Filed under sports

all these events – i feel so social and poor

Post-school life is starting to come together (though I kind of need a job). I mean, I have classes coming up again in May, but now that all my friends have graduated it kind of feels like I have too. I’ve also gotten to play a new game and go to a conference and be part of Jamie’s four-night trivia blitz.

For a research project I’m working on I got to interview a former National Librarian of Canada last week, and she was adamant that going to conferences without having a job to do is pointless. I think that makes sense. This Saturday I’m going to be doing some liveblogging for the North Shore Writers Festival, which should be fun. I’m going to be a convenor for the BC Library Conference in the middle of May and I’m volunteering at VanCAF. I mean, I had fun wandering around at Emerald City, but I do like having something to do.

Also, when Sean comes to town in June the Vancouver Canadians will be playing. It works out that we’ll be able to go to a baseball game in the afternoon and then the Bombers-Lions CFL season opener in the evening.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

i am a big fat dynamo

Today I did my taxes, got some more Lego out of storage, bought minor bits of recording equipment, dropped off my Emerald City film to be developed, got new passport pictures taken and purchased inner tubes for my bike (because I got a flat the other day coming home from school). That was all before 4pm and watching baseball (on TV in a bar).

The home opener for the Jays season was spoiled by our exceedingly handsome closer, who was unable to not blow the save. Le sigh. At least Colby Rasmus made an excellent diving catch and hit a triple (which, even though it’s illogical, is a feat I respect way more than a home run, no offense to Mister Bautista), and I watched the game in good company.

One of the things I really enjoyed about our Easter dinner yesterday was one of my friends being a little drunk and really wanting to take us all to a goth night. Her pitch to me was “Goth girls are all hot and they love librarians so you should completely come.” While I agree that goth girls are hot, and that their librarian preferences are probably a bit higher than the general population, I didn’t go to that part of the evening. And it turns out that was just as well, because the bar they ended up at was doing a lesbian night as opposed to goth, which would have hurt my chances for love far more than my lack of ink and paleness.

Remember how I talked about the cherry blossoms being awesome here? This is my fucking bus stop/skytrain station:
where i catch the bus
Spring here is great. I don’t care if you’ve already hit 20 degrees for weeks on end in Winnipeg because the planet is boiling.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

biking and the inevitable decay of all flesh

I neglected to ride my bike to school on Wednesday. No, not neglected. I chose not to, because I wanted to finish the book I was reading on the bus. Which worked out, but man oh man I get frustrated waiting for overcrowded buses to get me home when I could be moving. I decided to bike on Friday to my 8am class to make up for the frustration (even though my schedule works well for comfortable Friday busing).

Part of not biking on Wednesday was because I failed to make it the whole way up the hill on Monday. Now, I was never really in shape as a younger man, so I don’t have any real notion of being past my peak. I have friends who complain about being sore after playing sports that they used to do without ill effects. I have always had ill effects from sports, so I don’t have some better time to compare things to. Due solely to never pushing my physical limits when I was younger, I still feel like I have room to improve my strength and fitness and whatever. Anything I did yesterday I should be able to do tomorrow.

So on Monday when I had to stop and walk my bike up the last 10 metres to my normal “pause to survey the city” point, it sucked. And because it sucked I was scared that maybe that had been it, and I’d never be able to climb that hill again. But on Friday at sometime after 7am I did climb it in my normal fashion, and it was a bit of a relief.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

sometimes i watch sports

I love baseball. True fact. But this past week I read The Complete Essex County and it was about small-town Ontario life and hockey played a big part in it. Today was Hockey Day in Canada so while I worked my afternoon away I took the opportunity to stream NHL games and feel a bit more stereotypically Canadian.

There is something about the way a hockey game is called that is calming just because of its familiarity. While baseball commentators on TV or radio can annoy the hell out of me (Buck, McCarver, Morgan) because of the inanity of what they say, I barely hear the words coming from the hockey game. I know friends of mine have strong opinions of who is damned good at their job in the booth hanging over the ice, who should never be allowed near a mic and who should have retired fifteen years ago, but to me hockey all sounds the same. It’s just this chanting cascade of names in succession (Tanguay to Jokinen to Iginla to Jokinen shoots Luongo saves), and it’s soothing as all hell.

Sean, who preferes football, and I have talked about the American ability and proclivity to mythologize the fuck out of things (he’s better at explaining it than I am). Listening to these games today I was thinking about how the announcers’ hockey chant is less a mythologizing than a ritualizing. In the game itself there’s no room for much more than the names, while baseball announcers have epochs to tell stories between pitches. Baseball’s got sagas while hockey’s doing rosaries.

Kind of bullshit, I guess, but something I might keep in mind. For future refinement.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

when you’re out of fuel, i’m still afloat, puking and shivering

Sunday I learned that I like songs about surfing much more than the actual act. There’s something about swallowing all that seawater and relying on my spindly arms for propulsion and being so terribly cold that isn’t really conveyed in the melodies of the Beach Boys.

The members of our house got a deal on surfing lessons and so we took them. At the time Holly said “Really?” when I said I’d try too. And yes, surfing probably was never going to really be for me, but I’m here in Australia and it seemed like something I should do when I’m here. I mean, I haven’t had the chance to manhandle koalas or introduce an invasive species or anything. But surfing I could at least try. Maybe I would really like it.

I didn’t.

It might have been better if I’d had a wetsuit that actually fit me. Supposedly they’re supposed to let a little water in but it gets stuck in there and your body warms it up and you’re all insulated. When you’re skinny and wearing a rented wetsuit that’s flopping around and isn’t close to being tight, the water just flows through and it’s like you’re just splashing around in the cold cold ocean. Which I don’t really do for enjoyment.

I ended up bailing out after being flung around by the sea enough to know that the fleeting moment of being pushed along by the sea trying to touch the moon wasn’t worth the pain and pukiness.

The instructors were good about coming to check on me sitting on the beach and shivering, to make sure I was all right. But the one guy said I would have really enjoyed myself if I’d gone back in. I know myself well enough to be able to call him on that lie, but he was just a twenty-year-old trying to talk about the stuff he loved to do, so I just told him not to worry. I did not explain how little my body and I have in common, and how little trust there is between us, and how that trust was easily shattered and wasn’t going to be repaired by heading out into the ocean again to get even colder.

So yes, I have tried surfing. I don’t live everything completely secondhand. Which was kind of the point of that endeavour.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

decadence and depravity so completely optional

Today was the something-or-otherth running of the Melbourne Cup, a massive horse race in Melbourne (though if you watched any of it you might be forgiven for thinking it took place in an Emirates airliner). Despite my work history I know and care very little about horse-racing. I know how the bets work but couldn’t handicap a horse if my two dollars depended on it. Which it did. I will now spoil the ending to this story by revealing that I am not now a millionaire due to my horse-picking skills. Nor a thousandaire.

A couple of weeks ago Edmund asked if I was interested in going to a lunch for the Melbourne Cup as a “team-building exercise.” The three of us from the office would go to a lunch at the Art Gallery where an ABC announcer would be calling the race and there’d be champagne and classy hats and it would all be an appropriately glamorous event. I said sure, and Edmund bought tickets to the fancy lunch.

I was prepared for displays of wealth and/or the aspirations towards wealth and got my observational mind ready to take notes. I mean, that’s what writers do at horse races, right? Observe the people who care about the sport of kings and how utterly appropriately they behave in accordance with those aspirations. So today I wore a tie for camouflage and was ready for Derby-day-esque 1% shenanigans.

We were in the elevator heading down to Edmund’s car when he was looking at the tickets we had. And he paused. “The National Gallery of Art? That’s not what they call it.” The three of us shared consternation (in glancing and frowning form). Edmund had a terrible feeling that was confirmed when we went back up to the office to check the internet: this lunch was in Canberra.

This is the hazard of buying things bound to locations in a medium that is so locationless, I guess. I saw the email Edmund had received and it didn’t actually say Canberra anywhere on it.

So we went for lunch at the nearby Thai place, bought a bottle of champagne and stopped off at a TAB to place a couple of bets before returning to the office to watch the race on our television with poor reception. It was a fine race. Edmund’s horse won, which goes a little way towards offsetting the donation he made to the National Gallery of Art.

And that is my Melbourne Cup story.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

i have (a few, weakly-held) opinions about sports

One of the things that I enjoy about living in different places is the difference in sports people play/watch. I guess it’s because sports are kind of like games (which I love) except they require more physical effort than I’m willing to engage in most of the time. I can take a bit of an interest in what people do to satisfy their practical day to day needs, but what I get excited about is the pointless shit people pour themselves into like inventing people and having them converse, or painting little pieces of plastic and using other pieces of plastic to determine whether awesome or terrible stuff happened to the first pieces of plastic, or whether one group of people can get an object to a place while another group of people tries to prevent that. That shit is gold.

Rugby is big here. So far I missed game one of the big NSW vs Queensland Rugby Union grudge match (State of Origin) through my own forgetfulness. NSW, where I live, lost, so maybe the next one will have even more riding on it? That’s Rugby Union, which is actually less popular. Rugby League has the big pro league. There are a tonne of teams just from Sydney it seems. Technically I think I live in Rabbitohs territory but a case could be made for me being a Wests [sic] Tigers supporter.

When I turn on my TV every once in a while the game I see most though is Aussie Rules Football, which is kind of awesome. I’d tried to learn a bit about rugby many years ago for Tri-Nations (that’s union), so I had a bit of a grasp of how the game worked. Aussie Rules is crazy awesome. They’re allowed forward passes but you can’t throw the ball, only kick or hit it with your fist. If you catch the ball cleanly in the air you get a free kick from the spot you caught it. The point is to get the ball between two narrow uprights for 6(?) points or two wider ones for 1. It’s on a round field and they’re just running all the time. It reminds me more of something like Ultimate than football or rugby, really.

And then there’s netball. This is like basketball except there’s no dribbling: when you catch the ball you have to stay there and throw it. There’re also no backboards to the nets (which are a bit lower than basketball I think) so you’ve basically got to be right under it to score. It’s always women playing it on TV, so I imagine it’s not deemed the most masculine of sports.

There is a baseball league but it’s a summer sport so I haven’t seen it yet. I’ll probably drag Holly to a game in November so I can come home with a Sydney Blue Sox hat.

Woo. Sport in Australia. I thought about doing this half-assed summary because Sean (who got me into blogging so many years ago) is doing some great work with his Bastard Bomber Fans blog. It’s about CFL football, and the Blue Bombers in particular, and is exactly the kind of thing Sean should be writing. Dude knows his football, and cares about it too. And reading his analyses after the fact means I don’t have to feel bad about asking dumb questions or stating obvious things to try and appear like I know what’s going on during the game. As in all games throughout history, everybody wins!

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

elves! cartoon elves!

After work today I went for a walk into Glebe. (Sydney’s neighbourhoods have some excellent names. I like living in Ultimo, which was named after a giant robot foe from the Avengers.) To get to Glebe from the office I cross a park. There’s another, more direct way that takes you past a couple of supermarkets but I was saving that for the loop back. And if I’d gone that way I wouldn’t be able to tell you about what is in this park.

There is a dog-racing track in this park. It has big modern stands and a gate and apparently on Friday nights greyhounds race, because the floodlights were on and the gravel patch near the exercise equipment was full to the chock of vehicles with greyhound-sized trailers and three out of four people in the park were walking these wispy sad-looking animals. (Sad-looking because of their buggy eyes in their skinny heads not because they seemed abused or anything.)

The actual track was still empty and I couldn’t see any way in that was on my path, so I didn’t hang around to check if there were actual mechanical rabbits involved or what have you. It all looked much nicer and less grotty than I’d pictured dog-tracks. Much more modern-looking than the horse-track I used to work at.

Tagged , , , , ,

so close to vagabondery

Yesterday I did my advance voting and there was an Indian gentleman in line in front of me. He was probably in his fifties or sixties and he was pissed off at the election volunteers. See, he gave them ID when they asked and then they had the temerity to ask for something with his address on it (as per Elections Canada rules). He seemed to take it as an affront to his citizenship, saying stuff like “I have lived here for these forty years! You are wrong” Why do you want me not to vote? Fine! I will not vote!” The volunteers were saying that they just needed a bill or something that proved he was voting in the correct place, but he was just angry and convinced everyone was stupid but him. After the supervisor came over to help, he stormed out, leaving his passport behind so he could go get “some stupid piece of paper that I don’t even need!” They were really happy when I was easy to manage.

Then I picked up a pile of great books from Abraham, one of my classmates. A whole shwack of stuff about Chinese history and language and religion, plus a bunch of Italo Calvino books. So good. He’s pared down his books to two boxes which is really impressive. Some days I feel like I’d like to do that. But my books are important to me. I’m not as conflicted about them as I was last year. We’ll see how I feel when I move them away from Vancouver.

And today I packed up all my books and clothes into my storage space. I was very conscious of the order I put stuff in there today, so the most necessary books are more accessible than the infamous theology books. Also, my winter gear is right at the front and accessible for when Holly and I return in December from the height of Antipodean summer and stop off to go to Virginia for Xmas (and for me to make Santa Claus jokes I’m sure no one in that state has ever heard).

I like living in a city undergoing a traumatic sporting event. Everywhere today, people have been talking about this Canucks game tonight. The buses always have their Go Canucks Go signs in their lights, but today they felt a little more urgent. At the van rental place the guy said they might be closed by the time I returned the van “because, y’know, the game.” We’re hosting (I say “we” and “hosting” in the same sentence like I’m actually doing stuff beyond showing up – hell, Marlis is cleaning the kitchen right now while I type) a potluck tonight but it came to our attention that we’ll need to have the hockey streaming or else everyone would stay home. I doubt it’ll be like this in Winnipeg if they really do get an NHL team back, but maybe I’m just a pessimist.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 237 other followers