Goodness, Gracious, Great Balls of Fire!

Melbourne has a rather large casino in its southern district, named the Crown. It sits right along side the Yarra river, and stretches for about five hundred yards. Along the side facing the river are a number of restaurants, shops, and attractions, as well as a scenic foot path with quite a bit of public art and green spaces.

There are also a number of large marble obelisks spaced about fifty feet apart, running almost at the edge of the river, for the length of the casino. They stand about twenty feet tall, and have a nice, quiet waterfall running down two opposite sides, into a small pool at the base.

But that's not all they have.

Every night, they put on a pyrotechnic display at the casino with these obelisks, which entails huge jets of fire erupting from the top, or occasionally a belch of fire in the shape of a giant ball. Many people arrive on the river's edge just before this show starts, to watch it, and ooh and ahh. They enjoy it because they are expecting the fire show, and are looking forward to it.

But if you're not expecting it, suddenly having a marble tower next to you burst into flame scares the pants off you.

I was walking down the path, minding my own business, heading for the movie theathre that is adjacent to the casino's southern end when what I assumed was an invasion began, because something exploded right next to me. Many other things exploded in front of me at the same time. I dove to the left, looking for a park bench to hide under, or a sturdy box to hide behind. Sadly, I only gave myself away as a tourist to the locals, much to my chagrin. It was hard to tell which was more amusing to the crowds in the immediate area, the fire show or the Canadian running for cover.

The casino itself is interesting, as much for the games that are present as for the ones that are not. Having never been to a casino in Las Vegas, I don't know what to expect, but as far as I can tell, the only games played in this casino are Blackjack, Roulette, and Poker. Even the slot machines are based on one of those 3 games. It seemed strange to not see Bacarat, Craps, Keno, or any of the myriad of slot machine games out there in the wide world of gambling. I scoffed at their games, and kept my money to myself.

Progress, with 7 weeks remaining

Hard to believe i've been here for 4 weeks already, and have only 7 left before I get out of Australia. Time does fly.

So I now have both of my major tools standing, and by next Friday, both will be operational. With a little luck, I will have one of the two completely finished at this point, or at least as complete as I can have it with the parts I have on site. The second tool is currently holding a test flap, and the robot programmers are busy working with it, so I have left it for the moment. But I will return to it a week Monday, to add the remaining details yet outstanding.

This will leave me with about 4 weeks to finish the last section of the stuff I need to install. The parts are ordered, and when they arrive, I will be able to install them. The other advantage in this area is that the parts I need to install are 12 versions of a very similar design, and I have two complete sets already here. So I can show others how to install the parts, and if I have to leave before everything arrives, it will not lead to disaster. Maui is under no threat.

Now all I have to do is find a place to live when i'm in paradise. And it better be good because, though it's still quite a ways off, friends of mine who have lived there in the past are already offering even money odds that once i'm there i won't ever leave. We shall see...

Australian MotoGP

I went to the Australian MotoGP race this past weekend, which is the first time I've ever seen live motorcycle racing. It was pretty exciting.

Unlike Formula 1 or NASCAR racing, there is no refueling during a GP race and thus the races are pretty short. On this track, they were 26 laps, and would last maybe 30 minutes start to finish. To fill the day up a bit more, there were also races for lower class bikes.

For those that don't know, motorcycle racing is classed by engine size. The three classes that raced on this day were 125GP, which is a 125cc engine, 250GP, and MotoGP, which is a 1000cc engine. All the engines are unmuffled, and as the displacement goes up, so does the noise.

The 125cc race was a lot of fun to watch. This is usually the class that most professional riders start in, so all the riders are pretty young. In this particular race, the ages varied from 15 to 19 years old. I did find it ironic that the racer who was not allowed to drive himself to the track was allowed to drive a motorcycle at 160km/h. I bet i know what his first vehicle will be.

The 250GP race was the only race that did not have a crash. It was good, and ended on a high note, because the rider who won the race secured the season championship by doing so, so there was much celebrating in his pit crew, and around the track.

As we waited for the Moto race to start, we were treated to a surprise visit from an F-18 fighter jet, as there were Australian Marines at the track, doing some sort of demonstration. We all had to agree that the fighter jet was cooler than the motorcycles, but only just.

Then, at last, it was time for the Moto race. There is no way to describe with words what it sounds like when 24 unmuffled motorcycle engines start up. And these engines are tuned to the absolute limit of performance, which makes them even louder. Most of the engines put out 250-275 hp, approximately the same as my sports car, and they are feeding all of that power into one wheel, attached to a 350lb motorcycle. They are a sight to behold when they are travelling around the track at 300km/h.

Currently there is a rider on the circuit, named Valentino Rossi, who is one of the best riders to ever compete in this sport. He holds most of the records that there are to hold, and he is only 27. Watching him race is like watching a professional among amateurs. It was truly amazing, to see one person excel so much among a field of racers who are the best in the world at what they do.

The day was also interesting because roughly 20,000 people had come to the track on their own motorcycles. Seeing that many bikes in one place was very impressive, and when they all started up to drive home at the end of the day, they almost made as much noise as the Moto bikes.

Expoy Fumes, Allergies, and Bronchial Collapse

Now before anyone reads any further, understand that as I write this, I am fine. However, I had a scare yesterday.

I don't generally suffer from allergies. Or more specifically, I've never been diagnosed by a doctor as suffering from allergies. However, I'm beginning to suspect that I do, at least when I'm exposed to an entire new continent of pollens and airborne stuff for the first time. Lately, I've had a lot of sinus pressure, a runny but non-infected nose, and just general BLAH feelings. I'm taking the usual drugs for this kind of thing, waiting to see if they make a difference.

However, it has weakened my immune system slightly, from it's usual state, and that set me up for my adventure yesterday.

The floors in the factory are being painted while the rest of the installation is happening. I don't think this is the best of scheduling, but no one asked me. The paint is going down in a two part process, first the colour, then a day later a clear coat. This clear coat is nasty stuff, and the people applying it are wearing heavy duty safety gear, to protect their eyes, and heavily filter the air they breathe. I'm willing to chock up the following experience to naivety and inexperience on the painter's part.

Wednesday, one of the younger painters started applying clear coat right next to where we are working. less than 10 ft away. He was in his full safety gear, but offered us nothing, and didn't even warn us that he was about to start using some nasty chemicals. We later set up fans, but 10 minutes of uncut exposure had already done a lot of damage to all of us, making us all cough, and leading later to headaches. Being somewhat slow ourselves, we kept working, and didn't leave the area, thinking that the fans blowing the majority of the fumes away from us would make everything ok.

It didn't

I went home that night with a stuffy head and a bad cough. I went to bed, thinking it would go away overnight, because as soon as i got out of the area, and got some fresh air into my lungs, i was feeling much better. I didn't sleep much, but felt good when i woke up. However, as i was about to find out, I had irritated my lungs rather significantly.

On Thursday i was back at work, and again the painter started working right next to us, this time with the colour layer. Within 30 minutes of him putting paint down, i started coughing, first just a little bit, and then progressively worse, until i was coughing constantly. I went outside to get fresh air, but still the coughing continued. I came back in, and the Boeing site rep looked at me, and told me to go home, which I began preparing to do. A second Boeing rep told me i should think about going to the doctor, and getting some oxygen. Now most of you reading this will know that I am stubborn as a mule when it comes to going to the doctor, so you'll realize the significance of me almost immediately agreeing with this boeing rep, and getting a coworker to drive me to the closest doctor. By the time I got to the doctor, i was having serious trouble breathing, had two lines of pain across my chest, and couldn't stand up straight.

The doctor took me in the back, began listening to my lungs with the stethoscope, and grilling me about asthma. I've never had it, and told him this. He put me on emergency asthma medication anyways, and it made a world of difference. After two doses of this stuff, over about 15 minutes of regulated breathing, I could catch my breath, and the pain in my chest was diminishing. A chest x-ray later, and i was released with some prescrition inhaled asthma medication, in case i started feeling worse.

The short story is this: because of my weakened immune system, my lungs were susceptible to irritation. Thanks to the paint fumes, they were irritated big time, so much that I had an accute asthma attack that mimicked pneumonia in its effects on my lungs. My bronchial tubes nearly closed shut, and my lungs weren't absorbing oxygen. But thanks to the drugs I was administered, everything is back to normal.

The net result is that the painter is shut down on site, and no longer allowed to work when others are in the building. After I left, the safety guys interviewed a lot of my coworkers, many of whom said that they were suffering from headaches or coughs, but had chalked it up to a bug moving around. Turns out we were all suffering the effects of the chemical inhalation, I just got it worse than the rest.

But I'm ok now, treating my allergic symtoms, and resting at home. I should be back at work on Monday, but will be taking it easy this weekend, and not working.

It's a Small World of Crazy AFL fans after all

So the playoffs have started in the AFL. Very interesting format. The top 8 teams in the league make the playoffs. 1 plays 4, 2 plays 3, 5 plays 8, and 6 plays 7 on the first weekend. This was this weekend past. Next weekend, the losers from the two games of the top 4 teams play the winners of the two games from the bottom 4 teams, and the winners from the top 4 get a rest. The losers from the bottom 4 teams are out. The following weekend, the winners from the top 4 teams play the winners from the second weekend, and the last weekend in September is the grand final, between the winners from the third weekend. Everybody get it? Good.

Because it's playoffs, everyone plays a little harder, and a little rougher. How much rougher? The last of the three games i watched this weekend was stopped with 1 SECOND off the clock in the first quarter, because there were three players down on one team with serious injury, and the ball was under one of them. absolutely crazy levels of roughness. And then there was a quaint intermission at half time, with local 8-10 year old leagues playing on the field. After which, the bloodshed resumed for the second half. Honestly, this game is so rough, even Mayans and Incas of years gone by would say "whoa, dude, you might want to back it off a bit"

Yesterday, I went to watch the game live with two local guys named Chris and Ed, or as they prefer to be called, Trimma and Bacon. How do I know Trimma and Bacon? They met my bartender friend Joe while all of them were backpacking through the Czech Republic. I know Joe from Seattle. As far as I know, Joe does not have any nicknames derived from a pork product. But Joe connected me with Trimma and Bacon before I left Seattle, and yesterday was the first time I mananged to connect with them here. The most amusing part for me was listening to Trimma describe himself on the phone, to help me find him in a crowd at the stadium. He's giving the usual "I have short brown hair, i'm somewhat tall, slender..." at which point I interrupted and said "I'm the only 7ft guy in Melbourne. I think you'll be able to find me easily" End descriptive conversation.

Next weekend I'll be going to Philip Island, about 40 miles away, to watch the Australian MotoGP race. Imagine F1 racing, but with motorcycles. Should be both very exciting and very loud. I am definitely looking forward to it.

And that is all for now

Additional site security

I have been working some late nights lately, and when I leave, it's quite dark here. To leave the site, everyone must walk through a narrow path in front of the main security office, and this path is bordered by first a steel handrail, then a hedge.

So as I am walking up the path last night, minding my own business, I look up, and am greeted by a small pair of beady, curious, brown eyes. Perched on the handrail was a brush-tailed possum, who was quite interested to know what i was about. Didn't seem afraid of me at all. When i asked about him, I was told he has moved into the Hedge, and subsequently been adopted by the security guards. So now, he occasionally peeks out at who is coming up the path.

My first encounter with the local fauna. I was amused.

Underground Bars, African Snails, and WiFi

You might not think the three items in the subject could go together, but you'd be wrong. Sit right back and you'll hear a tale of my weekend.

After waiting for more than a week, my containers had arrived in Melbourne Docks, cleared customs, and were scheduled for delivery on Friday. Four containers, one every two hours, beginning at 10:30. All of this arrangement was the result of many emails and phone calls between myself, my coworkers, and our shipping agents here in Melbourne and in Los Angeles. So I had every reason to expect that things would go well on Friday.

Foolish expectations. I only received two of the four containers, because the ship had been infested with African Snails, and many of the containers loaded therein were also now contaminated. Why none of this was mentioned in the 3 days between the containers being unloaded on the docks, progressing through customs and inspection, and when they were arranged for delivery is beyond me. My arguments for shipping the containers anyhow, and i'd have hot garlic butter waiting for the snails fell on deaf ears at the shipping office.

So, after a disappointing end to Friday's working portion, I came home to begin preparing for a show downtown at a venue called the HiFi Bar. Knowing nothing about either the bar or the bands playing beyond their name, I was remaining open minded. I was a tad nervous since I'd talked 9 of my coworkers into accompanying me to this event, and we were meeting still more people there, but was hoping for the best. Our night began in a curry restaurant in Chinatown, being serenaded by a person in an astronaut suit with a build-it pitch modulator and synthesizer. Rarely does one get to eat vindaloo served by a Chinese woman while listening to the theme from Star Trek blasting out of four knobs, two levers and a keyboard installed in an astronaut's chest. I can now cross that off the list of Things to Do Before I Die. I should have realized that the night was about to become interesting.

From the Curry restaurant we went to a bar which was actually an Airstream lunch trailer in an empty lot. Apparently the Liquor Licensing is a smidge more liberal here in Oz. We were briefly there, then wandered to the main bar of the evening, and braced ourselves for anything. Said bar was actually four stories under ground, in the sub-sub-sub basement of a large shopping center. I couldn't really tell you what it looked like, as by the time we arrived, many locals had been down in this bar smoking for what i can only assume was a days-long binge, and had obscured most details of the bar behind a haze of smoke. We did manage to find the bar, and the stage, and by sheer coincidence the many dark stairs contained between the two. The three bands we watched were loud, which is all i can credit them. Thanks to a liberal application of distortion, I never understood a word that any of them sang, and the notes all blurred together. I left convinced that I would hear every sound through the filter of a cotton ball for the next week.

Another feature of note in Melbourne is that there is no official closing time for the bars. As long as they feel like selling and there are customers willing to pay, the bar remains open. So, upon leaving the underground smoke filled cavern at 1am, we moved onto the next bar in what was apparently about to become a night of mythic proportions. Ironically, this next bar was on the fourth floor above ground, and so I was happy at the clever juxaposition of the two. However, I only lasted until 2:30, whereupon I pulled the chute and came home. By Melbourne standards, I am a Friday night wimp.

Needless to say, after such a night, I was not moving at my fastest saturday morning. I had work to do, and thus set up my laptop to begin some design work. Upon checking my email, I learned that I needed to open a file from the US server, to answer a question from my project leader. I launched the "file open" command and then sat back to wait for the file to load. However, due to a wifi connect to the internet here, added to the many links back to my US server, after 3 hours i was still waiting for the rather large file to open. Eventually I gave up and started watching TV. Next time, it's a hard connection for this guy.

And thus I find myself working on a Sunday morning, and now humming Dinah Washington sing "sunday morning kind of love" as I continue the design work I started yesterday. Breakfast will no doubt make an appearance soon, but coffee is the first essential.