Say goodbye

In between the monotony of our lives in the rat race, every now and then we have a day that passes by like a dream.

Be it an incredible day that feels more like fantasy than reality, or a nightmare you’ve taught yourself to forget, these days provide an overload to the senses and experiences that we register differently to the rest.

The trick is to have as many of the good dreams as possible before the bad ones catch up.

The bad ones will always catch up.

Quit the job you hate, spend a day at the beach doing nothing, take your wife out and make her laugh until her stomach hurts, go on an adventure around the world and take as many stupid, exciting risks as possible.

Because, when the bad days come, you need to be content with your lot.

Last week I watched on as someone’s bad dreams caught up.

Relatives and friends from around the country had come together on a beautiful spring day. Everyone was dressed immaculately. People that hadn’t seen each other for years embraced, old stories were re-told and, as is custom with my relatives, the appropriate levels of guilt were sent my way because of my inability to visit everyone in the room on a weekly basis.

“Is there something wrong with your car Dominic?” asked my Uncle Cosmo, filled with genuine concern.

“No uncle, it runs fine,” I responded, like a sucker.

“Ah, so you just don’t visit me because you can’t be bothered!”

“No uncle! It’s not like that… I… ummm… I’m actually very busy and important at work!”

“Bah!”

I’m convinced that this older Italian generation was born with a special talent to create guilt. It’s a tool of oppression that works way too well.

It was a picture-perfect day. The perfect atmosphere for drinking, laughs, games and photos.

But, you can’t do those things at a funeral.

A much-loved and respected member of the family had passed away, leaving behind a great legacy and a loving family.

Throughout the day at the church, cemetery and wake, I took in all of the old traditions and thought to myself:

I wonder what Clarinda would say if she could have looked forward in time 60 years ago and seen all of this. 

I wonder how I’ll be sent off when it’s my time to go.
 
Wait a second… Why is there a statue over there of an adult Jesus holding baby Jesus?

What would a 26-year-old Italian girl, fresh off the boat in Australia, think of all this?

There was a packed church filled with people who loved her, four sons with great families of their own and a husband who was completely lost, looking into the distance, longingly, without the love of his life for the first time in 60 years.

What would she say if she could look forward and see this?

All of this is for me? What could I have possibly done during my life to deserve all of this fanfare?
 
What the hell are those metal flashy things people keep checking in their pockets? What’s with all the tattoos?
 
Wait a second… Why is there a statue over there of adult Jesus holding baby Jesus?

What would anyone say if they had a chance to say a few words at their own funeral?

This train of thought lead to my idea of the future funeral video – a film shot today for my future funeral, whenever that may be.

Here’s the script I’m working on:

Welcome to my funeral!

Firstly, I don't like the word funeral, so, let's call it Dom’s Deadsie Party.

I’m going to operate on the assumption that I survived to be old and grey – old enough to have my pants comfortably sit around my belly button and to have an opinion on the pension.

I’m also going to assume I managed to keep a few friends and family around– people who put up with my bad jokes and shit along the way. 

A few quick messages;

Any Collingwood supporters throw your hands up.  Can I get a high five for the 10-15 premierships we’ve clearly won by now!? Woo!

To my future, mythical wife:
If you exist and I didn’t die alone like the kid at McDonald's prophesised last week… you married me? Seriously? Wow, did I not warn you about my phobia of spiders or how easily I can get lost? Did you see me dance sober before the wedding? What was it that got you over the line? My awkward charm?
Thanks for coming on this ride with me, I’m sorry about my general cluelessness on most things in life – I can only assume that got worse than it is now.

If you exist, I'm sure the guy in the coffin over there would say you were the best thing to ever happen to him. I'm sure he would say that some of the best moments of his life featured sitting on a couch, doing nothing with you. I'm sure he would say that you're beautiful – that you’re a star. I'm sure he would say that he loved you... Or... he could have been a jerk and complained about your cooking. No one likes their eggs overdone, so if you’re keen on re-marrying, clean up your bloody act.

To my future, mythical kid/s:
I'll tell you what the guy in the coffin may have kept to himself:  there is a great chance you were 'pleasant surprises' – a drunken accident between your mum and I. Don't worry, we loved you anyway, except when you cried at 3am – I genuinely thought about donating you to scientific research during some of those nights.

Some of my happiest days in life were spent watching you play that sport/activity/hobby you love.

If I won the argument with your mum, you should be named Wheels, lightning or Flash – no need to thank me.

Just in case the old me left you nothing cool in his will, I have a backup plan for you. When I was 9 years old, your uncle Anthony and I buried 50 cents in our backyard. If my calculations from 1995 are correct, it should now be worth thousands of dollars. Break into the backyard in the house we grew up in, start digging behind the tool shed and buy yourselves something nice. You're welcome.

To my siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunties and any other family and friends that stuck by me throughout this whole life – especially that mid-life crisis I plan on having in my 40s – I always prided myself on surrounding myself with great people and you guys… were pretty great.

Have a drink tonight, take photos, play games and please, no one mention the story of how I walked into a streetlight pole in Rome.

Thanks chaps - my happiest days were spent having fun with the people in this room, when the days passed by like dreams.

The Lost Art of Confrontation

It’s said that every person we meet in life has at least one important lesson to impart, whether they mean to or not.

Your grandparents will teach you what it is to love unconditionally. Your Mum will teach you what it takes to raise a family. Your Dad will teach you how to be a man. The people you meet while traveling the world will teach you to make the most of life. A string of beautiful women will teach you all about dealing with disappointment and rejection – the special girls may even help you realise just how big of an idiot you really are.

There are some lessons you’ll learn all by yourself too; like the repercussions of mixing vodka with scotch… and beer… and sambucca… on the same night. Oh boy.

Now, I didn’t expect it when I first saw him, but a young lad who jumped on my train last week had a lesson of his own to deliver.

It was early in the morning on a classic Melbourne winter’s day. As per strict Metro guidelines, I was listening to music on my iPhone with a blank expression on my face, looking out the window, pondering the big questions in life:  

Why do British people never sound British when they sing? 
Who decided the freezer wasn’t worthy of a door light?

My train stopped at Oakleigh and on jumped my new teacher, who sat himself directly opposite me.

Twenty years of age at the most, he was wearing a thick black hoodie, wrap-around sunglasses at 7.42am and sporting one of those looks that said; “My flaming neck tattoo will teach society that I’m my own man and I could totes take anyone in a fight.”

Oh captain, my captain.

When he sat down, he took out his phone and threw on his headphones.

That’s when it began.

This guy was playing music so loudly that I could hear it over my own tunes. He had some cheap earphones that worked more like two concert speakers attached to his skull.

I took my own earphones off to make sure and yep, it was him, listening to what can only be described as a mix between speed metal and cat-torture (I’m more of a Bon Iver man myself, but each to his own I guess).

I turned my own music up and attempted to tune him out. As I sat back, I was wondering; how could he think it’s ok to subject everyone to this? How could the people around him, without their own music to listen to, sit there and put up with the horrible white noise?

Two women and another man sitting around me were clearly upset, shooting a number of quick, angry looks, but, they refused to say anything to this guy – no one thought to quietly ask him to turn it down. This went on for another 30 minutes and the music just got louder and more torturous. Every person in the carriage was exposed.

Why weren’t they saying anything? What was wrong with calmly letting this guy know he was making you uncomfortable? What were they afraid he would do on a packed, peak-hour train?

That’s when it dawned on me – the art of confrontation is dying, right here, right now on this very train.

Society has bred a population that avoids these things like the plague. We are a people filled with repressed anger. Why face a problem? It’s much easier to suffer in silence, then Facebook or Tweet your disgust and frustration right? That will solve everything!

When did we stop standing up for ourselves?

On the spot, while I was having this epiphany, I came up with a new law of physics – I called it Dom’s theory of confrontation.

If left unresolved, confrontation will gain momentum and mass the same way a rolling snow ball does. Confrontation will always grow or multiply into harder, more awkward, confronting moments – it’s science.

The thing you’re all avoiding, that you’re all so scared of – the confrontation – will become worse every time you shy away from it.

• Don’t confront your girlfriend about her crazy, awkward dancing? You’ll end up having to explain to your parents why your date accidentally broke your grandma’s leg at your brother’s wedding.
• Don’t confront your boyfriend about your relationship doubts? End up with an affair and a messy break up two years later.
• Don’t confront your friend about his iced coffee addiction? In 8 months time he’s unemployed on the streets, looking for his next hit.

In every case, if you don’t confront the problem at the first opportunity, it grows into something bigger for not just you, but also those you love.

So, with all of this in mind, I braced myself to face everything these people around me feared: An assault of anger, denial, rejection, ridicule and the chance of violence.

I was ready – my hands were already in secret karate mode. I had positioned my body so my vital organs were pointing away from a potential knife or concealed baseball bat.

I readied my fragile self esteem, waved and grabbed his attention. He took his earphones out and I sat there, ready to confront my fears…

Bravest man in the world: “Hey buddy, not sure if you’re aware, but your earphones are ridiculously loud. By the way, the guitar solo on that last track was missing a D-minor. Do you mind turning it down a bit?”

My fate was now in God’s hands…

Noise terrorist: “Shit, really? I’m so sorry mate, I’ve only had them for a little while and I had no idea. Guess that’s what I get for buying a $5 pair!”

I relaxed my hidden fists of fury, checked my body for stab wounds and I was clean! I’d done it!

Could it be that simple? Did I survive the dreaded confrontation?

Apparently so.

So, the next time you’re thinking about ways to avoid confrontation, remember my theory and the important lesson this guy passed on to me - Don’t buy the new cat torture album – it’s horrible.

Till life do us part

You’re standing at the altar of a church.

Flanked by your groomsmen and surrounded by beaming family and friends, you look down the aisle and see her – the dream girl.

Everyone gasps as she begins walking towards you. A beam of light from the glass roof hits her at the perfect moment and she lights up the whole room – just like she’s been doing since you met her.

She’s wearing a flowing white dress, has a nervous tear rolling down her cheek and may or may not have gone overboard on the fake tan for her big day.

She’s arm-in-arm with her proud father – the angry, scary man you nervously asked for permission 16 months earlier.

As she reaches the altar and looks you in the eye, all of life’s little worries disappear.

She is still that fun, beautiful girl you met four years earlier while arguing about football on the train. This is the girl you’ve never had a dull moment with, the girl who inspires you, the girl who makes every conversation interesting, the girl everyone wants to be around.

And, for some unknown, idiotic, crazy, ridiculous reason, she wants to be with you - even after the whole forgotten birthday debacle of 2009, even after meeting your family, even after seeing you dance while sober.

You would do anything for this girl. You’d quit smoking, you’d give away your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle collectable toys – you’d even sit through an entire episode of The View.

You can’t hear the priest talk as you look into her eyes.

Apart from Collingwood winning the flag and that day you found $100 in your jeans, this is the best moment of your life.

Nothing will ever tear you apart – this is the girl you’re going to spend the rest of your life with. The girl you’re going to start a family with. You’re happy. You’re certain.

Then… you wake up.

Five years has gone by and you’re living in a unit alone. There’s nothing in your fridge but expired milk and your car keys. Your dream girl or,‘she who shall not be named’, got the house, the car, the dog and your dignity.

Things turned ugly after you promised you would stay friends, but you did manage to keep your collection of basketball cards and Scrubs DVDs.

You still sit down every day and ask yourself – what the hell happened?

This is the tale of the unlucky 50-odd% of people who tie the knot in the modern age.

As a single, immature man looking in, it’s very easy for me to sit back and judge... so, I will.

We live in an age where we are taught to avoid long-term commitments and contracts like the plague. Phone contracts, personal loans, mortgages - as a community, we've woken up to how evil these things are. I think that realisation has subconsciously affected how people are looking at marriage.

Don’t like where your commitment is heading? It's never too late to cut the cord and find a better deal right?

Reading some football news last week had me thinking: Would performance-based contracts used in the sporting world work in a marriage?

“For better or worse, in sickness or health, till the summer of 2017 when we’ve agreed to sit down and re-evaluate where we are as people.”

Could the short-term marriage contract re-ignite passion and lower divorce numbers? Struggling couples get a taste of marriage and can peacefully part ways and test the free agent market. Couples still going strong get an extension and ‘bonuses’ in their next deal.

I can already imagine hiring a wedding agent to broker your new deal.

"Listen, she's really close to signing on the dotted line, but we need you to include soiled nappies to the list of new chores for 2013."

It’s not just marriages that could be improved with this system. Imagine what it could do to parenthood.

“Timmy, your mother and I are not satisfied with how you are gelling with the rest of the family. We warned you about the clothes on your floor and stealing cookies from the pantry. I’m sorry son, but we’ve decided to go in another direction. Go pack your things.”

We could be on to something here.

Personally, I still believe in the ‘till death do us part’ bit.

50 years down the road, I want to be sitting on a park bench with my wife, discussing my last reverse parking job, not caring about the noises my body makes. I really do.

I bet that when I’m there with this theoretical wife, she’ll be sitting down, watching me yell at young park hooligans, wishing she signed that 5-year deal.

Off the rails

No place provides a more accurate commentary of our community than a peak-hour train.

Rich sitting with poor, showered with un-showered, black with white, Collingwood with Carlton - The coming together of people of all ages, demographics and sanity levels on those creaky, sweaty trains is a thing of beauty.

Melbourne’s train service gets an unfair rap. The design of the line is flawed - no one thought to cater for population growth and the city’s wild weather. As a result, trains will always be late, there will always be delays – unless the Government spent a squillion dollars and re-did the whole thing.

Train commuters get a bad rap too. Everyone remembers the crazies, the loud and the oafish. The mild-mannered, normal and well-centred people (which cater for at least 95% of your surroundings) leave you with nothing memorable, nothing worthy of a dramatic or funny Facebook status update.

No one comes home from work and tells his wife, “You won’t believe how quiet and well-mannered the man next to me on the train was today! My train was on time too!”

Those days are forgotten faster than the last winner of Australian X-factor.

I’ve caught the Subway in New York, the Tube in London, the Go in Toronto and the… uh… the le’train in Paris - some have better timetables, some have better air-conditioning, some have better cushions on the chairs, but, basically, they’re all the same. We really don’t have much to complain about.

On the very odd occasion I’ve caught a train to work, I’m usually in shock. In shock at how tired I can be at 6am and in shock at the price I pay for a ticket. But, I’m never in shock at the people - people may entertain, but they never surprise.

Dressed in work attire, carrying my ‘business bag’ that has nothing in it but gum, earphones and a book I have no intention of reading, I pass the time listening to music, doing my best not to stare at people and playing the ‘people profile game’.

The people profile game is an exercise in educated guess work. You are only allowed to glance at someone for 5-10 seconds and then you have to come up with a short life story.

This game was perfected while sitting in airports alone around the world. It's guaranteed to stave off boredom for 30-45 minutes.

Let's play.

Bill, 32, is an I.T consultant who makes 150k a year doing something that comes as easily to him as breathing. He’s reached that happy place in his marriage with Nicole, 31, where he can stop caring how he looks in public. He’s looking forward to the next season of Big Bang Theory and wants to put off having kids till he’s finished the new Call of Duty video game. His wife dreams of going overseas and having amazing adventures – he doesn’t see the appeal.

Jess, 27, hates her job, her boyfriend and her life, but, will never stand up for what she wants. Jess thinks that everyone is miserable and she just has to ‘love the one she’s with’. She once studied to be a veterinary nurse, but gave that away. Unfortunately, she’s terrified of the confrontation that comes with change - she’s also terrified of clowns. Her favourite show on TV is Beauty and the Geek and she cries while watching animal documentaries.

Ricky, 19, is wearing his new flat-peaked hat and sunglasses on a cloudy, overcast day. He finally finished off his new sleeve tattoo last week after designing it with his friend Nathan. The tat will finally give him that cool, unique edge he’s been looking for since he grew his fringe out. Ricky wants to know why the elderly people sitting around him have been giggling and holding in a laugh for the entire trip.

George, 72, is fighting the urge to tell the teenager sitting in front of him that there is still a sticker on his hat and the tattoo on his arm is spelt incorrectly. George despises taking the train and relying on someone else to get him where he is going, but, he has no choice – his wife always did the driving for him. George has been a shell of a man since losing Jude four years ago. He writes a letter to her every year on her birthday and leaves it at the root of her favourite tree.

Josh, 22, wants people to take him more seriously. He studies the mannerisms and posture of his hero, George Bush Jnr, while pretending to understand what he’s reading in the Financial Review. His goal in life is to be a CEO and one day talk to a girl about anything besides work and politics. Josh once made a noise complaint in an Amsterdam backpacker’s hostel at 9.30pm – he was laughed out of the country.

Rahul, 38, has lived in Australia for the last eight years after relocating from India. He likes the way the streets don’t smell like death in his new home. Rahul makes enough money to live comfortably and buy the exciting gadgets he sees everyone using on the train, but he sends every spare cent he makes back home to his ex-wife and children. Sending that money away doesn’t anger him nearly as much as watching India lose in the cricket.

Jack, 81, and Pauline, 78, catch the train together on Fridays to babysit their grandchildren who live in Clayton. They’ve been holding hands and slow-dancing in department stores since they got hitched in 1956. They whisper in-jokes to each other and play their own version of the people profile game. Like George, they’ve noticed Ricky’s tattoo is spelt wrong and Pauline almost lent over to peel the sticker off his hat. Jack and Pauline love shocking young people by taking out their iPhones and discussing new apps.

Now, occasionally, looking into the foggy, graffiti-covered windows, you’ll catch a glimpse of the easiest profile target there is.

Dominic, 25, will one day base his fatherhood on what he has learnt from Ray Romano, Phil Dunphy and Homer Simpson. He’s scared of spiders, horror films and the return of the TV show Big Brother. He loves his Beagle, his Nonna and spring. His favourite dish is broccoli and pasta. He doesn’t understand why people enjoy burning their mouths with chilli. His next adventure will most likely be his first house and he’s still trying to work out how to conduct himself like an adult.

Dom is waiting, with less and less patience every day, for his real life to begin.

The next time Dom catches a train, he’s going to sit closer to Jack, Pauline and George. He wants to hear some old tales, listen to the in-jokes and, most importantly, be there when Ricky finds out that the letter Z shouldn’t appear in the word ‘established’.


Yep, these are the people you’re catching your next train with.

Enjoy.

The list

I need goals – something to put my energy and time into - something to justify the rat race.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a family, house, overseas holiday or collection of antique plates, I need something. I need that purpose.

I can’t coast through a 9-5 life without something exciting waiting at the finish line. Most of the time even exciting won't do - it has to be extroadinary.


This is the reason why I wanted to challenge myself while I was on my holiday with a list of ‘things I had to do’ while I was in the USA and Canada.

It’s also the reason why I’m slowly losing my mind now that I’m home. After a year of putting my time and effort into the holiday and the adventure, I don’t know what’s next.

The next challenge, the next goal, the next dream, will hopefully reveal itself soon.

Now, when I put this list together more than three months ago, I said that if I could knock off everything, the trip would have been a success. It was one of those rare moments in life where I was right.

It added an element of fun that I wasn’t expecting. It gave quiet days more purpose. It turned little moments into big moments.

Luckily, I had family and friends to help me along the way and, luckily, I was able to capture most of the moments I’m talking about.

Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.


Drink beer out of a red cup

During my first night in Toronto, I was taken to an ‘eviction’ house party and upon entering, I saw the fabled red cups. The same red cups we have all seen in every TV show, every movie and every bit of footage that involved Americans drinking at parties.

Hands shaking, pulse racing, Canadian accents and the word ‘abote’ ringing in the air, I poured in some vodka and coke and took a sip…


To my shock and disappointment, it tasted like vodka and coke. The cup had no magical taste-make-betterer powers.

So, I still have no idea why they drink out of red cups. I have no idea why they don’t mix it up with green cups, orange cups or something cooler like my Bugs Bunny cup, but it was fun ‘testing’ the cup’s powers all night and knocking the first thing off the list.



Start writing a book

On the scenic train ride from Toronto to Montreal, I took out my baby laptop and had a crack at this book business. There is something about travel and solitude that makes writing easier – it provides an inspiration that I can’t find anymore.

The thing is slowly coming along. I won’t bother anyone with the details until it’s done.

The release date is set for January 2042.


Attend all sports in season

Between baseball, football, basketball and hockey, there are two days in the USA calendar year that don’t have some kind of professional sport being played.

For you gamblers out there, that’s 364 chances to go bankrupt.

I loved every game I went to. Loved the roar of the home crowd at baseball games, loved the pace and violence of ice hockey, loved catching a foul ball in Toronto, loved the over-use of the national anthem, loved the hot dogs, loved the beer…. Didn’t love garlic fries – very nearly threw up on the old lady next to me at a Mariners game.

Worst invention ever Seattle.

I was able to get to four baseball games (Toronto v Baltimore, Seattle v Boston, Oakland v Baltimore and Chicago v Pittsburgh), an ice hockey game (Buffalo v Carolina) and a Major League Soccer game in Toronto (Toronto v some Mexican team).

I couldn’t get to a football or basketball game. The first week of the NFL season fell on the weekend I was in NY and tickets were astronomical so I couldn’t make it and unfortunately, the NBA is still in lockout due to a player strike.



Drive left-handed car without crashing

For two months, every time I went to get into a car, I walked over to the left side like an idiot while the driver patiently waited for me to realise I wasn’t in Australia.

During the first few weeks, I was sure I was going to die every time my cab driver flew down the wrong side of the road.

Somehow, I survived.

With a couple of days left and during a rare sober moment, Canadian friend Nadine bravely let me drive her Mazda around the quiet country town of Muskoka.

Four passengers put their lives at risk and through the grace of God (and the barren, empty roads) I got them back to our cottage.


Give homeless guy money

I can count on one hand the amount of homeless people I’ve seen in Melbourne. On the times I have seen them, they never begged me for anything.

To say I was unprepared for what was waiting for me in both Canada and the US is an understatement.

In most cities, the homeless were literally on every street corner and they were never shy about asking for money.

In most cases it was a sad sight. In others, it was annoying. On the rare occasion it was kind of entertaining.

My theory for giving a handout was that if they were going to get my money, they had to earn it. They had to be clever and creative.

Some of my favourite lines included:

“Buddy, can I borrow your ATM card? I’ll take out $20 and give it right back, I swear.”

“That guy over there is asking for a dollar, I’ll take a quarter, what makes more sense fiscally to you?”

“I don’t want any money, I just want food-money. Food-money is different.”

The winner of my homeless donation was the guy pictured – his sign was the best I saw for the entire two months.


Win a game of beer pong

When I got to LA, my hostel was a thing of beauty. A bar with cheap drinks, live music every night and, most importantly, a custom-made beer pong table.
This was my best chance to knock this challenge off the list.

On a quiet night, I wondered down into the bar and started playing.

After 4-5 games of failure, that resulted in more alcohol and less motor skills, I teamed up with ‘Freo Dan’ from Perth and we got the job done against two guys from Germany.

To say I paid for my victory the next day is an understatement.

Learn a new drinking game

Growing up, drinking games were never big with my mates. We’d usually just go out to a pub/club or have a drink playing poker. So, when it comes to drinking games, I’m an absolute novice.

I think this is where the Yanks and Canucks have it over us. They do ‘home drinking’ with a bit more enthusiasm – a bit more fun.

Some of the games I learned included ‘flip cup’, ‘spoons’ and we drank while playing a card game called Phase 10.

For the record, I don’t think I came close to winning once in any of the above.


Hit 26 black on roulette in Vegas

26 is my number. On the odd occasion that I play the horrible, horrible game that is roulette, that’s where I focus all of my hope and most of my bets.

While in Vegas, we were having a lot of fun (and a fair slice of luck) playing black jack, so roulette took a back seat for the first two nights. On the third night, I found a table and ticked this goal off the list.

It cost me $50, but eventually, 26 came up, I won most of my money back, escaped the table filled with drunken Mexicans and got in trouble for using my camera to take this photo.



Have a Chicago deep dish pizza

When I told an American friend of mine about this list and the fact I was planning to visit Chicago, he demanded I try a deep dish pizza.

It wasn’t a recommendation, it was an order.

So, after a few days in Chicago, making the most of the passion for sport, food and fun, I found my pizza place.

It was a Sunday afternoon and I had made the mistake of committing to a three-hour wait to go up outside Sears Tower for 15 minutes. An Aussie travel buddy and I were tired, hungry and sunburnt when we wondered into a little Italian restaurant that made the famous pizzas.

They lived up to the hype.

Set up more like an Aussie meat pie than a traditional pizza, the toppings and ingredients were stuffed on the inside… and it was delicious.

The pizza was one of the many beautiful things that expanded my waist over the two months.


See a live gig

This one was hard.

After three weeks of missing my favourite bands by a day or two as I moved from city to city, I finally caught some luck in San Diego.

A young, up-and-coming band called Imagine Dragons were playing at an old, run-down club close to where I was staying.


I had downloaded the new Imagine Dragons album only a week or two before the holiday and it was on high rotation for most of the trip. The band is from Las Vegas and has the potential to be very very big, really really soon.

I even met the lead singer of the band before the show - Dan Reynolds – really cool guy.

With old Contiki friend AJ De Paolo down with me, the band provided the perfect backdrop as we caught up on our Europe days and had about 15 drinks too many.

Great show, great night.


Don't get shot/don’t get robbed

I am completely bullet-free and if you’re not counting all the times I was ‘robbed’ by dealers in Las Vegas, I escaped thieves too.

Apart from one dicey moment where I was approached by a gang in downtown Seattle while all alone and very, very scared, I never feared for my life and I never even witnessed a crime, which… was a little bit of a letdown.

Get lost in NY - disgustingly lost

Once you get use to New York, it’s actually a really, really easy city to navigate. Every street is numbered, there are world-famous landmarks everywhere and the people are surprisingly helpful.

But, those that know me know that I can still find a way to get lost… easily.


On my first day in the city, I had to take the subway from the airport into the city.

The subway got me. I missed my stop, turned around and missed it again.

Finally, with some help, I got out of the subway, lugged my 25kg suitcase up what must have been 600 stairs and started wondering around the city.

Two hours, two wrong buildings and one awkward conversation with a homeless guy later, I found my hostel and the fun began.


Supersize something

So, it turns out that after the PR nightmare that was the movie ‘Supersize Me’, McDonald’s stopped supersizing their food!

This was the conversation I had with the guy behind the counter in one of the thousands of McDonald's in New York.

“Can I please have a supersized coke buddy?”

“Sorry sir, we don’t supersize anymore.”

“What? No! Can you grab a bucket and pour coke into it, just for old-time sake? I need this.”

“No.”

“… I’ll grab a large fries then.”

Turns out their large fries are almost double the size of our large fries in Australia, so I’m counting this as a win by default.


Eat a NY pretzel/food cart hotdog

I had put this off for as long as I could because every time I saw a hotdog stand in NY, it was offensive to all five senses.

Eventually, I bit the bullet. The hotdog was horrible and the pretzel made me thirsty – but, I didn’t get food poisoning so I’m counting it as a win.


Full day on the beach doing absolutely nothing

These were my favourite days. Why? I’ll let the pictures answer that question.




















Honourable mentions


Appearing on the Channel 10 news






















This girl’s hair forming the perfect ‘s’ on her back





















Catching the baseball on the first day of the trip


















Surviving a vicious snake attack in Toronto
















Squirrel!!



















Well, I’ve milked all the inspiration, writing and attention I can out of this holiday. Thanks for coming along on the ride with me.


Time to find a new goal – a new tool to annoy people with.

Till next time, take care.

All good things

I'm home. It's different.

My clothes are clean. The suitcase has been emptied and put away.


If I'm hungry, I can walk to the fridge. If I need to go somewhere, I can hop in a car.

People are driving on the right side of the road.


I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but if you listen carefully, you'll hear Australian accents everywhere in Melbourne.


Now that I'm back, I have lots to look forward to and an endless list of things to do.

The main priority is a second successive Collingwood premiership tomorrow.

I'm happy to see family again, I've enjoyed seeing friends, but I desperately miss travel already.

I'll miss learning new lessons – good and bad.

I'll miss the inspiration.

I'll miss having firsts.

I'll miss doing nothing but sit on a beach and read a book all day.

I’ll miss being day-drunk on a weekday and having no one judge me.

I'll miss being the only Australian in a room.

I'll miss being lost… Actually, scratch that, I'll get lost plenty at home.

I'll miss meeting new people.

I'll miss Holiday Dom.

A final week spent in Toronto encapsulated everything I loved about the trip.

Adventure, family, friends, sights and fun.

Canada is Australia with a picturesque landscape, fewer poisonous animals and funnier accents. It’s my new home away from home – my plan B if Melbourne ever has enough of me.

I think if the USA and Australia ever had a kid, the result would be Canada. If Canada then had an affair with France, the result would be Montreal.

I’m not sure what I ever did to deserve such amazing hospitality from my Canadian family and friends, but it must have been good.


My relatives, the Cicontes and Paolas, housed me, fed me, entertained me and even smuggled me past the US border to attend my first NHL hockey game. A big thank you to Tom Ciconte, his wife Liz and future sporting star Luke.


I won’t mention the fact that we got stuck at the border at Buffalo and were lucky to avoid a cavity search. I really won’t.

I was taken to cottage town Muskoka by friends Nadine Green and Andrew Brandt and shown a place that, alcohol poisoning and liver damage aside, sits somewhere between fantasy and reality.

The words “oh for sure”, “ya” and “aboat” will live on in my heart forever.

Cheers Canada, I’ll definitely be back.

The trek home held none of the excitement and promise as the one two months ago.

As if a 15-hour flight from Vancouver to Auckland isn't long enough, the woman next to me rubbed some salt in my wounds, coughing sneezing and complaining for 15 hours straight.

Some people just never got that whole 'human decency' lesson at school.

Here’s a thought, why in the world does the captain of a plane have to always say “This is your captain speaking.”?

Who else is it going to be?

Just once, I’d love to hear over the loudspeaker, “Hello, this is Timmy speaking… Hello?... Hello?... Mummy?... Where’s Mummy? Where are my toys? I want my juice! I think I went wee wee in my pants!”

The flight did have a bit of entertainment.

As we were landing in Auckland, a five-year-old boy woke up and felt the plane descending. The kid panicked and yelled at the top of his lungs, "The plane is going down!!! Dad, the plane is going down!!"


"No Shaun, we’re landing, everything is fine. We are landing on the ground."

"No, it's going down, I can feel it!! Are we going to die dad? We can visit Pop!"

This holiday delivered everything I could ask for and more.

Unfortunately, all good things do have to come to an end.

Hopefully there’s a few more to come.

New York - April's city

Start spreading the news. I'm leaving today. I want to be a part of it...

New York, New York.

Before I arrived, I was excited, but fatigued. The drinking and lack of sleep had caught up with me. I didn't know if I'd have the energy to appreciate the city.

You don't need energy for New York. New York provides it.

It started with a ride on the subway - an experience in itself - to the corner of 55th Street and 8th Avenue, meeting up with friends from home -Ryan Attwood and Natalie McPherson- and finding a packed Aussie bar to watch Collingwood win a final in the AFL.

It only got better from there.


It just so happened that Ryan and Nat were in the city at the same time as me on their own travels. It also just so happened that they were staying within a two-minute walk of my building. Spending six days with them was a relief. Having a few cooked meals, having someone to help with directions, having someone to enjoy the sights with - it was a great change of pace.

Times Square, Yankee Stadium, the Museum of Natural History, the Empire State Building, the 10-year anniversary of the twin tower attacks, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Grand Central Station and 'the top of the rock' - Rockefeller Tower at night. We did it all and not one destination disappointed.

There was also the small matter of getting on the news back home after a Channel 10 reporter spotted us in the crowd at the 9/11 memorial site, throwing a camera way too close to our faces.

You couldn't make up some of the things that have happened to me on this trip.

After six days we covered everything on the checklist and after Ryan and Nat left, I had another three days to slow down, wonder around and get lost.

The city is organised chaos. A living and breathing thing that has slowly melded together perfectly. There is a unique mix of old-world character, modern wonders and American charm. That 'buzz' that everyone told me about is all around you.

You can take a million pictures, but you'll never do the sights justice. You can write forever, but never capture everything you experience. But, it's amazing to try. Some of the best art ever created and best literature ever written has come from people that tried.

It's not hard to tell the locals and tourists apart. The locals are walking at the speed of light, all with headphones on, weaving around cars, ignoring traffic lights and the threat of certain death. The tourists are walking slowly, mouths opened a little, staring skyward at the surrounding buildings, believing that everything they see is photo-worthy - because it is.

I never received any of the famous New York rudeness that I was warned about, but, some stereotypes did ring true.
Every driver is physically-attached to their horn. You don't even have to do anything wrong, these people just love their beeping, even when it can't possibly achieve anything.

"Hmmm, peak hour traffic, maybe, just maybe, if I really get into this horn and be as loud and annoying as possible, things will open up for me, just like Moses and the Red Sea! Only one way to find out..."

If the city lives, Central Park is its heart and soul. Nestled peacefully in the centre of the hustle and bustle is one of the most beautiful parks you'll ever see.
Immaculately maintained and offering the ideal balance of water, flora and room to spread your wings, it's the perfect escape.


The running and riding tracks are framed by unmatched scenery and beauty. No one else knew it, but I was the winner of three marathons. The people I was running against just didn't want it as much as me.

Hidden in one of the park's most picturesque spots is John Lennon's 'Imagine' memorial. When I walked by, there was a large crowd of people just sitting around the decorated tribute, listening to a fan with an acoustic guitar play all the great man's classics - unforgettable moment.

On my second last day I was armed with a laptop, towel, some music and a cheesy 'I love New York' t-shirt as I walked through the park, looking for a quiet spot to stop, relax, write and do as little as possible for the entire day.

I found my spot.

Next to one of the park's small lakes was a deck chair with a message engraved in the wood. It read:

''April, when I think on thee, all losses are returned and sorrows forgotten. To me, you were more beautiful than this park and more inspiring than this view. When I sit here and close my eyes, I can still feel your head on my shoulder. This city belongs to you. I'll love you forever - Bobby. ''


Sitting on April and Bobby's chair, imagining the couple sitting there, growing old, taking in the park, watching as the city peaks through in the background, I had a couple of thoughts. Firstly, nice touch Bobby - someone is definitely getting pancakes in heaven. You can't find words like that for someone unless you truly mean them. Secondly, there's a reason why people flock from around the world to come to this place.

They come here to fulfil a dream in a city of opportunity unlike any other. They come here to be inspired, get the best out of themselves and become part of the culture and history - just like April and Bobby.

But, not everyone makes it. For every person in a suit, for every happy family, for every success, for every April and Bobby there is a another person holding a sign promoting a $5 sandwich at Subway, a homeless man on the street with a depressed dog as his only companion and another guy with a bag of 'goodies' for sale that included condoms, white wine, water, maps and ponchos - I'm not even kidding.

Sure buddy, I'd love to buy stuff from a stranger who smells like death. How much for your condoms that look like they expired in 1992? And that pre-opened bottle of wine, how many drugs did you throw in? Only a little you say? Sold!

There is a perfection even in the flaws of New York. I'm really going to miss this city.



I know I'm coming to the end - the end of the trip, the end of adventure. I'm really looking forward to finishing this off where it all started - Toronto.

For now, I have to say goodbye to April's city. Hopefully I'll be back one day.

When I think on thee, all of my losses will be returned and sorrows forgotten.