Category Archives: Rants

Lessons in Diplomacy

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I don’t normally talk politics, but this is just too surreal for me not to commentate.

But first, sit down, and humour me for a second. We’re going to play a little word association game.

Think about the following sets of words.

Dennis Rodman. Ambassador for Foreign Affairs.

Wouldn’t you agree that these words go together about as well as Fun and Run?

Or Safari and Suit?

Then it should come as no surprise to anyone, that Dennis Rodman has done as little for human rights issues in North Korea, as a bucket of sand. Indeed it can be argued he has done even less.

So why is there such a media stink about Dennis Rodman refusing to bring up human rights abuses, or the plight of US missionary Kenneth Bae who is currently detained in North Korea, during his recent visit?

North Korea, which bans religious proselytising (amongst, well, everything), claims that Bae was a Christian evangelist who brought “inflammatory” material into the country. As much as I knock North Korea, I kinda wish we had a ban on that too.

Actually, I’m embellishing a little. Rodman did tweet Kim Jong-un, asking him to release Bae. See, he did all he could. #thoughtthatcounts

Don’t get me wrong. North Korea is an awful, awful place. And something should be done to liberate its brain-washed, hostage-held masses.

But is Dennis Rodman the answer?

In fact, to what question is Dennis Rodman ever the correct answer?

Except perhaps “who won a triple Razzie for his role in the atrocious 1997 “action thriller” Double Team?”

But at least during his most recent visit, he did undermine the regime.

By forcing the Supreme Leader to sit through his Marilyn Monroe-esque rendition of Happy Birthday.

It all seems too ridiculous to be real.

Or maybe this is all one big level, and North Korea are playing us as fools, and are actually using Dennis Rodman as a propaganda stunt.

If so, well played, Kim Jong-Un. Well played.

Actually, all this Kim Jong-Un talk reminds me of a joke.

Apparently Kim Jong-Un upgraded himself from “Leader of North Korea” to “Supreme Leader of North Korea” simply by adding some olives and extra cheese…

Well this has been fun, but all this politics has made me hungry…

Resolutions are for Chumps

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My 2014 New Year’s Resolution is to lose 40 kilos. One week in, and I only have 45 kilos to go.

Jokes aside, there is a reason so many people make New Year’s Resolutions.

It is also the reason so many people fail.

It is because more often than not, they are a wishlist, not a resolution.

If you set yourself the lofty, but generic goal of “getting fitter”, “eating better” or “drinking less”, you are destined for failure. What you are really saying is, you “wish you were fitter”, “you wish you ate better” and “you wish you drank less”.

Look, don’t get me wrong, if you do achieve your New Year’s Resolution, big double thumbs up for you.

But if you were truly serious about improving your life, what relevance did the 1st January have?

Uncle Gaz will tell you. None, nada, niente.

On the whole, resolutions are for the weak, the unmotivated, the procrastinators, the attention seekers, and the cry-for-helpers.

I say, if you’re going to make a resolution, make it something fun.

For instance:

• I resolve not to spend too much time wearing pants
• I resolve to write “for a good time, phone Gaz” on toilet cubicle walls.
• I resolve to live up to it, if the call comes in
• I resolve to make a compendium of my favourite takeout menus so I have choices at my fingertips whenever I get the munchies
• I resolve to slap anyone who says “lol” instead of actually laughing out loud

*Raises slapping hand in warning*

But the lifestyle wishlist things? You should be doing them anyway. Don’t wait until the 1st January. Take control of your life. Challenge yourself.

If you want to change your lot in life, every day counts.

If you’re stuck in a dead-end job, enrol in an online course to get a qualification in the industry you love.

If you want to write a novel, sit down and start typing.

If you want to trek the Inca Trail, organise for 10 percent of your salary to be direct debited into a separate travel fund account. Pretty soon you’ll have enough for a round-the-world ticket.

But stop wishing. Do it now.

We pass this way only once. Make the most of it.

Mae West once famously said, “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”

So get out there folks, live your dreams. I know I am. Maybe we’ll bump into each other along the way. All things being good, I’ll be the one wearing no pants.

Whistler Apology

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I’m sorry we fought, Whistler.

Since my last post, the snow started falling, the food started improving, and the bears have started shitting again.

So I’m happily exhausted from skiing, my belt is extended a notch, and order is restored to the forest.

Nice save Whistler, I should never have doubted you. You came good, old friend. You’ll always be Smurfy in my eyes, aye.

I have since scooted over to Montreal for some secret squirrel shit. Can’t discuss here, as I don’t want to jinx. But stay tuned.

Anyhow, as you know, I’m about to visit family in Australia for Christmas for first time in a few years. I’ll be leaving a Canadian Winter, where the temperature has been sitting at around -20°C (-4°F) and heading to an Australian Summer where the daytime temperature will average around 35°C (>95°F). That’s over a 50°C fucking turnaround! Out of the freezer and straight into the oven.

Now this is where my jetsetting lifestyle gets tough. Don’t cry for me, it’s still freakin’ awesome, but when packing a suitcase in London for a trip to Whistler, followed by a trip Down Under, it can become a little challenging to get the mix right.

Thermals – check.

Gloves – check.

Ski jacket – check.

Mankini – check.

The only common denominator is underwear. Well, and the mankini, obviously.

So I’m about to board a flight from Vancouver to LA to Brisbane with my brother and sister and their partners. When I say, “with” that’s not technically true. I’ll be in First Class, they’ll be in Coach. I’m going to feel wracked with guilt… right up until the time I wipe away my troubles with a hot refresher towel, followed by Salmon Rilette and a nice Laurent-Perrier.

I’m really looking forward to catching up with my folks for the first time in a very long time, although I know I’m going to be grilled about the lack of grandkids. I don’t know what will kill me first, climate change or the Spanish Inquisition. Is it wrong to pray for a tsunami?

Anyway, the standard Christmas routine is a quiet drink on Christmas Eve. Followed by a slightly louder drink. And then a bunch of rowdy ones. Shit, we are Australian.

On Christmas morning, we stagger downstairs, crank the air conditioning down to 20°C and exchange gifts and quiet pleasantries. Christmas lunch is usually a diverse culinary affair – a mix of hot and cold and traditional and local fare. Turkey and cranberries at one end of the table. Prawns, oysters and lobster at the other. My folks are in the restaurant business, so the spread is always top drawer.

The rest of the day will be spent sipping, snacking and swimming, consecutively or concurrently. And raping the family at open face Chinese poker.

In fact I must say, there are few things more satisfying, than the first mouthful of beer on a stonking hot Queensland day. James Squire, I look forward to you being inside me.

Somewhere between now and then though, I have to fit in the world’s worst chore. Christmas shopping on the Gold Coast. As Ford Fairlane so eloquently said, “It’s like masturbating with a cheese grater – slightly amusing, but mostly painful”.

Wish me luck, I’m going to need bucket loads.

Whistler Rant

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Whistler, it pains me to do this. I love you, but you’ve got to get your shit together.

For the last few years, no matter where I’ve been in the world, I’ve made the pilgrimage to Whistler to enjoy a white Christmas. However this year, I will be heading back home to the Gold Coast for Christmas, as it is one of the rare years when all of my family will be in the one place at the one time.

Growing up on Australia’s Gold Coast, Christmas falls in the middle of Summer, and daytime temperatures regularly nudge up into the high 30’s (around 100 degrees Fahrenheit) with high humidity.

Doesn’t sound too bad? Well, it mostly isn’t, but it sure doesn’t feel like Christmas when you have sweat pooling in your butt crack, you can’t drink red wine at room temperature else you’ll burn your tongue, and your flip flops melt when they hit the pavement. In fact the only white you’ll see at Christmas is when I don the bathers for a relieving dip in the pool.

Anyway, because I’m heading Down Under for Christmas, I’ve been forced to bring my traditional Whistler trip forward a few weeks.

I was so, so, so, so, looking forward to this. It is the one thing that I truly look forward to all year.
Whistler is an amazing, beautiful place. The restaurants are fantastic, the skiing unrivalled, and red wine just seems to taste better when consumed in front of a crackling fire.

Usually…

This year, everything has been slightly off, and I don’t know why.

December usually has the highest snowfall. But this year, it’s not snowing, but is a bitterly cold and windy -15. The windchill runs through to your bones. Even the local bears refuse to come out to shit. So I’m trapped indoors.

Add to that, I’ve been snapping awake at 4am every day due to jet lag. Whistler is not a morning person, and doesn’t even start to stir until 10am.

Normally, that’s not a problem, because any downtime gives me a chance to catch up on hundreds of emails, phone messages and looming deadlines. But now I’m freelancing, I can do all of that in one toilet sitting, and therefore have much more time on my hands (after I’ve washed them).

That would usually be great… but. The indoor sanctuaries that I usually hold in such high regard, seem to be struggling this year too.

My first night in Whistler, I head down to Hy’s Steakhouse, which I have been to numerous times, and which is normally very good. However this time, we get a 10-minute speech on how they use the only best 1% of beef in Canada. That’s all well and good, if you know how to fucking cook it.

I order it rare. It comes out medium. Tilt.

On top of that, their claim to fame is making a Caesar Salad at the table. I’m no chef, but anyone can whip up a fucking Caesar salad. It is the easiest and simplest of salads. So much so, it should be renamed the Paris Hilton Salad.

Perhaps the chefs are too snooty to make it? I don’t know, but I don’t want my waiter wasting 10 minutes making me a shitty $12 salad, when he should be bringing me the fucking beer I ordered half-an-hour ago.

Then next night, we head over to Keg Steakhouse, another usually fine establishment. This time, my sister gets plastic in her baked potato? Double you tee eff Whistler? How is this even possible?

Perhaps I’m just too early, and everyone is not yet on their A-game?

Fortunately, the following night, we had a relaxing night in, watching movies in front of the fire sipping Schnapps. Funny thing Schnapps. 360 days of the year, I don’t touch the stuff. But somehow in Whistler, it is the nectar of the gods. Which god? I’m not sure – probably the Butterscotch one.

One blissful night aside, the lack of snow is really bugging me. Apparently all of the big snow dumps are due the day I have to head off to Montreal for business. Aside from enhancing the skiing experience, snow actually makes the weather more pleasant. Without it, the biting wind is driving me insane.

So for the first time in my life, I have actually WANTED to escape from a Whistler Winter to a southern hemisphere Summer.

Fire up Whistler! You are usually a smurfy place. You now have 3 more days to give me a happy ending. I assure you, if you do it right, it usually doesn’t take anywhere near that long.