9B Blog

Why you should never have photos taken of you when you’re fit

A few weeks ago as part of an Olympics based office bonding activity, each of the teams in our office was asked to adorn their work areas with something suitably Olympic. As is my want, I was out filming for the big presentation and so missed the whole thing. But when I returned to my cubicle the following Monday, there was roughly 80% more sniggering from my work mates. I eventually discovered (and this is really good opportunity to say that you should never piss off a graphic designer…they have long memories and highly functional image archives) that someone had resurrected a photo of me competing in a triathlon about 6 years ago.


While I pretended that I was hurt that this sodding photo had resurfaced…I was actually quite chuffed, because this is hands down the most flattering photo of me ever taken. For starters this was when I was in full training, and was doing weights three times a week. I had also just strolled out of the cold water after swimming 750m, so if ever I was going to look buff..this was it. And best of all, the digital watermark was over my stomach…so any trace of fat was gone.
But what I soon came to realise was that everyone had assumed that this was a photoshop job…that the graphic designer had simply put my head on the body of an athlete. The thought that I may have actually been that athlete was as absurd to them…and it wasn’t until I saw a recent photo of myself that I realised why. They see me everyday as I actually am…whereas in my mind, I’m still that muscly guy strutting up the beach in the budgie smugglers.

Who is that old/ugly person in the photo?
For work I take a lot of photos of people. Even when I have taken a photo that I think looks really good, the reaction from the person whose photo I’ve taken is invariably ‘Is that really me?’ If I take a photo of two people, both people will say ‘Oh you look great, but I look terrible’ It’s not that they look terrible, it’s just that they don’t match up with how they think they look. I can remember talking to lady in her 60s once who said she often saw herself in the mirror and thought ‘Who is that old woman?!’ She still felt like she did when she was in her 20’s, but reality wasn’t backing that up. Just as our social media profiles have photos that do not belie our actual appearance…it would appear that even on a subconscious level we are prone to bending the truth a little.
So I’ve decided the best way to ‘unbend the truth’ (this will either be the name of my first band…or at least the message on a t-shirt ) is to go through the reasons there is such a big disconnect between my body and my body image.

Kids and effort
I know that pretty much every blog I write seems to bang on about the myriad ways kids have made my life difficult. So I should state now that I love my kids and I love being a parent, and I have no doubt I have grown a great deal as a person because I have them in my life. However, no one wants to read about someone else’s happiness…they want to feel happy about themselves by reading about someone else’s misery. So I’m really only doing this for you.
I can still remember that when that  photo above was taken, I was spending pretty much all my spare time exercising. The result was that I was fit and healthy. Now that I have three kids, I still feel that I’m using pretty much all my spare time exercising…so logically I should still look fit and healthy. But the reality is that with 1 child I probably had 6 hours a week of spare time…but now I probably only have…well let’s see…does the run to work count as spare time? So the effort level is the same, it’s just that it equates to a lot less actual exercise…and accordingly, much smaller pecs.
For the visual learners out there, you can equate the top photo as being what you can achieve when you have one child. This next photo is what you can achieve when you have two children.

You will note the significant loss of upper body muscle due to your training suddenly involving a lot less weights and a lot more running…as you can get a good run done in half an hour, but you’re going to need at least an hour for a gym session…and that’s not going to happen all that often.
Finally, when you have 3 kids, this is what you look like.

As you can see, your arms have reached Andy Schleck like levels of bulk, and you could really do with a hug.

The little 1%ers
OK, so that’s one reason why there is a physical change…but why don’t you notice it? I think it’s because you see yourself everyday, so every day you get to incorporate this new version of yourself into the ideal you have in your head. It’s not until someone who you haven’t seen in a couple of years says ‘Wow, you’ve really lost weight!’ that you realise the death by a thousand cuts. I should stress here that as a man I’m worried about losing weight, not gaining it. If you are woman and you are worried about gaining weight, then no-one in their right mind is going to comment on the fact that you have gained weight…so you’re pretty much doomed on this one.

Being the photographer
As I said earlier, it wasn’t until I saw a photo of myself recently and thought ‘Holy crap, my head looks huge compared to my chest and shoulders! My head hasn’t grown, so my chest and shoulders must have shrunk…a lot!’ but if you are the dedicated photographer for your family and friends, you very rarely actually appear in photos. So if you want the occasional reality check, make sure someone takes a candid photo of you when you haven’t had a chance to suck in your stomach, or furiously flex every muscle in your body. Alternatively, if you think you may have reached your physical peak and no longer want anyone creating evidence to the contrary…I highly recommend buying a camera, the more expensive and confusing it looks, the less likely anyone else will offer to use it to take a photo of you.

So I’ve identified that I have been deluding myself, I’ve blamed the kids for everything, there is only one thing left to do, and that is to make a promise on this here blog that by the time my birthday rolls around in December, I will have at least got my head, chest and shoulders into some sort of proportions that no longer resemble Mr. Mackey. From there I will begin the long road of getting back to my former budgie- smuggler glory…but in the short term, no photos…please.

Our 10 year wedding anniversary

About this time last year, Katie and I decided that for our 10yr wedding anniversary we would offload the kids onto the grandparents, and head off for a week in Byron Bay, staying at the same place we did for our honeymoon. We would get massages, eat dinner at a civilised hour, do things at our own pace, and most of all remember all the reasons that we got married in the first place.
Then reality clotheslined us with all the force and subtlety of a 70’s VFL player, and suddenly we are spending 3 days with the kids down at Sandy Point instead. Where we will not have massages, we will eat at hours normally reserved for old people’s homes, we will try to work at the various paces of three people whose moods are in a constant state of flux between happiness and hangry (that’s hungry angry for those not in the know), and at no time will we think about the reasons we got married in the first place or reflect on what 10 years of marriage means. So I’ll make a preemptive strike with this blog.

Congratulations you’ve been married 10 years…here’s your tin.
OK, so I wasn’t expecting the 10 year anniversary to yield a really precious metal like gold, silver or adamantium…but tin?! Come on. A tinny is a small boat that people in the Northern Territory and far North Queensland tip themselves out of to feed crocodiles. A tinny is something that people who have ‘I shoot and I vote’ stickers on their utes drink beer from. When speakers are crap they sound tinny. Tin Tin is about the only thing with tin that I like…and that’s only because you get a double dose. My theory is that as they were sitting around trying to decide which metals go with which anniversary they got to 10, and a Kiwi (if you’re from New Zealand just swap ‘Kiwi’ for South African) said ‘Wow, ten!’…but unfortunately with the horrifically  exaggerated accent I like to give other people in my stories, everyone else heard it as ‘Wow, tin!’. And seeing as no-one wanted to argue with him, suddenly 10 years of marriage was equated with a metal best used as a cup to hold Coke in at Christmas when you’re 6! It’s not fair.
While I’m on my high horse, for years your long service leave kicked in once you’d been at one work place for 10 years. Then everyone realised that no-one stays in the one job for that long, and so they said ‘if you’ve been in a job for 7 years you can start accessing the leave’. Society’s expectations had changed and so the system changed accordingly. Well I think that society’s expectations of marriage have changed as well, staying together for 50 years is obviously an amazing achievement, but nowadays we are marrying so late and having so many affairs…how can we be expected to meet this lofty goal? I think we should bring everything back 10 years so that at 10 years I’m staring at platinum…and 20 years I’m staring at diamonds…and at 30 years…ah who cares…I’ll just be staring.

A big thanks to the Essendon football club
Ten years ago, in the interests of fiscal responsibility, we got married on the day after Grand Final day. At the time I remember thinking, that with our anniversary invariably falling on the weekend of the Grand Final (if not the actual day, as it is this year), what would I do if my team was in the Grand Final, but Katie wanted to do something else?
Well thankfully my generous Bombers have spent the last decade ensuring that I don’t have to worry about that.

So how do you stay married for 10 years?
That’s a very good question…and seeing as every relationship is different, I’m not about to tell you what will work for you…but I will make some vague statements that I will later claim was sage advice.
Vive le difference
When I was growing up, one of my best friends was Marcus. Where Marcus was a risk taker and always up for trying something new, I was more the person saying ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea’ and ‘I’m pretty sure there’s a Rottweiler in that backyard’ and ‘Yes Marcus’s Mum of course Marcus is here at my place…he just can’t come to the phone right now…because he’s…on the toilet’. But we worked really well as a team. He got me to try things I wouldn’t have otherwise, and to push the boundaries beyond what I was comfortable with, and as a result I learnt a lot and had some life changing experiences. At the same time, I kept us both out of fights with Asian gangs and prison.
I think that a marriage has to be the same, you can’t survive if you differ on every point…but if you’re both exactly the same, then you’ll never grow as people.
You each need to do things by yourselves
When you met you both had things that you loved to do, and some of these things became things that you both loved doing, and so they tended to take up most of your time. But you have to make sure you still have things that you like doing by yourself…and equally you have to let the other person do the things that you don’t like, but that you know they love.
But at the same time, you have to ensure that every time you let them do something they like, they are aware of just how disappointed in them you are for being so selfish. This is usually best done via passive aggressive terms like, ‘Oh are you heading out again?…I thought we were doing something together tonight’ or ‘Wow you must be getting really good at that…seeing as you are spending so much time away from your family to do it!’*
Say you love each other every day
Nah just kidding…once every 4-5 years should be fine.
Distract them
If you’re a man and you marry someone out of your league (as I did), then you know that every time your wife has a second to think, is time when she could suddenly realise ‘Wait a second…I can do much better than him!’ What you need is something so overwhelming and exhausting that they have no chance of ever actually gathering their thoughts, let along acting on them.
Having kids is great for this. You may find you have to repeat the process a couple of times…but once you’ve got two or three kids your wife’s only thoughts will be ‘sleep, sleep, coffee, sleep’, so as long as you can make a decent coffee…you’re pretty much in the clear.
You’ve got to choose well
What you need is someone fun and exciting, someone who is good at things that you’re not, someone who laughs at your jokes, likes your cooking, challenges you, celebrates your victories and knows what to do when the black dog starts circling. When  you find that person, you have to love them with all your heart through everything that 10 years of life throws at you. I know I have.

 

 

*In order to ensure another 10 years of marriage, it’s worth mentioning that Katie has never said either of these things.

 

 

Moving out

I’ve always been deeply suspicious of people who complain about how hard moving house is. I mean I once sat through an entire ‘Twilight’ movie, so I think I know a little about suffering and enduring hardship…and unless Hollywood has lied to me, moving house involves a rough 2 minute montage of people packing boxes, moving boxes and occasionally bumping into each other and then laughing about it, before heading off to watch some ‘salt of the Earth’ workers load all of your stuff into your new home. Doesn’t sound so hard.
Well Hollywood has lied to me…again! Because moving house does indeed suck…so Now I‘m No Expert But here is my advice to anyone considering moving.

Do you have small children?
If yes, then there’s your first big problem. Nothing impedes the process of emptying a house quite like having to regularly rush into another room to stop a child from; pulling something onto themselves, or wanting to play the game where they hide inside a box and you have to be surprised for the 800th time when they pop out, or trying to eat whatever has just been uncovered by moving the couch.
Also, if you’ve ever looked around your house and thought ‘man we have a lot of stuff!’…let me assure you that a very small proportion of that is actually yours…the rest belongs to your kids…and you are in for some incredibly guilt inducing looks/tears if you try to get rid of any of it.

Have you hired removalists?
If yes, well la-di-dah…it must be nice to have your disposable income!
I’m sorry, that wasn’t about you…that was about me and my issues. We did not get removalists in…and in hindsight getting some people who actually know what they’re doing and have to pay their own chiropractic bills…does have quite a bit going for it.
If you don’t have removalists, then you had better have some friends/family who are willing to help out. We were very lucky enough to have some great people who came over and helped with moving things, cooking things and stopping small things from crying the whole time. This was invaluable!

Have you hired a truck?
If you haven’t got removalists, then you will need a truck. If you have already hired a truck, then you will need a bigger one…seriously, you have a lot of stuff in your house and no-one wants to spend a day carting around small amounts of it, when you could get all the transporting done in one hit.
And speaking of hits, if you’re driving a truck along Murray Rd in Preston, there is a pole outside the Supermarket that sits out further than all the other poles…it costs about $100 to replace the side mirror…you will swear quite a bit.

If you think you’re 80% done…you’re actually only about 60%.
Every time you empty a room you will move out all the big things and feel as though you’re making swift progress…but it’s the litany of small things that will see you at 11.30pm surreptitiously dumping stuff into garbage bags.

Do you really need that?
If you haven’t used it or worn it in the last 12 months…then no you don’t. We are currently house sitting at a friend’s house for 6 weeks, and so I packed everything I could into a backpack and left the rest of my stuff at my parent’s house. It’s becoming pretty apparent that all I actually need is a back pack full of stuff. The rest is like local government elections…occasionally necessary, but you really could do without them.
However, there are a few exceptions to the ‘backpack rule’. The first is the coffee machine and grinder. If I had come down to choosing between packing the coffee machine & grinder or pants…let’s just say I would have been arriving at work pantsless…but highly caffeinated.
As the picture below shows, you can question my parenting…but never my dedication to coffee.

The second is the Thermomix…because you know…it’s good for making porridge for breakfast and cutting things up and stuff. But most importantly it means that your insistence on bringing the coffee machine suddenly doesn’t look so crazy.
Finally, a good set of knives. We have been lucky enough to stay in two houses so far with good knives…but you should never risk staying somewhere with crap knives. If you prepare food using crap knives it will eventually make you want to stab yourself…the only upside being, crap knives won’t pierce your skin.

Cut the kids some slack
If you do have young kids, there is every chance that this move is away from the only home they have ever known. So while you may be annoyed by the fact that the weather’s warming up and you can’t for the life of you find where your shorts have been packed, they are going to be going through an emotional upheaval equivalent to your first break-up. So ready yourself for some interrupted sleep, the occasional emotional outburst and a feeling of helplessness on your part…actually, come to think of it, this is EXACTLY like your first break up!

But, unless you’ve been evicted by your landlord (or an audience on Big Brother), you are probably moving out of your house for a good reason. You might be moving closer to the city, or further from the city, or renovating, or downsizing…whatever the case may be, you are following a dream of a better life, and moving out of your home is just the first step in this  journey.
It’s just a pity that this first step is straight onto a rake…which flicks up and smashes into both your head and genitals, leaving you dazed, in pain and wishing you’d never started this journey in the first place.

 

Russell and the kebab van, a modern parable of success and failure.

Keen observers of this blog may have noted that we are moving out of our house while we renovate. One thing I wanted to do before we moved out was to take some photos of various Preston landmarks and institutions as a bit of a keepsake. I had a mental list of photos I wanted, but one was of Russell the Big Issue vendor at the Preston Market who I buy my magazines from…and the other was Haci’s Kebabs, a kebab van set up opposite McDonald’s on the corner of Bell St. and St. George’s Rd. As it turned out, my attempts at getting these photos met with very different results…but I did learn quite a bit.

Russell

If you have ever been to the Preston Market on a Saturday, you would most likely have seen Russell. He sets up shop just near the entrance to the deli area, and has a steady stream of regulars. He is a genuinely amazing person. He’s worked with Brando, met the real ‘Red Dog’, has excellent musical taste…and regularly heads down to Apollo Bay (and Johanna if the surf’s good). He’s cheerful, energetic, always chats with the kids when we see him…and doesn’t complain too bitterly when they take the magazine but refuse to hand over the money.
However, at what point do you ask someone who you only really know through a weekly conversation that you’d like to take a photo of them? Do you just rock up with the camera one morning and spring it on them? Do you plan it out in advance? What if they say ‘no’? In the interests of not creating a scene…and having a 6 month period when I wouldn’t see him (while the renovations are being done and my Preston Market visits are curtailed) so that if he said ‘no’ there wouldn’t be awkwardness. I chose to ask him the week before we moved out if it would be ok to take the photo on the following week. He said ‘yes’, and so the following week I took my camera (and my new 50mm lens) with me to the market.
I’ve taken plenty of photos of relative strangers for work…and that’s been fine, because that wasn’t being done for me. It was for an event, or a work video, or for them to take home…but this was the first time I had asked a relative stranger to give up some of their own time so that I could take a photo of them…and I won’t lie I was very nervous. But Russell was of course the consummate professional, and when I finally got to look at the photos on a decent screen (3 days later as a result of moving house), and had a play in Lightroom, I was absolutely rapt with the results.

 

 Haci’s kebabs

On the way to take my photos of Russell I saw this ice-cream van in the car park

I had the camera so I took a quick photo, but I had my heart set on another fast food van; the Haci’s Kebabs van. For those not familiar with Haci’s, it’s a relatively unremarkable take away kebab van located on the corner of St. George’s Rd and Bell St. What makes it remarkable is that it is set up across the road from a 24 hour McDonalds. Of all the places to set up a fast food van, why would you set it up across the road from the only McDonalds in miles? Surely there’s no way it could survive. But it does. In fact when coming home from work late at night when I first moved into Preston, there was always a bit of a crowd around the van. When I walked our kids along St. Georges Rd to get them to sleep in the dead of the night…there were always a few people there enjoying a late night feed.
So when I was thinking of Preston landmarks to take a photo of, Haci’s had to be on the list. In my mind I thought of a long exposure shot at night of the van all lit up and a few people standing around having kebabs. It was nothing original…but it was going to be a good shot. All I had to do was get down there and take the shot. But in the week leading up to our big move, I simply didn’t have a chance to get down there. Then suddenly Saturday was upon us, and it was the last night we would be in Preston. If I was going to get the shot it would have to be tonight. So having spent all day moving house, at 10pm I grabbed my tripod and camera, and with my 10 month old sleeping in our baby carrier on my back, I trekked down to Haci’s.
When I got there I went up to the van to make sure it was OK to take the photo and said “Hey do you mind if I just take a photo, I’m just…” but before I could even finish the guy behind the counter said “Yeah, we mind.” And with that, I realised that the photo I had in my mind was going to have to stay there. It never even occurred to me that they wouldn’t want me to take a photo, and I’ve got to admit I was devastated…and not a little pissed off. As a few photographers told me after the event, I would have been totally within my rights to take the photo from the footpath. But I really wanted these photos to demonstrate a sense of pride in my suburb and the people who live there, and taking photos of people who had already said they didn’t want photos taken was going against this. Plus, I got the feeling that if I did try something like this, I would have found my tripod inserted somewhere painful.

So what have I learned from this? Well, it always pays to check with your subject before you take a photo. A brilliant photo in your mind, remains just that unless you actually get the shot. But most of all, if you ever have $5 in your pocket…buy a Big Issue from Russell and not a kebab from Haci’s, it’s a much better investment.

 

 

Moving back in with the folks

You know that dream that everyone has of being a grown adult and then moving back in with your parents…and bringing your partner and 3 kids? Sure you do…it’s right up there with that dream of having extensive dental work done, or having your brakes fail as you drive down a mountain. Well this weekend I get to live this dream, because we are moving out of our house for 6 months while we have renovations done.

This renovation has been on the cards for the last two years, so to be honest I still don’t 100% believe it is actually going to happen. But if everything goes to plan, this weekend we will pack everything into boxes and move to Ivanhoe to live for 6 months*. So what is this going to mean? Well for one thing, the ride to work is going to involve a few more hills…and significantly fewer protected bike paths. My Friday run to work may have to take a hiatus. And my wife is going to have to brave Bell St. every day to take our son to school. On the bright side it may mean we have ready access to babysitters…and Christ knows it’s a lot cheaper than renting. But what happens when you feel as though your parenting is being judged 24/7? What happens when you eat dinner at 5.30pm and your parents eat theirs at a normal grown up time? Cooking two dinners is insane…but then so is making the kids wait until 6.30pm to eat…and expecting adults to eat their dinner half an hour before they get home. What happens when you want to watch ‘Game of Thrones’ but your parents don’t like it… and there’s only one TV?!

Of course I’m seeing this from the perspective of someone who is returning to their familial home…I’ve spent more of my life in this home than anywhere else. But my wife is moving into a house she’s never lived in…and with two people she’s never lived with. And my parents have done the hard yards of parenting…they don’t want to be creeping around the house trying not to wake kids up, or living in the abject chaos of young kids (parenthood is awesome in hindsight and a nice place to visit…but no one wants to live there!).

On top of this is the joy of incurring a level of debt that could at best be described as ‘crippling’…and at worst ‘Greece’.
But like one of those poor bastards you see charging out of a trench in WWII, we are embarking on this trip together (my family that is…not you…you’re only here to feel better about yourself by reading about my misery). I am under no delusions about how hard this is going to be…and I know that there are going to be times when I just want to crawl into a corner and weep. But at the end we will have an amazing house that the entire family can grow up in, and who knows, in 30 years time one of my kids may be asking if they can move back in while they are getting their house renovated. It will be a truly wonderful and serendipitous moment when I can put my arm around them, hug them close and say ‘No…I’ve converted your room into my cycling room.’

 

*It is highly unlikely it will actually be 6 months…the smart money is on ‘the term of your natural life’.

le Tour de France

I love the Tour de France, and not just because for three weeks of the year men with very skinny arms (like myself) are feted as sporting heroes. I love the drama of the cycling, I love listening to Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwin and Matt Keenan call the race, I love ogling Chateaus in the French countryside, and I love that, for the last week or so of the tour, people in Melbourne start talking about cycling as they would about football or cricket. Men driving Commodores temporarily refrain from loudly questioning your sexual preferences as you ride past. Women in BMW X5’s suddenly acknowledge your presence on the road (only kidding…no one driving an X5 is even remotely aware of anyone else on the road). Unfortunately this also means that the muppet who wasted valuable minutes of your life yesterday droning on about how ‘Fremantle can’t make the 8 because their defensive structures don’t allow them to play transition footy and blah, blah blah’…suddenly feels that they have the right to talk as if they know something about cycling. Chances are they won’t, and they will know this. So I’m No Expert But…here’s are some terms that you need to know about le Tour if you want to intimidate these people into silence by creating the impression you know all about cycling.

The Peloton

From the French word ‘Peloton’ meaning ‘group of cyclists who are too lazy to join the breakaway’ this is the main group of cyclists. There may be some people ahead, and some people behind, but this is where most of the cyclists are. Why? Because having someone riding in front of you (and thus absorbing most of the wind resistance) can save up to 30% of your energy. Get a big group of people riding in front of you, and you can pretty much just pedal the bare minimum and you will still be cruising along (often at about 60 – 70kmh).
There was a great article in Cycling Tips recently where Rupert Guinness compared the peloton to the villain in a movie, and this is so true. No matter how hard you try to get away, the strength in numbers of the peloton will always draw you back in and swallow you up…they may as well just play the Darth Vader music each time the peloton appears on screen.

The Breakaway

You know those riders I was talking about who are ahead of the peloton? These are the breakaway. Basically this is a group of riders who have decided that today is the day that they can beat the peloton and win the stage. About 95% of the time they are wrong, and get reeled in with about 2kms to go (if a couple of riders have worked really well in a break away but then realise that they have been caught, they will often sit up and shake hands or acknowledge the work the other rider has done…it’s one of the many parts of cycling I find so endearing).
So why do they do it? Well there are always a couple of breakaways who actually make it stick and outrun the peloton. Then suddenly you’re not competing with hundreds of riders for the stage win…you only have to beat 2 or 3…hell you should get a podium finish no matter what.
There is also the matter of sponsorship. Every cycling team has a sponsor, and if they have the choice of having their logo tucked away in the peloton where no one can see it…or out in front for a couple of hours with only a few other cyclists and a lot of cameras. Then they will take option number two, thank you very much.

Sprinters

Basically sprinters spend the vast majority of the race sitting in the peloton, then about 1km from the finish they start riding very fast, with about 400m to go they start riding very, very fast, and over the last 50m they ride at a speed and with a lack of concern for their own personal safety that is equal parts dazzling and horrifying. Any photos you see of them will either be them with their arms raised triumphantly having just won a stage of the race, or of them on the ground surrounded by the carnage of yet another crash.
Their prize is the Green jersey…and bragging rights.

Climbers

Every gram of body-weight you have is another gram you have to lug up a sodding mountain…so the climbers are usually almost skeletal in their upper body. But watching a good climber fly up a near vertical road is pure poetry.
Their reward is the polka dot jersey…and the ‘pleasure’ of spending an inordinate amount of time having fat, topless men running alongside them yelling things.

GC riders

These are the general classification riders. They’re not the best sprinters, or the best hill climbers or the best time trialists…but they are insanely good at all three of them, and often have an entire team helping them. Their aim is to win the overall race, and the coveted yellow jersey.

So there we have the first couple of key terms you need to use liberally in sentences with people who you think are bluffing their cycling knowledge (for example “Wow, I thought last night’s race was going to be one for the climbers, but when the peloton reeled in that breakaway, it was all down to the sprinters. Didn’t hurt Cadel’s GC chances though.”)
I’ll be back next week with some more advanced terms like echelon, lanterne rouge and Gabriel Gate.

 

The Melburn-Roobaix

If, as the result of some bizarre gypsy curse, I was only able to watch one bike race per year- it would be the Paris-Roubaix. For the non-cycling tragics reading this, the Paris-Roubaix is a one-day 250km bike race through the Northern part of France. What sets is apart from so many other bike races are the numerous cobblestones sections. These cobblestones destroy bikes, they jar every bone in the riders bodies, in the wet they are slippery and treacherous…in the dry, the dust makes them slippery and treacherous.  It’s affectionately known as the ‘hell of the North’. To see what I’m talking about just type ‘Paris-Roubaix’ into YouTube…or look at the awesome photos from O’nev or Kristof Ramon

If, as a result of having 3 children and a complete lack of fitness, I could only do one bike ride per year- it would be the Melburn-Roobaix. The Melburn-Roobaix is the brain-child of the indefatigable Andy White. It’s a one day bike ride that varies from about 25kms to 40kms and meanders around Melbourne, taking in as many of cobblestone lane-ways as possible. At the end of each lane-way there is a question for you to answer. It’s sort of like the friendliest alley cat ever…but it’s not a race, it’s open to everyone…and it is the best fun you can have on a bike.

My initiation to the Melburn-Roobaix was 4 years ago when a friend invited me along. As a result of a technical issue, I completely missed the start and my friend headed off with the main group. So I was now doing a race that I had no idea about and no-one to talk to. I was about to just head home and chalk it up as a waste of a Sunday, when I recognised a guy who I had chatted to briefly on the ride to the start. We got chatting, and he introduced me to some other people and pretty soon I was racing around the streets of Nth. Melbourne with a variety of groups of people who clearly didn’t know where they were going…but were having a hell of a lot of fun getting there. We ran upstairs with our bikes, we rode alongside the drains, I watched a guy casually do a wheelie for about 4 minutes and I discovered numerous parts of Melbourne I had never seen before. Best of all I had the best fun I’d had in years.

I rode again the next year, and it was just as much fun. So the year after that I invited my best mate along and we hired some BikeShare bikes and did the ride on those. What the BikeShare bikes lacked in agility, handling, and lightweight materials…they more than made up for in overall indestructability. Yes it was like riding an armchair…but it was someone else’s armchair..and the wheels weren’t going cost you $500 if they were damaged.

This year, my 6 yr old son came with me. I was a little nervous about how he would find riding with so many people, riding such a long distance and of course riding on the cobblestones. But those fears were unfounded. While we didn’t do the full 38km (I’ll leave the Koppenberg for him to discover next year), we had an absolutely brilliant time…and I look forward to Josh repeating Stuey O’Grady’s heroics in the 2007 Paris-Roubaix sometime. But the best part of the whole day was how many people took the time to tell him how well he was doing, and what a great effort it was to be doing the ride. He spent the whole afternoon after the race feeling 10ft tall and bullet proof and perhaps more importantly he went to sleep early (tired but happy).

For him the idea of a group of people getting together to just have fun, probably isn’t that foreign…kids do it all the time. But as we get older, we tend to look for the competitive side of things instead of working together for no reward other than fun, we don’t want to spend a day chatting to random strangers because frankly that’s just weird, we don’t want to spend hours with people dressed as ninjas or riding unicycles…because…well…they’re dressed as ninjas or riding unicycles. Most importantly in a world where we can ride road bikes, mountain bikes, fixies, single speeds, BMXs and cruisers. And where we can spend as much money on a bike as we would on a small car…we can forget why we love riding in the first place…because IT’S FUN! The Melburn-Roobaix is my annual reminder of just how rewarding life can be if we get together with a group of people with the sole purpose of having fun. That’s why I hope to be doing it for many years to come.

I’d like to say a massive thanks to Andy for organising the ride. I shudder to think how much time and effort goes into putting it all together, but I hope he gets as much out of it as we all do.
If you’re interested in doing the ride next year then head to Fxyomatosis and entertain yourself with great stories and photos until registration for next year’s ride opens…and then hopefully I’ll see you for ‘the Hell of the Northcote’!

See a few of my photos from the day here

Coffee

There are some addictions that I won’t admit to publicly, and there are some that I won’t even admit to myself…but I wear my coffee addiction like a badge of honour. I love it. I make myself a coffee everyday before I ride to work, and yet every time I pass someone drinking a coffee on the way to work, I think ‘Man, a coffee would be so good right now!’, despite having had one no more than 10 minutes ago.
What’s more, I have added insult to injury by becoming a ‘coffee snob’. I’ve walked out of cafes when I saw they way they were making other people’s coffees…I’ve walked right past cafe’s because a cursory glance at the coffees being drunk by people at the tables outside didn’t look like they would make the grade…I have even asked the person making my coffee in small town in the Mallee if they would mind if I came behind the counter and made the coffee myself!
This is not socially acceptable behaviour! I would never walk into a Thai restaurant, order my Pad Thai and then stroll into the kitchen telling the chef “I’d use a bit more fish sauce. Actually, step back from the wok…I’ll take it from here.” But such is the power of coffee that I will transgress social norms just to ensure that I get a good coffee.

Now the purpose of this blog is not to tell you what makes a perfect coffee, or where to go for the best coffee (although I will be dropping some pretty blatant hints about both of these) because, like many of the finer things in life, a ‘good coffee’ is a very subjective thing. Some people like it weak, some people like it strong, some people like it scalding hot and some people like soy milk. So instead of telling you the coffee you should like, I’m going to tell you some of the things I’ve learned over my 20 year coffee drinking career.

How to find a good coffee
OK, look around. Are you in Melbourne? If ‘yes’, then you should be fine. Just walk into any non-franchise coffee emporium and order your coffee with confidence. If ‘no’, then I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you, but here are some key pointers:
– If they are offering ‘Mugachinos’, run
– If they start heating the milk, and then walk away to serve another customer, you are doomed
– Don’t get too picky with your order. Yes you may like a 3/4 latte with 1/2 a sugar, but order that and at best you are going to get some horrific fraction based version of a coffee (I’m talking to you Geelong!)…or at worst you are going to get a withering sigh from an elderly woman who really doesn’t have time for this crap (hello Numurkah), or the distinct impression everyone else in the shop now wants to kill you (hello Rainbow/Orbost/Waragul).

All you need is love
A passionate barista who doesn’t have the best materials, but is determined to make you a great coffee, is going to do a hell of a lot better job than someone with the best equipment who just doesn’t give a damn.
Fortunately, there are plenty of places with great coffee, great people and great equipment. If you are ever in Melbourne, then you need to go to:
65 Degrees
The League of Honest Coffee
D’Marcos
Manchester Press
Because these people love their coffee, and the lines of people waiting to order show that people love their coffee too!

Get a coffee machine
Some people frivolously wasted their baby bonus on plasma TV’s, and those people are clearly not fit to be parents. We on the other hand purchased a coffee machine and grinder. Now before those of you without young children get all angry and say that we were being selfish, think about this- by purchasing the machine and therefore having our coffees at home, we were no longer cluttering up your local cafe with prams and screaming children, leaving you to read the newspaper/pretentiously work on your laptop/nurse a hangover in peace…so we were basically providing a community service!
We got a Rancilio Silvia machine and a Rocky Grinder for about $1,100. For over four years they have made at least two coffees everyday and have not missed a beat.
Also, the cred attached to saying ‘No I don’t need the beans ground…I have my own grinder at home’, is pretty much the same as introducing yourself as a Formula 1 driver.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
I have had some truly memorable coffees; a coffee with lots of cardamon in Sharjah, my first ever espresso coffee at a little cafe in Kew that was the only place that would let my friends smoke in there before school, and any coffee that provided respite during a freezing cold bike ride. But if I know my audience, you don’t want to hear about the good times…you want to hear about those moments that make you glad that you are you…and I am me.
So let us cast our minds back 4 years to our family holiday to WA. We had a toddler and a baby in the car and we were driving from Margaret River to Pemberton (about 4 hour drive). We had decided not to get a coffee in Margaret River, and instead find somewhere along the way so we could break up the trip. In Victoria, as you travel through the countryside you can usually find somewhere that offers a serviceable coffee, but after 2 hours of driving (and the dull thud of caffeine withdrawal starting to emminate from the back of my skull) we finally made the executive decision to go to a McCafe. The logic was that it wouldn’t be a 10/10 coffee…but it would be a dependable 7/10 and that was all we needed. So I parked the car and went in and ordered two lattes. The girl behind the counter went to grab the percolated coffee. I said ‘No, no…I’d like them from the machine’. After a lot of huffing, the girl went over and put the steam wand into the milk to warm it up…then went of to serve someone else. By the time she returned the jug was glowing red hot…and I think I was weeping a little. She then made the espresso and walked away again (clearly the burnt milk would balance out the lukewarm espresso). She then came back and filled the cups to the absolute brim with scalding hot coffee, and I walked back to the car doing that thing where the cup is so hot that you have to rotate which fingers are doing most of the holding for fear of burning them. When I got back to the car I discovered that our baby needed a nappy change and was screaming about the fact that this was happening…at the same time our toddler was trying to drown out the cries of our baby by screaming louder…causing the baby to cry even louder. In a state of zen like calm that can only be achieved by a true addict, I was in the process of removing the lids from the coffees and adding the sugar. The first coffee was fine and I had put it in the cup holder for my wife, and having added the sugar to my coffee I was replacing the lid when I somehow pushed down to hard and tipped the contents of the cup all over my lap.
I’m not 100% sure what happened next, but I do remember both children suddenly going quiet…and my wife hurriedly saying ‘You can have my one!’
Within about 30 seconds the coffee in my lap had gone from scalding hot to tepid and clammy…and thus began one of the least comfortable drives of my life.

But for all that I still come back to coffee as the perfect start to my day, the best way to reward myself and my happiest vice. But anything that gives so much and takes so little must have some sort of horrible secret, and when in 20 years time people look back at the way we drank coffee with much the same horror as we look at the smoking in Mad Men and say ‘But didn’t they realise how much damage they were doing to themselves?!’ I’ll just smile and say ‘It was worth it!’

 

 

Renovating.

If, like me, you’ve watched a lot of Grand Designs, you know that in order to renovate your house you need to go through some hardship, but then 42 TV minutes later you will have Kevin McLeod wandering through your house admitting that it has all worked out quite well…despite his reservations. Although if you’re watching the Australian version, you will know that a renovation involves 42 minutes of people so excruciatingly smug and self-obsessed that you want to throw something at the TV.
Well we are now 2 years into our renovation, and we still haven’t actually done a single thing to the house…so Now I’m No Expert, But here’s some key questions to ask yourself if you’re thinking of renovating.

1. Do you have money?
Good. Now double it. OK, now we’re talking. This is probably the most amount of money you have ever spent. Now prepare to have this amount of money laughed at by everyone from the Architect, to the builder, to any other person looking to take this money from you.
At the same time, expect the bank and anyone else you talk to, to reel in horror at this amount and make comments like ‘What are you building, a MANSION?!’

2. Do you have children?
If yes, then clearly you lied when you answered the first question.
This is the renovation paradox, you renovate because you need more space for the kids…but if you have kids the bank won’t lend you money. Here is an example of a recent conversation with the bank we currently have our loan with:
Me: Hello, I’d like to borrow some money.
Bank: Do you have a loan with us?
Me: Yes
Bank: Let’s see, ah yes here are your details. Based on this we could lend you approximately eleventy billion dollars. When can you and your wife come in to sign the paperwork?
Me: Well my wife’s at home with our kids, so we’ll have to…
Bank: Sorry, your what?!
Me: Our kids.
Bank: You have kids?! How many?
Me: Three.
Bank: Oh…in that case we can lend you…negative $12,000.
Me: Done…I’ll bring the money in shortly.

3. Do you have time?
We started this whole thing because we thought we might have a third child some day…and if we did we would need the space. If we didn’t we could have a room for piano teaching/ video editing.
Then we became pregnant, and we were thinking ‘I hope we’ve moved back in before the baby comes’.
Then it became ‘I can’t believe we wont be living in our house when the baby comes’.
Then ‘Oh my God we’re going to be living in my parent’s house with a newborn!’
Now it’s pretty much ‘I sure hope we can celebrate the baby’s 18th birthday in our new house!’

4. Are you going to go over budget?
In my version of the ‘Grand Designs drinking game’ you get to drink each time someone:
A) goes over budget,
B) decides to project manage the whole thing themselves (their job in IT is pretty much the same anyway), or
C) or reveals that they are expecting a baby.

I guarantee that you will be drunk by the halfway mark of the show…and why?

A) Because everything costs so much that things inevitably go over budget,
B) so you try to find things you can do yourself to save money,
C) and you can’t afford to go out anymore so you have to find things to do at home to entertain yourselves…next thing you know you’re pregnant.

So far the exclusions on our job include a roof, the floor, the painting, the deck and the cabinetry…take out the walls as well and we no longer have a house!

5. Why are we doing this?
Good question. Considering all of the grief we have gone through over the last two years on this, and this is before we have to pack up and move out, and before we have to decide if we want to rent locally or live with my parents, and before we discover that our house is built on an ancient burial ground/fault line. The answer is; it’s better than the alternatives. In our case the alternatives are to just patch things up around the house and hope that Josh feels ready to move out of home when he’s 8. Or to sell the house and buy somewhere that already has what we want. But the real estate reality is that if you want more than you have, then you have to move further out. Seeing as we feel very much part of the local community we don’t really want to have to do this. Even if we do choose to move, we’re probably going to have just as many problems borrowing money.

On the positive side, if everything goes to plan, we will have an amazing house that we can live in for the rest of our lives. What’s more it will be a home that we feel is truly ours.
Which is good…because at this rate we won’t be able to afford to leave it for a looong time.

 

 

Belgians, live music and getting old

Much like polishing floorboards and painting a house, it’s important to go backpacking…if only to ensure that you know to never do it again. In 1998 my then girlfriend (now wife) and I backpacked across Europe for 6 months, and from this experience I took away three things; Dogs in Portugal bite, I am not cut out to be a telemarketer, and Belgian band dEUS are pretty awesome.
14 years later I went and saw dEUS perform at the Corner Hotel…and they were indeed pretty awesome.

In 1999 dEUS released an album titled ‘The Ideal Crash‘…and I thought it was pretty much perfection. It has great lyrics, it was brilliantly produced…and it was sufficiently obscure to garner indie cred (the most precious of all cred). In fact if over the course of 1999 – 2000 you managed to spend time with me and not hear The Ideal Crash, Rebirth of Cool Phive or Endtroducing, then I clearly didn’t think all that much of you. At the same time I was also very much into local band Something for Kate, and when I scored a radio interview with their lead singer (Paul Dempsey) and got him to bring in a few tracks and he played a dEUS track…I reached the musical equivalent of Tantric sex.

But with the onset of a mortgage and then kids, I think it’s fair to say that my musical purchasing and gig going went into steep decline. I can remember being in the middle of the moshpit at a Rage Against the Machine gig at the Palace and seeing a whole lot of older guys standing on the outside of the mosh just watching the show. At the time I thought ‘Those guys don’t really appreciate this music…if they did they’d be in here like me, getting seven shades of shit pummeled out of them by some sweaty stranger!’ But then just a couple of years later I was that older guy, watching a group of kids smashing into each other in the mosh pit and thinking ‘How can those kids be appreciating the music if they’re doing that all show?!’ Then a couple of years later I was that guy driving along Punt Rd seeing a poster for a show and saying ‘Oh, the Decemberists toured last month. Shit!’

So when I heard that dEUS were touring Australia for the first time ever, I had to go. I called the usual suspects, and my brother was keen to come too…my brother-in-law was going to wait until every single band from Rebirth of Cool Phive was going to appear on the same night. So tickets were purchased and suddenly I was back to that excitement of going to a gig. Because I love live music. I love that strange alchemy that happens when a band and an audience suddenly connect and make something amazing happen. Sometimes it just builds over the course of a gig to a point where no-one wants to go home (thank you Morphine at the Prince of Wales), sometimes there is a moment when everything just clicks (thank you Portishead at Festival Hall), sometimes the band can feel it just isn’t happening and take a 10 minute break on stage to try and work out what’s going wrong…then came back and blow the audiences mind (thank you Dandy Warhols at the Forum), sometimes it’s a flamenco dancer under a single spotlight dancing up a storm while the drummer joins in and then the entire band just explodes to life (thank you The Cat Empire at the Forum)…and sometimes it’s just Gil Scott-Heron at The Lounge.
These moments are seared into my brain. I can still picture and recreate all of them, and I think that’s because the link we share with music is just so primal, and so the feeling of experiencing this link with a group of people ticks so many psychological boxes that your brain just says ‘right, we’re not likely to need long division anymore…so I’m replacing that knowledge with a memory of this experience.’

I won’t say that the dEUS gig entered my pantheon of gig mythology…but they were freaking awesome. It was just so great to see a band that have been playing together for so long, and know exactly how to put on a show. It was inspiring to see how an amazing live band interprets a brilliant studio album. It was surreal to spend so much of the night standing next to Michael Gudinski. It was depressing to be getting so old that security don’t even bother asking for ID. It was serendipitous to see Paul Dempsey at the gig, and for dEUS to play live the song he brought in for my radio show (‘Instant Street’). But most of all, it was just great to be back out and seeing a live band again.

So let’s all revel in the fact that Melbourne is such a great live music city, let’s get out and see a couple of gigs, let’s reminisce about those great gigs that we have seen, and most of all, let’s never admit that the first live concert we ever went to was Bon Jovi at the Tennis Centre.
If you’ve had an amazing live music experience…or if you’d like to finally admit that you’ve seen Bon Jovi live…I’d love to hear about it.