioning, and a communal shower shared by over 30 people. Then, finally, we took strike three on the wildest pitch yet – a used torn condom in our shower. It was as if Rick Wild Thing Vaughn threw a heater our way with Willie Mayes Hayes in scoring position. We got the hell out of there the next morning and decided to eat the remaining $195.

Behind door number two, we found Base, our second hostel. Check out the description for yourself: “Brand new for Australia, base St. Kilda is the most modern, state of the art hostel ever built. It features the exclusive Sanctuary, an upmarket girls only level, the urban hip RedEye bar for fun times and entertainment, super fast internet access and base travel.”

When we first got to Base, we thought we nailed it. Dance floor, on site DJ, beautiful amenities, tons of ladies, and of course, our own bathroom. Zach even tried to get a room in the exclusive girl’s only sanctuary. No dice. (I should have brought the blonde Stoney/Psyche blonde wig). The description failed to mentioned that the onsite DJ starts playing music from 4 p.m. to 2 a.m. And, we’re not talking about casual music. We’re talking about dooch, dooch, dooch, dooch-type music with glow sticks.

Our first night at Base, we decided to mingle and tingle with our 18-21 year old neighbors. So, we signed up to play trivia downstairs at the bar in the hostel. To play, we had to recruit a team of five people to go head-to-head against ten teams for a chance to win $150 in free drinks. This was perhaps the only game Zach and I could play and compete against a bunch of 18-21 year olds. This was our chance to make our brothers and sisters back home at Chicago proud. Porter’s Five Forces, IS-LM, whatever, bring it. Out of the roughly 100 participants, I think Zach and I were one of the only ones to graduate college, let alone attend graduate school.

The atmosphere was intense, with the usual Base techno music thumping in the background. People were scrambling to find teammates. Zach and I were even rejected a few times by folks looking for extra players. After our third pep talk with each other, and after finally recruiting a fine team , Zach and I were ready to go for the Thrilla in Melbourne, the Rumble in the Outback.

To officially enter the competition, we had to come up with a team name. Greenspan’s Chof. I know. I have no idea. So, when Zach went to buy drinks, our confused teammates asked me what our team name meant. Hmmm… I decided to reach way back into the rusty list of consulting frameworks and decided to use the Nobel winning charades framework.

Two words, first word, Greenspan. Monetary Policy. Federal Reserve. I could see the proverbial light bulb was starting to flicker in Chris’ head, our erudite teammate from Britain. Inflation. M1, M2, M3. Bingo.

Second word, chof. All I had to do for this one was point to old B’s half-slanted eyes. (Dude, my lazy eye was allergic to something in there. Perhaps to the drunken 21 year olds gyrating to trance. Or maybe it was the oh to familiar frat-house like smell of the hostel-bar). They nailed it. Greenspan’s Chof. As soon as both words came together, I could see the collective team light bulb dim. It was like the great New York blackout of 2003 (Perl, Geybe, Levy, Josu, Mika… we were all there. Remember? As Josu said, “Yo B, the blackout is city wide, grab your wife beater and a six pack, let’s head to the porch, bro.”). Our team was now more confused than ever. I was out of explanations. Not even the erstwhile charades framework could explain this one.

Zach, where in the world did you come up with that name? Must have been the old Chicago School of Thought. Regardless, we were ready to roll. “Put me in, coach.” As you can see (first picture in album), we went down like Apollo Creed. Last place after round one. Second to last place overall. (How in the hell were we supposed to know if eagles mate in the air while flying? This was not taught in McGill’s class). As Tom Petty once said, “even the losers get lucky sometimes.” We brushed decided to brush off our shattering loss and hit the town.

It wasn’t until our third full day in Melbourne that all the dots finally connected for me. Dear friends and family, I officially witnessed the transformation of the man once known as Zachary Martin Bornemeir. I should have known it was coming since Zach was in his third full day of a viscous cycle – party until sunrise, sleep until sundown. And, just yesterday, when I asked Old B how he was doing when he finally got his morning coffee at 4 p.m, he replied “Ahmad, I don’t know … I’ve never felt this way before. I feel like I’m in a new state of mind. It’s not like I’m hung over … I just feel…different.” (In a good way. Liberated. Happy. The future is wide open).

Wait, there’s more. Just stick with me here.

Exhibit 1: as you go through Zach’s photos, take a look at the last 10-20 photos of each day. Notice, neither John or I are in any of these photos. I believe all these shots were taken somewhere between 4 and 7 a.m. This period of the night is officially called the Borney after hours scene. A few notable luminaries and files from the Borney after hour party:

- Zach partying with the man he dubbed Jake the Snake

- Zach partying with a guy wearing a leather jacket in 100 degree heat

- Zach partying with 18 year olds

- Zach attempting a 4 a.m. poolside back flip

Exhibit 2: Zach’s purchase of two “party” t-shirts. The second t-shirt is so tight that I need to carefully monitor Zach’s oxygen intake when he wears it. This shirt should have come with one of those built in Polar heart rate monitors.

Exhibit 3: Zach’s Mohawk, cut while drinking red wine. Enough said.

Exhibit 4: Zach’s reading collection:

Exhibit 5: Zach giving himself a personal pep talk at 3 a.m. after his “mates” went down (It was a pep talk, yes. But it was truly a video message for Dan Perl… you see Dan and I once headed to East St. Louis to gamble and we lost a substantial amount of money due to… ahem… someone’s poor blackjack luck. And Maker’s Mark. This video was a shout out to Danny, saying “Hey man. I FEEL your pain.”)

Exhibit 6: As you glance through Zach’s pictures, notice his facial expressions. Zach is either flexing or using cryptic hand gestures in over 80% of pictures.

After we found a place on our fourth day in Melbourne, I decided to go to-to-toe with the man formerly known as Zach. Much like Christopher Columbus before us, I wanted to explore the unknown and mysterious. I so desperately wanted to participate in the Borney after hours party.

We’ve gone toe-to-toe many times, and even though Zach may disagree, I’d say that 50% of the time I outlast Zach (Agree to disagree). And, if anyone goes down, it is usually our friends, the common folk if you will. But, this is the new Borney we’re talking about here, and even though we’ve been down under for about a month now, I have yet to outlast B. He’s elevated his game to a new level. Jordanesque. And, tonight would be no different. I went down hard and fast. (Like Fat Albert bungy jumping).

Much like a weathered, battle torn soldier returning from war, I don’t like to recount gory details of my humbling setback, especially since this was only the second time in my life that I puked. The last time was my freshman year in college.

So, here’s the memory strained Cliff Notes version: after about 10 shots and 10 beers, I was rapidly losing momentum. And, between you and me, I tried every trick in the book. I pump faked a few shots. I took full beers into the restroom and poured them out. I tried to get Zach distracted by taking aim at his soft spot – the ladies. I used a few signaling techniques. I tried employing the tit-for-tat method. I even tried to find the Nash equilibrium. Nothing seemed to work. This man is a machine.

As the light at the end of the tunnel grew dimmer and dimmer, I suggested that we go out for some fresh air. And, as I gasped my last breadth of fresh air, I uttered…

“Zach, I’m going down. I feel like I’m on a downward spiral, brother.”

Adding insult to injury, Zach replied with … “Hey, man, yeah, you’re going down like the downward spiral on a Bret Favre hail mary.” (He was deteriorating quickly. Check out this picture of Ahmad on our hill outside the bar. It looks like his legs are broken. How does one possibly sit this way?)

As I hung on for dear life, Zach walked me back to the hostel, set up a trash can right by our bed, watched me puke, and then took a picture of me right after I puked. I remember thinking, “what a noble warrior.” Right before my eyes finally shut, Zach washed his hands, put some gel in his hair (gotta apply the product), and stormed out the door to the Borney after hours scene.

Finally, dear friends, make sure you check in with Old B every now and then to make sure he’s still alive and kicking. Also, feel free to pass along any advice to help me tame this monster. Help a wounded soldier (my Brother in arms).

Ron and Jill, you should be proud and/or worried (don’t worry Ma!) parents.

Stay Fresh,

Ahmad

Busker Meets Buskers and BOB MARLEY DAY!

2008-02-05T15:48:00.000-08:00

2 February 2008

What in the world? This vacation shall forever carry one alias of "Quasi-futuristic Buskers Meet Ole Busker." There are a plethora of strange performers including everything from your basic guitarist with blonde spiky hair who plays Wonderwall over and over again, to these sttttttrangge puppets at St. Kilda Fest. Imagine this if you will: I grab The Age newspaper, order a delicious coffee, and head out to our local park, which is in the middle of St. Kilda. I am just getting into an article about Obama and Hillary during a make-love-ish debate they had this past weekend… when I get tapped on the shoulder. I look up and nearly shat myself. Standing above me, spilling dirt from his costume on my face, starring, and pointing at me is this veird nasty costumed creature. “No way, come on!” I thought to myself. This thing startled me. Spooked me. Gave me the heebie geebies, like a brother talking to his sister from the future (right, Wasser?) Proceed at your own risk:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZ2MOGYoXlM

This next Queenstown busker was a much more enjoyable, and chosen, experience. I will just let you see for yourself. It was quite peaceful watching this looney on Lake Wakatipu with the over-looking mountains and soon to be sunset.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xwAVwMvnNM

Turns out his name is Mark, and was staying two doors down from us at our hotel. After I learned this from the hotel owner I was stricken with the fear that the elevator would open when coming back from the bar, and there would be this guy just starring at me with his Phantom of the Opera-ish faceless mask. Twould be another pair of boxers lost I think.

This week marked the true beginning of Ole Busker Borney in Melbourne. I took my first guitar lesson after being self-taught for seven years. It was surprisingly informative. On Saturday at the Vineyard (our favorite spot for sun drinking on the weekends in St. Kilda) I brought my guitar and occasional played a tune. Why did I bring it? Because 2 February is BOB MARLEY DAY! Bob Marley’s birthday! Three little birds! Were on our door step! Singing Sweet songs, of memories pure and true… At one point I earned three drinks by playing One for a romantic looking couple. By the end of the night, seven other buskers had taken their turn with my new guitar, playing Radiohead, Marley, Beatles, U2, and the leading the beer garden in a sing-a-long. Yes, Tyler, I played Wonderwall. The best busker of the bunch was my mate, Ian, who was on his first date with our lady Suzy. I hope my guitar’s g-string was not the only one you plucked that night! Sorry, Suzy.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/MBSOrientationAndMelbourne

This lovely night ended with a night on the town to celebrate Big Bob’s birthday. A great night to celebrate our favorite Rasta! Reggae at the ESPY! Drinking on the beach! Dancing to Three Little Birds and Buffalo Soldier (or burger, eh, Waller?) with Lucy and Miss Cleo! Big Mack attacks with Lucy following two hours of hiccups! Ahhhhh! Life is good! No, you couldn’t prevent Zach from being happy…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1-RKxCmqXo

Been Jammin,

Zachary Marley

Erika's Melbourne CBD Tour

2008-02-04T17:13:00.000-08:00

1 February 2008

I love this city. How would I describe it as a function of U.S. cities? Wow. I can’t believe I just used the term function in a sentence. Nerd alert. Charles, no need to write an email mocking me because I already know what it will say. Eh, f it. I am after all a quant-jock who loves numbers and the Chicago school of thought, supposedly. Anyways, Melbourne is Chicago in the summer, meets the west coast CA vibe of San Francisco, merged with the outdoor-ish and music scene of Seattle. I am loving it more and more by the day.

I headed out Friday night with Erika, friend of Cory, friend of Charles. These three degrees of separation led to our own 15 bar Central Business District pub crawl, led by my lovely tour guide, Ms. Erika. Erika grew up in Jersey, but will be getting her Australian citizenship this April. Then the government gives her a tree. At the Royal Botanical Gardens. Erika if you could be any plant, what would you be and why? We danced what out Mother’s gave us. Live rock n roll. Trance. Dance. Reggae. Oh we shook it, baby. On the way home I had my second bought with birds. This lil’ f**ker bit my nose then scratched my lip! I’ve had to explain this huge red scratch ever since. Squawk, Tweety want a lil sweet elbow right across the beak? WHAP-SQWUAK! Thanks for the tour, Erika! It was a pleasure to rid ourselves of the un-needed two degrees of separation!

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/MBSOrientationAndMelbourne

MBS My Quest,

Zach B

New Apartment in Melbourne: 45 Clyde Street

2008-01-30T02:34:00.000-08:00

January 26th

We moved into our place on Saturday the 26^th… Australia Day! It’s a nice one bedroom apartment right in the heart of St. Kilda near the “American Embassy” aka McDonalds. Ahmad is paying Ronald McDonald’s rent with his current streak of Big Mac Attacks. To his credit, I think they put some chemicals in the burgers out here that make you crave it fortnightly.

Our base is on 45 Clyde Street. Ahmad was gracious enough to give me the bedroom while his place of rest is the couch I am currently typing from. He just bought himself a blanket from the Salvation Army-ish church located a few streets over. Unfortunately, that is the same street that is home to Melbourne’s legal prostitution ring. Hopefully the blanket is not home to anything more than the common bed bug.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/NewAptMelbourne

“Classes” start next week with orientation on 1 February. Until then we will be settling down and breaking in the place. And let it be known: Ahmad and I decree that all family and friends that decide to visit will be picked up in a limo at Tullamarine International Airport with the drink of their choice. Really, come on out! We would love to share this happiness with you… you can even borrow Ahmad’s blanket.

Hugs n Cheers,

Zachary Blogemeier

Rocky Goes Canyoning: Queenstown, NZ

2008-01-30T02:25:00.000-08:00

January 24th

“Get up, stand up, come on through your hands up, if you got the feeling, jump up towards the abseiling!” What is canyoning, you ask? It is a combination of abseiling down cliffs, zip lining through jungles, water sliding down natural rock slides, and cliff diving and jumping 10+ meters down into a lagoon or waterfall. The trip was a small crew – very intimate. It consisted of our tour guide, Sebastian, a big 22 year old Swiss Ox, Emma our camera lady, and then the clients, if you will: Janelle and Page, two professional volleyball players from the AVP in San Diego, Sasha the Squirmin’ German who yelled “Wicked!” at every chance, and myself. We went to get into the gear – a harness, a family jewel squeezing wet suit, and a helmet. Each helmet had a name markered on it. Janelle was Frodo, Page was Little Ted, Sasha was Yoga, and I was Rocky. “Sam! Grab my small spear located beneath my tunic Sam. Then we shall head to Mt. Doom, Sam.” “Wicked fun, this is! Adrenaline rush we shall experience.” “Yo Addddrrrriiiieeennnee!” “My name is Ted and I am not big, but rather little?”

“I feel wet inside here,” remarked Janelle. “Tell me more,” inquired curious Rocky. We were quite the athletic bunch, except for maybe Janelle who did all of the activities ass first. “You can do it put your ass into,” we would chant before her 10M plunge into a waterfall. Towards the end we climbed up 30 meters and prepared for our largest jump yet. Sebastian the Ox picked up a small stone. “Zach, watch where this stone lands… that’s where I want you to jump.” He threw it over the edge – it barely missed the front cliff then nearly caromed off the far cliff on the other side of the lagoon. “Dude, you know I am bigger than that stone, right?” “Just jump you crazy American.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXP2dZIyMZY

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/CanyoningQueenstown

The group then met up for pizza, drinks, and a loooonnnnngggg night out on the town that included camera tag with Page on the dance floor of World Bar, crashing some sort of black tie affair, singing Hey Jude at the top my lungs with a lovely 65 year old lady, and lastly marching to a Chilean chanting parade at sunrise. Wicked, yeah, coooo.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/QueenstownHeavenOnEarth

Rocky Raccoon, sat in his room, only to find Gideon’s Bible,

Zipping Zachary

Big Night Out in Queenstown starring Fanatical Filly

2008-01-28T23:31:00.000-08:00

January 22^nd

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/QueenstownHeavenOnEarth

“Mortimer! Mortimer! Randolph! Randolph! WE”RE BACK!” yelled Ahmad after meeting a Bob Marley reincarnate. Sitting on the dock in the Lake Wakatipu, we watched the sun set as any good set of heterosexual life mates would, and six little duck were on our dock step. They were singing sweet songs. Of memories pure and true. This is their message for you-u-u: QUACK. F**** off ducks, this is my drink! This is my cigarette! Nicotine is not for fowls!

We then headed to the casino and met Pedro Martinez, hurling 104 MPH twos and threes our way as he quickly zipped a couple of ladies or an ace-jack combo his way. “Pedro, no way you just got 21 from a combination of eight cards. I kind of want to fight you a little bit.” That’s about as aggressive as I get. Unless I am doing karate that is. We headed to the next bar: Ahmad transformed into an animal. Part gorilla, part leopard, part mongoose. And all of those animals of the extreme variety. With red bull. Jaeger bombs. Beers. Jaeger bombs. You see friends, I had been chiding Ahmad of late, because there was a cycle developing. We would go out together one night, then the next two nights he would take it easy. While I learned that a night to the bars by your lonesome can be anything but, I obviously love me some Fillly. “Don’t ever call me out again, Bitch!” he yelled as he danced and rapped down the street. “MAAARRRVVVEEEEEELLLOOOOUUS! MWAHAHHA!” yelled the crazed lunatic as we headed to the next bar. “Mortimer! Mortimer! Randolph! Randolph! WE”RE BACK!” yelled the happy Zach.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/AhmadSQueenstownTransformation

“What’s your name?” asked Ahmad. “CHIEF,” replied the tall Maori. “Excuse me?” “CHIEF,” said the long haired, tall and jacked, Maori pool shark who we challenged to a game of snooker. Just look at the picture. This man was an animal. “$20 a game. You break challenger,” he barked. “OK, jefe,” I remarked. “EXCUSE ME?” he yelled as he glared across the pool table. “Eh, nothing,” I replied as I nearly missed the cue ball. Chief and partner beat us the first game, but then team Bornasoof came storming back! The stars were aligned. Behind the back shot. Bank-la-desh. We prevailed with a strong finish from Fillloofers then myself. The rubber match was close, but CHIEF came through in the end. He went on a 6 ball rampage to end. By then we earned the CHIEF’S love, and we finished with a strong hug and memorable picture. Hugging the CHIEF was like hugging two Josh Halls in his prime at once.

Then Borna-karate was born:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuX9oDs8JM8

We then finished the night to some dancing at a local pub. When we get back to Chicago, put on the song that goes “I’ve got my mind set on you, I’ve got my mind set on you” sit back and watch Ahmad dance. Pristine beauty. As we headed home, Ahmad proposed we YO MTV. The city of Queenstown had the privilege of hearing our dope rhymes at four in the morning. “Smoking and drinking in the Queenstown, a city that never sees a single downward frown. Chillin with my mate the Soof, hey lets go get a burger and sit in the booth!” We finished the night with an eight pound Fergburger, French Fries, Onion Rings, and a DIET coke, and let it take us down. This thing was massive. I didn’t finish mine. But guess who did? The now blossomed party flower, Ahmady Hot Body, as the ladies call him. A perfect end to my favorite night out yet.

The Miggida Miggida Miggida Mack,

Zach

River Surfing Queenstown: Squirting Brazilians

2008-01-28T23:26:00.000-08:00

January 22nd

“Two people tried to swim across these cow rapids last year. They had had a couple of beers and didn’t quite make it. Without your equipment, you would die.” Thanks for the info, my agro tour guide. That may have been helpful before we headed down Class III and IV water rapids with a body board and a set of flippers. EXXXXTTTTRREEEEMMMEEEE! After chugging nineteen Mountain Dews we headed to the water to Water Surf. This was great fun, but much more physically demanding then I imagined.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/RiverSurfingQueenstown

http://www.youtube.com/user/zborneme

The video is during the Class IV rapids. When you see water come over the camera, that is when I hit a rock and got taken under by the mighty rapids. The highlight of this journey was squirting with the lovely Brazilian ladies. Get your heads out of the gutter. Clean it up. Squirting is a river surfing term that occurs when two currents head each other head on, as a result of the river current hitting a protruding rock and bouncing back towards the main current. To squirt you simply push your board down in the water, keeping it parallel to the top of the water. Here you catch the top current which takes you down under the other current about 3M under the water. Remember the scene in Finding Nemo with the stoner turtles on the underwater highway? This is what it is like. I was a stoner turtle. You ride the current under water blinded until you point the board up and shoot out of the water like a football held under water and released.

After the activity, we headed with the lovely Brazilians to the Altitude bar for an extreme beer and extreme hot dog wrapped with buttered bread. Not sure why, but every piece of bread served down here, no matter in what form, is first buttered. All buttered up and extremed out, we headed back for an attack of the four hour nap, and then out on the town. This night was to be the blossoming of Party Ahmad. Take cover, Chicago.

EXTREME,

Stoner Turtle

Queenstown: Heaven on Earf

2008-01-28T23:16:00.000-08:00

January 21st

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/WelcomeToQueenstown

Buy the ticket, take the ride. This applies in a plethora of ways in Queenstown, for Queenstown is the Las Vegas for active people. But with gambling. And drinking. And partying. And women. And the most beautiful and scenic lands in all the world. Queenstown is heaven on Earth. And it is one of those cities in which your daily activities will cost more than the hotel stay. And your bar tab could very well (and it often did) outweigh the cost of the activities. But this is a city, this a country, and this is a time in my life where money is worth more than the dollar. Double utility. Double happiness. Consumer surplus coming out of my wazoo. But this is no time and no place for any Chicago school of thought…

We checked into Thomas’s hotel on the evening of Monday the 21^st after the most incredible drive of our lives. And yes, I know there seems to be a typo in the last sentence. Quick tangent: a huge pet peeve of mine. When people point out grammatical errors in emails, and use it as some kind of burn. Snap! Wear are my shoes? “Oh my god! Holy balls! You used the wrong form of where! You are an inferior person and I am God for pointing this out in front of everybody else on this email thread! Love me, want me!” Anywho, the owner of Thomas’s hotel should take a god-dog class in English, or whatever the hell it is they speak down here. Snap! Burn! Got em!

Ahmad retired early, much to my chagrin, and I headed out on the town for the solo Borne-night. Or as Ahmad calls it with regularity, Borne’s after hours party. Enjoyable. After meeting a full-of-herself English bird and fittingly sharing a teapot full of champagne, red bull, and tequila I headed to the dance floor to perfect the trance. Man, this ish is getting kinda hot. Perl, with your permission, I wish to add the leg sweep to my permanent repertoire. Yes, every time I use said move during a trans-tastic breakdown I shall yell “Dee Dee!”

The next day was our only rainy day of the whole week in N Zed. We headed to the grocery store where I discovered a delicious beer called “Steinlager.” Steinert, listen to the Jonah force. This was an omen. This was the day after you told me flights are over 15 large. This is a sign my friend. Come on out buddy wuddy boy! Since it was raining we decided to enlist in an extreme activity that allows such conditions… river surfing!

Stay Fresh,

Snoop Bloggy Blog

134 Meter Bungy Jump at the Nevis River, Queenstown

2008-01-25T21:33:00.000-08:00

January 25^th (Queenstown Blog to come)

If I ever decide to give up my morning coffee, god knows why I would do such a thing, but if I did, I would build a 134 meter bungy out my back door. I woke up at 8 AM this morning with a racing heart. I must admit that when I woke, I wished I would have contracted some sort of quasi-serious condition that would result in a quick jaunt to the hospital which would coincide with our 10 AM bungy appointment of destiny. ACHOO! Cough, hack, etc. Oh man, Ahmad, I think I have some sort of medical condition. What is it? Eh, some sort of Bird Flu, or perhaps that new really serious Koalabearitis going around. Yeah, I should probably see a doctor and not plunge 134 meters (440 feet) towards the Nevis River today.

“I must not fear, fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”[1]And here I am. Ahmad and I booked the jump two days ago. In deciding which jump to do, we agreed that if we were to bungy we should take down the most extreme. We settled on this idea, then later at different points tried to convince each other that we should instead take the smaller 43 meter plunge (the first commercial bungy in the world.) In the end, the alter egos Bad Ass Borney and Fanatical Filly prevailed.

“I will never be on a bus ride like this again,” I remember thinking. The bus contained one cool-hand Luke-ish bus driver and 20 terrified individuals. The engine started, and intense techno music started blaring over the speakers, increasing the collective group’s heart rate ten fold. “Hey man, can you just play some Marley, perhaps Three Little Birds?” I half-jokingly requested. Nervous laughter from the congregation. You could cut the tension with a knife. No, not a knife, but perhaps a machete. No. A chainsaw. Closer. The tension was like cement flavored Jell-O that could only be broken by a magical jackhammer. By now, I had permitted the fear to pass over and through me and focused on the excitement of the insane plunge. This resulted in more Bornahumor and more nervous laughter. I think Ahmad chose to not sit by me because he foresaw said agitating humor. As the intense 40 minute drive came to a close, the bus driver switched on the PA system and advised “Just remember mates, don’t look down because it will never make sense.”

We arrived at the site and were taken by a gondola like car to the jumping pod, which was hung by steel wires over the canyon. We were to jump by order of weight. If you were a lighter leaper who was traveling with a plumper jumper, you were permitted to ride out with the hefty honchos. Out of 20 jumpers the heaviest weighed in at 95 kg while the lightest floated in at 57. “From this corner, weighing in at 83 kg, hailing from Chicago, IL… Big Bad Borney! Accompanied by… the Iranian Favre, the Fanatical Feather, the Marathon Marauder… the 67 kg Ahmad Filsoooooof!” When it was all said and done, I jumped 5^th and Ahmad jumped 15^th. And there were plenty of ladies who jumped in between. Snicker, chuckle, etc.

We arrived on the pod just as the 95 kg Fatty McFatterton was launching down first. The fear started to creep back. The second person was geared up and moved to the jumping platform shaking horribly. He missed the countdown! “3…2…1…” and then nothing. The countdown started again… nothing. One more false start and he trembled back to the waiting area to the arms of his lady friend. This poor chap. He is out $300 and his lady friend jumped with great aplomb. Ahmad and I wanted to hug him – it’s not fair, since he is just not wired for feats of this nature. It is possible that he has wrestled a crocodile with two hands tied behind his back, but jumping from 440 feet is not in his deck of cards.

“Zatch, you are up my friend,” yelled Pierre the Mexican bungy jumper handler. After sitting nervously in the equipment chair for 30 plus seconds he pulled me up. With the leg straps connected, one has to waddle three feet to the tiny 1x1 foot metal platform jetting out over the canyon. This was the most terrifying 5 seconds of my life. To combat the fear, I began to sing Amazing Grace. “Aaammaazzziinnngggg Grraaaccceee,”… “One”… “Howwww sweeeeeeeet the sound,”… “Two,”… “To saaaaavveeee aaa wreettttcchhh liiiiiiike meeeeee,”… “THREE!” and I jumped.

The jump lasts 8.5 seconds before you begin to bounce back up. However, the mind goes through five stages in this short time period. The first stage is the walk to the ledge, and the waiting for countdown to conclude. Absolute fear. The second stage occurs in the one second post launch. You are relieved and intensely proud that you made the leap. The third stage is utter confusion. By now your body has begun to move from the swan dive position to the arms and face first downward fall. Your brain does not know what to make of the situation. It knows it’s not falling to its death, but it second guesses it self five times in those two seconds. Am I having fun or am I about die? Stage four is pure adrenaline, excitement, and happiness. This is when I begin to realize this is the greatest thing I have ever done. Fortunately, this is the longest stage lasting 3 seconds. Stage five is when you begin to slow down and hypothesize that if the rope is to snap, now is the time. Shit, shit, shit, please don’t snap. I shouldn’t have had that burger at 3 AM. I should have done more cardio. Oh god, shit, oh god, stay strong rope! Persevere sweet rubber band rope! 2.5 seconds later you bounce twice, pull the chord that allows you to sit upright, and enjoy 30 seconds of pure bliss. As you take in the beautiful scenery of the Nevis River and mountain range, you feel adrenaline flowing through your veins with an additional rush of pride and a sense of accomplishment… you have just conquered your fears.

I was raised back to the platform and Pierre remarked, “Ah Zatch, the singer is back!” Our friend from Nebraska yelled, “Hey Zach, did you make a souvenir in your pants down there?” Laughter. I answer, “Do you have any Febreeze?” More laughter. Pats on the back. Applause. I am a champion. “Wow, that was amazing! The greatest thing I have ever done! Ahmad lets go party for 36 hours straight!” Because of Ahmad’s svelte and taught figure, he had to wait 30 minutes after my jump. Poor guy. “Ahmad, that was the best thing I have ever done. Man, you are so nervous right now. Its not fair you have to wait.” Ahmad shakes his head, “I wish I was you, and you wish you were me.” 30 nerve-wracking minutes later in Filloofian time and it was his turn to take the plunge. Cool as a proverbial cucumber. Serious face. Focused. Ahmad approaches the platform. 3…2…1… and then the most graceful swan dive I have ever scene. Good on yah, Filly! He got back up, we hugged, and our journey was complete. The fear was gone, conquered, and in its place existed pride, excitement, and pure happiness. It was only me and my Brother in Arms having the time of our lives… and fully aware of it.

[1] Frank Herbert

Best 12 Hour Drive Ever - West Coast NZ towards Queenstown

2008-01-25T20:59:00.000-08:00

January 21st
http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/NZWestCoastDrive

This was the best twelve hours I have ever spent in the car. The scenery was breathtaking and the camaraderie was firing on all cylinders. Every stop was a new adventure – swimming in a mountain-reflecting lake, taking short hikes, running Brett Favre to Sterling Sharpe like routes… even the attack of the beach flies. (Steinert: Favre is Forevre). Not to mention the Fox Glacier. Yes, that is me holding a piece of ice from ole Foxy herself. Simply stunning. See the pictures!

Dad, this photo album is for you! 90% of the pictures have no people in them! And folks, thank you so much for the camera and iPod speakers… the camera is a machine and has logged 1000+ photos, and the speakers allowed us to blast Bob Marley, Citizen Cope, Tom Petty and several others the whole journey down the west coast of NZ.

Ahmad is an amazing driver. While Johnny Dyck relied on pure speed up the East Coast of Australia, Ahmad had to rely on his finesse, nimbleness, and quick wits to make the trip. If these two amazing drivers were in NASCAR, Ahmad would be the road course champion and Johnny the oval track winner. We had a plus/minus on Ahmad’s driving. Every time he was passed, negative one. Every pass, plus one. He started out slow and cautious. After a couple of hours he was negative three. Then he hit his stride. Oh, Nelly! He finished at +8, through passing slow pokes while yelling phrases such as “Stay Down!” or “Surrender!” Bravo, good sir. We reached Queenstown around 8 PM to the tune of Hotel California... You can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave.

Hanmer Springs: Into the Wild

2008-01-25T20:49:00.000-08:00

January 20th

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme/HanmerSprings

Ahmad and I arrived in Hanmer Springs around noon and decided to do separate activities. Ahmad headed off on a tramp and I rented a mountain bike to head up the mountain. This was one of the most intense nature excursions of my life. I first headed on a mountain bike trailed called Lower Dog Stream. In retrospect, it makes sense that when mountain biking you must experience and uphill part of the mountain as well as the downhill, but for the first 5 kilometers I was one angry hot lil potato. Confession of an amateur: I had to walk the bike up a few of the extreme mountainous sections. I imagined mountain biking would be more like the trails behind Smith Elementary School, where I would ride for hours upon hours with my mates. Remember that place, family? But this was intense. I arrived at the waterfall trail exhausted and fatigued in the legs. I parked the bike and set of on a 2.5 hour return hike up the hill. This trail could be described as a plethora of Z’s stacked on top of each other, winding and climbing through rain forest like terrain. (Perl: ZZ!) A few times I had to revert to Thomas the Tank Engine saying, “I think I can, I think I can.”

After one hour I was becoming miserable from the intense ascend. A half an hour later I met a Swedish couple on their way back. “Is it worth it?” I inquired. They nodded their heads yes. It was then that I realized that this was a chance for self-improvement. One of my goals on this trip is to live more in the now, with occasional glances into the past and future. In the book Shibumi (one of my favorites, thanks Mom!), the author comments that American are merchants, everything in life is a transaction. Americans always look forward, and are always seeking more and are never content in the present. In me asking if the hike was worth it, I was discounting the now experience. The waterfall at the end turned out to be amazing, but it was only through recognizing that it was the holistic experience that was wonderful, the cumulative moments of the now, that made the day unforgettable. The hike was not the chore, and the waterfall was not the allowance. The exercise, the climb, the accomplishment, and the beautiful waterfall at the end, holistically… that was the great day. That's why they call me Sloppy Socrates.

At the waterfall I had a lunch of blueberries and brie cheese and crackers before putting on my iPod and heading back down. I laughed at myself in selecting the Into the Wild soundtrack by Eddie Vedder. I think perhaps Welcome to the Jungle by Guns n Roses may have been more appropriate. Or that one song from Sesame Street, by Grover I think, called Pride. P-R-I-D-E… spells pride. Pride is a feeling. A feeling that I have about me. About me!

Christchurch NZ with Great 3rd Cousins Davey and Janelle Kennedy

2008-01-21T15:55:00.000-08:00

On Friday the 18^th, we departed for Christchurch, New Zealand to meet my long lost great 3^rd cousin Dave Kennedy, cousin to the Garden Queen of Michigan, also known as the best Grandmother in the world, Jean Lawhead. However, it took 5 beers, 3 glasses of wine, the wonderful Janelle, and an outside consultant, Theresa, to figure out that we were indeed 3^rdcousins. I added the great, because the adjective is accurately descriptive.

This was one of my favorite parts of my Southern Hemisphere trip thus far. Dave and Janelle Kennedy are wonderful people. They live in the ocean side suburb of Sumner, just east of the centre of Christchurch. After checking out Cathedral Square, Ahmad and I met up with Davey and Janelle to head out to their home. Davey jumped in the car and navigated us out to Sumner – with a few accidental detours, as a result of outstanding storytelling and non-stop laughter. Davey is a Scotsman with a thick Scottish brogue – the accent alone makes an American with Scottish blood smile, but he had quite a bit of substance to his dialogue as well.

We arrived at their home – the most amazing view from a home I have ever seen. It’s located on a cliff overlooking Sumner and the sea. Check out the pictures. The house was built by Dave, a master craftsman, who also has many exquisite coffee tables for sale (there’s your plug, Cousin!).After getting to know Dave and Janelle a lil bit we took a tramp (NZ for hike) up a moutainish-hill… this was a most glorious view. Yowie-zowies. As James Lipton would say, “It was as if god was looking down on this hill, tears streaming down his face, and muttering ‘You are my most glorious creation!’.” Again, see the pictures. What was more amazing than the tramp and the picturesque view was the endurance of Cousin Davey. A regular male Marion Jones, except this guy is sans-juice… a Scottish Superman if you will. It was as if William Wallace and May Cambell bred and created this super breed of Scottish excellence. This tramp was intense. Ahmad and I could barely keep up! And this was after he had run a half marathon that same morning! With a torn calf! Speaking of athletes, Janelle is his Australian equal. Upon meeting them, they had just finished a 21K run through the Christchurch hills. Word on the street speaks that she has a 32 pulse 5 minutes after a 10K sprint. Amazing. Janelle and Davey are running the Paris marathon in a few months, and are set to break the world record for the happiest and fastest couple ever to compete! I think. Good luck Team Kennedy!

We had such a great time with Dave and Janelle. They were so hospitable and gracious in hosting Ahmad and I. In the evening we had a barbie, complete with delicious steaks, fine wines, and great conversation, including a cameo from neighbor Theresa. The following was a tidbit heard at dinner:

Theresa: “How is your injured calf doing Dave?”
Dave: “Oh, I reckon its fine, just a lil nick is all.”
Theresa: “You truly are in fine shape, an amazing body.”
Dave: “Care to give it a go?”
Theresa: “Oh I couldn’t keep up!”

And another favorite captured on video, soon to be posted to YouTube:

Janelle: “Davey, when is our anniversary?”
Dave: “Oh, Nelly, you know I’m not good with these!”
Janelle: “Think.”
Dave: (messaging temples) “Ah lets see, your birthday is ah… umm…”
Janelle: “No, not my birthday, our anniversary.”
(Dave messages temples for 30 seconds with Mmms and Ahhs)
Dave: March 14^th! That’s it! At the Australian Embassy in Thailand!
Janelle: Hmmm, March 15^th. And my birthday?
Dave: Hmmm, ahhhhh…

In the morning Davey took Ahmad and I lawn bowling which was great fun. We had a bit of beginners luck, I reckon, as you can see by the pictures. Davey said, “Ah fine, beat me and get it close, they’ll think it was I closest anyway in the pictures!”

Thanks for the tremendous hospitality Dave and Janelle! We had a wonderful time!

Good on Yah!
Zach

Melbourne Part II

2008-01-21T15:44:00.000-08:00

January 13 - 18

This week was about really getting to know our city of Melbourne. By the end of the trip, I felt comfortable having people call me Melbournemeier. The nightlife in our city, especially in our neighborhood of St. Kilda, is quite amazing: the beer flows like wine, the weather is fantastic, and the people are beautiful. Even bastardly and annoying people are fascinating simply because of their accents. The night after visiting our local favorite bar Vineyard, we rented bikes and explored the city including Brunswick, Fitzroy, Carlton, Federation Square, the MCG (home of the Australian Open), and the University of Melbourne where we start on February 1.

The most important part of the week: we found a place! The address is 45 Clyde in St. Kilda, on the south side of Melbourne. We move in on the 26^th when we get back from New Zealand. It’s a great location, minutes from Acland Street in St. Kilda and right down the way from the beach. Later in the week, during an hour long haircut, while being fed oodles of red wine, my “stylist” convinced me to get a mini-Mohawk. Ahmad claims that this was part of my “transformation.” More to follow in Ahmad’s blog…

Ahmad finally plans to start his blog this week, although he is having a bit of stage fright knowing that he has slacked and missed about three plus weeks of shenanigans and beauty. In me writing this, I hope to act as a catalyst to get him into Hemingway mode.

Waller, one of the pictures has a great palindrome for a bar name! Can you find it? No, the bar name is not PoopDadPoop.

Ma, in the pictures at the book store, I took some pictures of certain childhood books. Do you remember them? Which one was my favorite? Mr. Strong? Mr. Lazy? Mr. Funny?

Pops, there is a picture dedicated to you in the Melbourne Part II album as well. Can you guess which one?

Everyone else – first one to email me what Chof means based on the pictures wins a free beer when I get back to the states… Charles, you lived here, so you are DQ’d. This Qwestrin does not apply to you. Ha!

Hope all is well!

Z. Melbournemeier

Cairns and the Great Barrier Reef

2008-01-14T00:23:00.000-08:00

January 10, 11, 12

Jacques Yves Cousteau once said “From birth, man carries the weight of gravity on his shoulders. He is bolted to earth. But man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free.” Yeah, I’m down with that, Jacques. Then again Ole Jacques also said “A lot of people attack the sea, I make love to it.” Yikes. With the heavy equipment (chastity belt-esque) and the danger of stinging jelly fish and eels, I decided to take the first quote to heart, and leave the second for Jacques and his fellow urchin-files. Ick. But it really felt like flying once you got the hang of it. On the ship, the diving gear was extremely heavy – it was a Herculean effort to even stand with the equipment, but once down below you are free to fly around the coral reef bottom and witness the beautiful coral life and fish. We saw two sea turtles, one shark, and numerous fish and plant life. It was a great experience. Again, the pictures in the online album tell a better story. Well, except the pictures of Ahmad trying to make love to the sea.

Cairns was a great city. The city is a little touristy, but it is quite beautiful and has a high energy vibe with the thousands of tourists and backpackers meandering about shops, restaurants, and bars. The triumvirate, celebrating their last night together, headed out on the town for a night of gambling, drinking, Jaeger Bombs, and dancing. Ahmad fell four times, I lost $40 at blackjack, and Johnny laughed at my dancing moves at least forty times. Sadly, Johnny, aka Mario Andretti, flew back to the states -- now tis only Ahmad and I heading back to Melbourne for a few days to find an apartment (perhaps St. Kilda) and then we are off to NZ to meet my cousin Davey and his wife Janelle and reunite with the ladies from Wales. Also, check out this guitarist from Airlie Beach and the Whitsundays – Kieran McCarthy: http://www.kieranmccarthy.com.au/

Hope everyone is well back home!

Hugs n’ Cheers,
Zach

Plethora of Pics Posted!

2008-01-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme

Plenty of pictures added to my online album, and hundreds more to be posted of Cairns and the Great Barrier Reef once we get back to Melbourne sometime next week!

Warning: Some of these pictures are not for the faint of heart. Proceed at your own risk, penguin.

And an early HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my sister Cassie aka Wasser aka Sparky aka Sister! Love you Sis!

Hope all is well!
Zach/Brother

The Pride Of Airlie in the Whitsundays

2008-01-10T23:44:00.000-08:00

January 6th through 10th

Coooooo. That’s how our English and Australian friends end many of their sentences. It’s like a much more laid back version of Dr. Evil saying “Coooooool” but without the “L” at the end. I desire it for my vocabulary. Thanks to Alex and Dominic (aka Ben Affleck) for helping me work out my version of “Cooooooo”. But this word sums up every part of this leg of our journey. It was the best yet.

Sunday the 6^th we drove 10 hours from the Sunshine Coast up to Airlie Beach, which is the launching pad for the sailing trips throughout the Whitsundays. After waking up and getting in a rare run, we headed to town to book a sail. Instead of opting for the traditional sailing trip where you stay on the ship for 3-4 nights straight, we opted for the Pride of Airlie, a catamaran/sail/booze cruise with night stops at the amazing resort of South Molle Island. We chose… wisely. Yeah, coooooo.

The attached pictures will do much of the proverbial talking, but it was the people aboard that made this experience the best yet. Hello to Ben Affleck Dominic, Birthday Girl Gemma, Sassy Lucy, JoJo JoAnn, Stinger F*** Alex, fellow to be Melbournians Michiel and Annelyn, the acrobatic Sweedes, and the ever so sunburned Irish. Hope that aloe vera is kicking in, fellas. As Dire Straits say from the tune “Romeo and Juliet”, with this group of people, the “dice was loaded from the start.” (Gemma, this was the random dance song when we made arses of ourselves in the Airlie restaurant). The crew was great (except for Chester the Molester) and Captain Doug, who loved the ladies and handled the mighty Catamaran with great aplomb.

We boarded the Pride of Airlie at three on Monday and headed towards our resort of South Molle Island. The resort was a beautiful ocean front property owned by the Koala sailing company – we bunked with JoJo and Dominic, and set off for a night of drinking in the pool, hot tub, and an amazing 27 person game of flip cup after dinner. We woke the next morning at 7AM and had breakfast at the resort – those who enjoyed scratches on the arm were permitted to lure a plethora of parrots onto your arm with bread. I had my first bread-problem, attracting 5 to my hat (where I had placed bread) and a half a dozen to my arms. Next, we boarded the Pride and headed to Whitehaven Beach, one of the most gorgeous beaches in all of Australia. The beach has some of the finest sand in the world – 99% sand crystals. We were warned to protect all electronics from the sand, given it was so fine. They also told us if we needed jewelry polished, we should rub the fine sand on it. So I cleaned my new nose ring. Just kidding, Ma! We then put on our wet suits to protect us from the box-jellyfish and took a swim. Refreshing, yeah, cooooo. Next we headed to another of the 74 Whitsundays islands for some snorkeling. At the snorkel site, Chester the crew-hand would throw bread in front of you, and in seconds you had a swarm of 50+ tropical fish fighting for the bread. Note for future travelers: do not grab the piece of bread unless you want said 50+ fish smacking into you from all sides. Apparently fish think my nose resembles bread. Ole Wonder Bread Nose, the fish call me. Turns out I am really bad at bread games with animals.

That night we returned for another great dinner and more drinking games to celebrate Gemma’s birthday. Johnny and Ahmad retrieved a specialty made “Best Birthday Ever” cake for Gemma, aka the cake from heaven, while I taught our new friends the drinking game that starts “What’s the name of this f***ing game, it’s called what… the… f***. “ Members included Parrot F*** (me), Skipper F*** (Chester), Birthday F*** (Gemma), Stinger F*** (Alex), and Sassy F*** (Lucy). A special shot (see picture) was made for Gemma the birthday girl. She loved it so much a second one was prepared, and I was forced to present it with only boxers equipped. Apparently, its birthday tradition in Wales. Next, we danced and I shaked what Jill B. gave me. And Johnny won a poll dancing competition! His moves were disturbingly graceful. The next day was more blistering sun on the deck of the ship, more bonding with our fellow shipmates (and some “bondage” from Captain Doug), and then back to Airlie Beach. The trip concluded with a dinner at Caper’s in Airlie Beach, some pool with the world’s smallest balls at Morocco’s, and late night dancing at Mama Africa’s with Ben Affleck Dominic and Alex.

We are now on the road to Cairns to conclude the awesome threesome’s two week journey up the east coast. Johnny leaves on Saturday. He has been the MVP of the trip, driving from the wrong side of the road for over 20 cumulative hours, without hitting a single marsupial or native. Then again, we still have an hour left in the car… but as the great Tom Petty would say “There’s something good waiting down this road… I’m picking up… whatever is mine.” Coooooooooooooo.

Stay Fresh,

Didgeridoo Bornabaloo

Rainy Gold Coast and “Fine” Sunshine Coast

2008-01-10T23:33:00.000-08:00

January 4th and 5th

After equipping Stalcon the Green Falcon with floaties, we were determined to get out of the rainy and dreary Hinterland area. At 10AM on the way north, we stopped at the Gold Coast for a beer and a lil’ blackjack. The Gold Coast reminded me of Vegas meets Ft Lauderdale, with larger than life casinos and high rise apartments amidst palm trees on the ocean. After being sent back to the car for wearing thongs (meaning flip-flops not a g-string… like I would be wearing a thong to a casino… on a Friday morning), I headed back into the casino wearing my Asics and beautiful new straw hat. After being told that straw hats were not permitted, I persevered and headed to the blackjack table to win $200 in five minutes. A great start to the day.

We then arrived in Noosa on the north part of the Sunshine Coast (North of Brisbane). We planned to head to Maroochydore, but we had to keep driving until we found the sun. Noosa was incredible. It is a beautiful beach town, but on a little of the "snooty side" – after Nimbin and Byron Bay, we had to put away our thongs and bring out the ole Sunday’s best. Thankfully the bars and clubs had no restrictions on undergarments, for this was the day Ahmad ran out of boxers. Wow, now that I think about it, I hope he purchased some new ones in the last five days. He is sitting right in front of me in the car right now and I am little grossed out. (Update: I just found out he did laundry two nights ago. Phew.)

Ahmad reached the peak of his sickness this night… like a true champion, he tried to rally with a few beers and cold medication, but was down for the count after an encounter with an Australian Dieback Beetle (see picture). It was like Hitchcock’s Birds. After hearing many a insect noises on our way over the hill to the Koala Hostel Bar, a mammoth sized beetle went straight for his heart landing on his blue Polo shirt. It seemed to be some sort of part wrestling match part seizure, with Ahmad finally shooing the beetle away after 30 plus seconds of arm flailing and alpha male grunting… it seemed Ahmad had won the battle, yet the beetle won the war, for Ahmad had used his last bit of energy left from the cold to ward off the great beast. Yet the true champion made it to the top of this HUGE hill after the attack, and managed three sips of a Heineken (see picture). We’re just glad he didn’t face a larger opponent. You know, like a kangaroo. Or a squirrel.

Johnny and I headed out on the town and met up with our new friend Jed and other Australians to the Reef Bar and Koala Bar. The night ended with Jaeger Bombs for all, and another $50 win on a random slot machine in the back of the bar (see attached photo). And Ole Busker made his Australian debut, grabbing a fellow Busker’s guitar and strumming Wonderwall to passer-buyers. I made $5 in tips! I think my bad American voice is lost in translation over here, and it may sound above average. What a country!

The next day, with Ahmad fully recovered we headed on a hike through the Noosa National Park. It was one of the most gorgeous hikes I have experienced. Plenty of pictures to follow. After then strolling through a partially topless beach, and getting my first fair-Scottish-skin-burn of the trip, we called it a day. The three of us again headed out on the town, hitting up “The Rock” dance club. I met some new Australian friends, including “Ladybug” and Eddy and ended up heading out of the city for a sunrise house party. The discussion theme of the night was politics – we compared and contrasted Australian and American politics, discussing Australia’s new guy Rudd, and the democratic battle between the mighty Barack Obama and ole fake tears Hillary. It was another night of meeting amazing Australian friends, having great discussions, and recruiting more friends for our Melbourne-Goodbye-Parade. Ahmad and I plan to have said parade around March 26^th to celebrate our experience with all of our new friends that have made our trip amazingly scrumtralescently unbelievable. Do you guys have any ideas for our float? All suggestions welcome! Maybe a dieback beetle float?

High Times in Nimbin

2008-01-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

January 3rd

Yikes. Imagine Ann Arbor during hash bash and Height-Ashbury in the 60s, and then take the two most extreme characters of each of event and have them pro-create. Nine stoney drug induced months later a Nimbin-ian is born. This place was quite the day trip.

To get there was something else as well. It was Borney versus Wild as I helped guide our car safely over a flooded road, which had a waterfall currently cascading over it. We reached a second flooded road – I again waded out into the river only to discover it was 1M deep. We then turned around, and found another route.

The best part of Nimbin was the locals. As you can imagine most folks were uber-friendly and really took their time in carrying out their daily tasks. At one shop, I walked in to inquire about hotels. I was second in line, and waited my turn to speak to the nice ole bearded fellow who was in the midst of a deep story about Nimbin and his life philosophy. I didn’t want to be rude so I waited. The customer who was being waited on next pulls up a chair and really gets into the story. About 5 minutes later I decide to quickly step in and ask directions – the then startled Nimbinian shop owner snaps out of his fantasy land, looks at me, and then looks shocked when he sees the line of 12 people that had accumulated behind me during his Plato-esque word journey. Good times.

Hotels were booked and it was pouring so decided to head to Lismore for the night to get some rest. Lismore, in our experience, is the city that shall not be named again. See which pictures you think are from Lismore, and give me your thoughts in the comments section.

P.S. For any authority type figures out there, anything you see resembling illegal substances in these pictures are not actually illegal, but rather oregano, pencil shavings, or some sort of smokeable legal weeds.

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme

PSS It is now Monday -- we are in the Whitsundays about to head on a 2 day sailing trip through the islands on the party boat "Pride" -- Google it if you're interested. ;) When we get back I will post about the Sunshine Coast and the lovely upcoming Catamaran journey!

Meat Pies in Byron Bay!

2008-01-06T16:13:00.000-08:00

January 2nd and 3rd

Amazing place here, but it shall be known as the day we temporarily lost a soldier. Ahmad was down for the count with some sort of ailment – after heavy analysis we have narrowed it down to either a cold and fever, bee sting, or the Australian equivalent of Montezuma’s revenge. Either way, it wasn’t pretty.

After unloading the car at our Friday at the Beach beachside hotel, Johnny and I headed down to the Byron Beach for some football route running, boogie boarding, and a quick jog up the coast. It was a great day of sunshine – in true form I went from Casper white to lobster pink in a little under three shakes of a kangaroo’s tail. We then aborted the boogie boarding after getting tired of lil 5 year olds surfing circles around us.

We just beat the rain, as a 3 day cyclone of constant rain came spinning in. With Ahmad still down, and slowly transferring into a bee, the Dyckster and I headed out to the Byron Bay bars to mingle with the locals and fellow travelers. We have met tons of great people –turns out they all assume we are from Canada (which is true for Johnny) since Canucks are much more frequent travelers of the Oz. At this point I explain, “Yes, I am an American” and then “no, I am not a Bush supporter.” Although this gets me back in good graces with the Aussies, it’s becoming quite repetitive. The bars were great and we then discovered our fourth travel partner – meat pies! They are tasty lil’ fellers, similar in some ways to Great Grandma Betsy’s meat pies, but with more variations in meat! Imagine that same meat pie, but with bacon and cheese! Heaven!

I am struggling with the picture uploads due to slow connection... for now here is the link to my online Picasa picture page:

http://picasaweb.google.com/zborneme

Happy New Year!

2008-01-02T15:58:00.000-08:00

Cheers! Our first day started in the Auckland, New Zealand airport waiting for our connecting flight to Melbourne. Though it was 4AM local time, we had our first Australian Lager – I would justify the early beer by citing the time zone difference, but it was only 11AM in Chicago. Either way, it hit the proverbial spot after spending a full day on a plane.

Ahmad, Jon, and I got to our hotel in St. Kilda around noon and decided we needed to head on a run to “stay fresh.” It was only 42 degrees so we figured it would be a perfect beach run. Unfortunately none of us paid attention in high school science – at the peak of our run it was about 110 degrees Fahrenheit. I think we have it figured out now though – as Jon says, “just multiply by two, add 32, and then if its hot add some more.” Not an exact science, but a prettay prettay good ball park. St. Kilda is a beautiful beach neighborhood on the south end of Melbourne – right on the Port Phillip Bay. Ahmad and I may live here once we return from our east coast road trip.

On NYE we headed down to the beach for the midnight fireworks – celebrating NYE in the dead of summer is pretty amazing. After Ahmad offended some women by saying he was going to “go in the bushes” we headed to the Prince Bandroom on Fitzroy St. for late night celebrations. Highlights included meeting some local ladies from Melbourne and Adelaide, sampling a peppermint cig with some locals, and trying to sharpen our trance dance skills (not pretty). Next thing we know the sun came up. Again, I could justify this with the time zone difference or jet lag, but it was probably the endless thirst for Red Bull vodkas and the New Year’s festivities.

We flew into Brisbane this morning, and right now are in our new rental car, a gorgeous lil’ teal-green Ford Falcon, a teal mobile of sorts if you will, complete with spoiler and steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. Jon is the designated driver and thus far has not run over any kangaroos, koala bears, or aborigines. But it’s early. We rented the car for 10 days, and plan to head up the east coast ending 1700 km (no idea how far that is in miles) north. Tonight we head to Byron Bay, then eventually to Nimbin, the Whitsundays, Cairns, and any other beach town that looks inviting on the way up. Into the great wide open... the sky is the limit as the great Tom Petty would say...

Slideshows to follow after the sun goes down, or it starts raining...

(Note: This blog was written two days ago but we barely ever have internet so these may be few and far between! Plus after 3 beers the beach is more gooder and funner than the internet cafes!)