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The Impotent Rage of an Inane Blogger

Slackadaisacal

sunny 29 °C
View The Plan... on paper on gsvii's travel map.

Sorry folks, it's been a while.

In the past month and a half I've set up shop 200 metres from the sparkling shores of Bondi Beach in the eastern end of Sydney. The weather is gorgeous, if temperamental, and the women are largely the same. Bondi is a peculiar mix of the uber-rich and the uber-poor: you'll just as easily find shit broke backpackers as you will a metro man doll with a Porsche and too much hair ge or a third generation surfer. But that's just kind of how Bondi works-- the cosmopolitan crowd somehow flow around the dirtbags and try to find fulfillment through an address on a postcard while the rest do their damndest to scratch up the money to pay for the ridiculously expensive beers brought with the gentrification of the area.

I'm currently staying in a hostel right on the main drag off the beach. There's a skatepark nestled on the beach just a quick pedal away, which is pretty convenient, and the view from the top of the big quarter is unparalleled. During a good sunny day it's like looking out on a sea of oiled up boobies from some kind of command post. I guess you could see the the normal sea from up there as well, should you find time for it. On the flipside of the coin, the beach seeths with people on the weekends which personally freaks me out. Especially with the Aussies. I swear to God they're coming off a factory line somewhere. It's almost as if they all called each other up and agreed to wear the exact same thing at the same time. Board shorts, T-shirt/Wifebeater with a technicolour surf print, ''thongs'' (flip flops), the same sunglasses (either Kanye's or Wayfarers), and a faux hawk. I'm telling you, you could rob a bank and disappear into the crowd with absolutely no difficulty, provided your hair gel keeps.

I've been working a bit to pay the bills during the daytime. Every morning (mon-fri) starts at the ungodly hour of 5:30 with the screeching tone of my phone alarm waking everyone else in the 8 person dorms up (sorry guys). I fumble about in the darkness finding my clothes and whatnot, and then attempt to wake up the Irishman I work with. Yesterday I sprayed him with body spray for 2 full minutes, the day before that I dumped a bunch of water on him, and one time last week (after a full night of Irish drinking) I even had the good fortune to be forced to light his knuckles on fire (just here to help). Eventually we tootle off to work, and our journey takes us across the Sydney Harbour bridge where we're afforded unparalleled dawn views of the harbourfront and Opera House. It's picturesque, if slightly miserable. We're busy building a rather large house for a stock broker, but since all the bullshit on Wall Street I'm kind of hoping that our jobs will be in jeapardy. I miss sleeping. We diddle about under the hot Australian sun hauling bricks around, mixing cement, cutting boards, etc etc. It's good honest work and helps pay the bills (largely rent and the 5 litre boxes of wine), keeping things afloat on this end.

Perhaps one of the reasons I've been slacking so hard on the blogging front has been that I think I may be in love with the people in my hostel. It's like a miniature family of every nationality in there...

Oh no! My internet time is about to run out...!

to be continued...

I'll publish it so at least I have something... keep your fingers crossed.

Much love,

Jorje Raoul Ragula VII

Posted by gsvii 01:15 Archived in Australia Tagged disabilities

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