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.
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.
posted by BigPete at 4:57 PM
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