Busy Week

Well, I've finally found a job, started work, and am way too busy. I've said it before and I'll type it again - when it rains, it pours. I started my new job Monday at a small firm a few miles outside of central Melbourne, only to get an offer on Tuesday from another company that I had also interviewed with. Sheesh. I haven't turned down the offer, but I probably will next week - they really didn't offer me a very high salary in my opinion. Plus I like the work the smaller firm that I'm at does. My bosses are really nice (two guys own the firm together) and the office is nice and easy going. I'm still managing work from Thom, which basically takes up my (early) mornings, nights and weekends, though that work seems to come in waves. We'll see if I manage not to explode from all this - so far so good.

Kane is still on the hunt for a job. We talked to a guy at the Engineers Without Borders meeting on Thursday who said he'll talk to some friends of his to see if any of their firms are looking for people. We'll see how that goes - Kane longs for the structure that a job adds to your life. Apparently video games all day every day aren't cutting it. Imagine that.

So, that's the only news here, really. Work work and more work. I'm still managing to juggle EWB meetings, a book club that I recently joined, volunteering for events with the RSPCA, and our American Expat meetup group along with actually doing fun things with our friends. I'm also going to sign up for a photography class at the local Center for Adult Education, just to make sure I really plug up all the possible free time that I may have. I wish I were one of those people who only need like 4 hours of sleep a night, I could be so much more productive. As it is, I succumb to the request of a full 8 hours and sleep away a third of every day. In exchange, my body rarely gets sick - it's rare if I get a cold in a year's time. So, there's trade-offs I guess.

Ok, now I'm just rambling without anything especially interesting to type. So, I bid you adieu until next time. Pictured: "professional Angie".

Jogging and Jobbing

The issue has been raised as to Kane and my dedication to, and the possibility of fraudulent claims of us being joggers. History has delicately placed me into a long and traceable lineage of innate, adamant non-joggers. Some postulate that the name "Sommer" is derived from the Latin sumarius, which is an adjective form of the word "molasses". And like molasses, a Sommer only happily moves slowly, and really would prefer to stay put altogether whenever possible. I believe my great, great, great uncle, William Sommer, has been quoted to say, "Take away my freedom, my dignity, my country, but do not ever try to force me to jog".

However, with the intention of continuing to fit into my overpriced, fancy work suits, in addition to balancing out my love of Nutella (and anything chocolate for that matter), I have begun an extremely rudimentary and considerably pathetic workout regiment. We looked into joining the gym here, but were swiftly deterred by the $40 per two weeks fee - the only thing I hate more than being out of shape is being out of money. So, we were left to our own devices and decided to start the doing the cheapest workout around: jogging.

We started by just jogging down the street and back, walking when I start to overheat. We're up to around 1.5-2 miles each morning of pathetic, trudging, huffing and puffing jogging. Sometimes Kane eases into a fast walk next to me just to show how exceptionally slow we are actually moving. But, I keep to it, slow and steady - there's something a Sommer can relate to. We can win the race, just as long as you're easily distracted...

So that's the skinny on the jogging. Or perhaps the "average sized" on the jogging, as it were. To answer cousin questions: I do dislike exercising, but am embracing it as a necessary evil, like politics or nylons. To report my findings, my suit pants do still fit well, which I know because I have recently gone on two job interviews in said pants. I will say no more about it because the jury's still out and I wouldn't want to post all sorts of stuff on the internet since sometimes companies do a quick google search on you nowadays. Just know that all is well and that a follow up will commence next week. (Email me if you're too curious)

We Need A Car

Pictured: a tram in downtown Melbourne.

Public transport around Melbourne is excellent. It creeps through all of downtown and spreads its tentacles far outside the city center with trains, trams and buses. It's relatively clean, decently priced, and seems to have enough capacity to support this city.

I am, however, sick of it. There are two main issues that I have with the public transport: it takes forever to get anywhere, and public transport people. Kane and I went to a meeting at the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Protection...) on Tuesday, which is about 15 miles from our house. It probably would have still taken us a while to drive since you have to go through downtown (lots of lights, traffic, etc.), but it surely wouldn't have taken us an hour and fifteen minutes.

And then there are the crazies. Why do crazies, of any nation, seem to love public transport so much? They flock to it like moths to a streetlight - and like the moths, it seems to get worse at night. On our way back from the RSPCA meeting, we rode with crazy headphone-listening, singing-along, air-drumming guy who approached two other strange looking passengers and then commenced to stare at them for the duration of the ride, only taking breaks for impressive air drumming solos. Who are these people? Can't they keep quiet for 30 minutes while the ride the tram with the rest of us? I suppose that asks too much.

The funny thing is, we got off the tram when the air-drummer relocated to the seat right next to us, only to encounter crazy, drugged out, screaming-at-the-air-right-next-to-her lady on the street downtown. As she approached from behind, I felt uncomfortable being within audible range of this "fight" this woman was having, obviously with someone dear to her, over the cell phone. I then felt even more awkward to discover that there was no cell phone involved. Maybe I don't like big cities, sheesh. Or, maybe I just need a car to acquire the level of isolation from these crazies that I'm used to. Then there's always: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I think I would be a rather talented air drummer...

Adele Island

Adele island is a small island off the coast of Abel Tasman National Park in the North-West corner of the South Island of New Zealand. We kayaked by this place only to find that it was named after the discoverer's wife because of its semblance to a woman's profile. I tried to label the picture above (you have to use your imagination a bit) to see the woman laying on her back in the ocean, her head at the left down to her bust on the right. Yes, she has a bit of an adam's apple, but they're made of trees; what are you gonna do.

I bring this up not because the island was anything extraordinary, but because my beautiful cousin, Adele, is. Today (well, depending on how you look at the time difference) is her wedding day, and I am unfortunately not able to attend. I have requested the favor of the most pictures possible from family members; but I know no picture will be able to capture the sheer radiance she emits on this special day.

Therefore, this post is to you, Adele, a tiny dedication on surely one of the finest days of your life. I miss you and I love you and I wish you and JJ all the best things in the world during your long life together. You guys are a beautiful couple and nothing makes your family (me included) happier than to witness your love for each other and to celebrate it with you. I am truly sorry I could not be there for this day, I hope it was everything you ever hope for and more. Huge hug to both of you.

And, BCF, Adele. Should we sing one of our songs? Nissan, Nissan, dun dun dun duh duh duh...

The Wind

It's windy today. You think, so what, it's just wind. But this is actually wind enough to blog about, in my opinion at least. It has nothing to do with me being bored as well...nothing at all.

We left our window open last night in hopes of somewhat avoiding the funk with which a night of two sleeping humans seems to fill a room (or apartment). As a result, we awoke at something-early-am to the sound of our blinds being relentlessly whipped by the early gusts. "What is that," asked Kane. "It's the blinds, we left the window open," I respond. We can typically sleep through anything, but it really sounded like someone had broken into our home and was spastically frolicking in a mountain of Hot Wheels toy cars on our living room floor.

We went for our morning jog and were met with a mean head wind on the way back - so rude. We saw plastic bags flying 50 feet in the air around us (and yes, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. American Beauty, anybody?) I thought it would die down, but it's been pounding on our building all day. We first noticed the extremity of the situation just before our jog; I re-opened the sliding glass door to air out the place while we were out and my ears popped just as the door cracked open. Then, as I went to exit the apartment, I was almost unable to open our front door due to the ridiculous pressure coming in through the window, holding the door shut.

Throughout the day, it has sounded like a veritable hurricane is passing through our apartment (this is with the windows shut). I swear, it's worse in here than it is even outside. I'm not sure if it's because of our A/C being connected by a fan to the outside, or if our balcony draws some sort of magnificent wind eddie, or if our building is just the most non-aerodynamic structure in the world, but it's freaking loud in here.

So, the wind has been blowing on and on all day long, but it's really the booms and the creaks that are the scariest. We're on the 14th floor, so I'm not sure how much sound, and wind for that matter, gets exaggerated at this height, but every once in a while there are huge booms that come from inside the building somewhere. Sometimes the sound is smaller and appears to come from the ducts in the walls/ceiling of our apartment. In these cases it sounds like there is a kid with a Nerf baseball bat trying to get out of an aluminum box in our ceiling. It's not scary just more strange, especially when you add that picture to it.

Then there are the big booms that must come from somewhere else in the building like the elevator shafts or giant ducts in the hallway or something. These sound like the kid in the aluminum box has been dropped 7 stories onto an immense aluminum bass drum. Then there are the cracking noises which sometimes sound like the expanding or contracting of glass or steel mullions and sometimes sound like the concrete slab of our floor yielding to the storm and dropping us, along with our building, neatly into the harbor.

I swear, I must watch too many movies, but with every *pannng* or *bwooonk* of the building I get some sort of Die Hard-Matrix-Indiana Jones scene playing out in my head. It typically involves the dramatic structural failure and collapse of our building (spalling concrete crumbling, yielding steel creaking, sparks, steam, flickering lights: the works) and subsequent, improbable yet completely possible, valiant action-hero escape of Kane and I to safety. In these daydreams I always remember to grab my laptop, just as Will Smith grabs the cat at the last second as the house is demoed in I Robot. Memories are precious, people.

So that has been our day. Oohing and aahing (and flinching) at the sounds of our building screaming in the wind. We look outside to see that the city is covered with what looks like smog, but since it has only showed up today, we assume it's the dirt and crap that has been kicked up by this gnarly wind. Since it's Melbourne, I anticipate completely different weather conditions tomorrow, whatever they may be, and I look forward to them.