Sunday, September 17, 2006
Scotty
Ben
Me
Sweet sunnies!!
So we set off for Cairns to experience all that the amateurs cup has to offer. It's a pretty non-eventful road trip to Cairns...about 3.5 hours worth of sugar cane and banana plants, and sugar cane, and sugar cane, did I mention sugar cane?
We roll into Cairns and there's already a buzz in the air. It's Friday about 5pm, and the 3 amigos are bustin' for a feed and some booze (mind you the night before was decently big, and the other 2 had a massive night on Wednesday before I flew in) . We come to rest at our hotel, the recently $1.5M renovated Discovery resort. If this place has had that amount of money poured into it, I'd hated to have seen it before! Decent place, but the rooms were nothing special and the bathroom door was just slats, so you could hear somebody doing their business in there. The beds were as small as my bed in camp, and the tile floor was apparently pretty hard (ask Scotty, who slept there in a swag). But, it's all about location, and this joint is about 500m from the central business district and the bars/pubs/clubs/cafes/shops/backpacker hostels/etc. Off for a roam and a beer. The first resting place was PJ O'Briens for a couple of Kilkennys and Guinesses. Atmosphere oozing out of the place, and the tables outside gave a great viewing point for the roaming international travelers that swamp Cairns in the springtime before the tropical summer hits. After a couple of pints at PJ's, we opt to see what else is happening around the joint. There's this massive backpackers/nightclub that has always been a good haunt in Cairns. It's called Gilligan's, and I went there in the previous trip. We stop in, and it is graveyard dead! Not even the hard-core drinkers have decided to rock up there. Just a few blokes sitting around watching the footie....sausage factory! Well, no need adding to the testosterone level here, time to mosey and see what else is on. It's a good thing we went in, though, as we paid the door cover while there was no line, and that would help out later. Mad Cow, dead. Woolshed, dead. Oh, what's this? Shenanigans....and it's hoppin'! Time to 'ave a go!
Shenanigans.........
So we walk in, and we find out where all the girls who were supposed to be at Gilligan's had gone. I have to say something before we go any further. At one point, my behaviour became reprehensible, and I will apologize in advance. I was swept up in a moment, and I am deeply embarrassed for it. Nobody was injured, but my self respect was damaged a bit in the process. Anywho, we order up a round of drinks and enjoy the atmosphere while observing multitudes of drunks get tripped by the phantom boobie ledge at the bottom of a small flight of about 5 steps. It's painted yellow, but for some reason alcohol reduces the appearance of yellow paint and folks continue to trip over the 3" curb. After a couple of more drinks, I hit rock bottom (the event mentioned above). As I'm perusing the crowd, someone catches my eye. Familiar face, oh look there's another familiar face...holy crap, it's Tim and Greg Logan from Big Brother season #5! Sad, I know, but I couldn't help but get a little excited. I was in the presence of reality television royalty as the Australian Big Brother 2005 winner and runner-up were standing 5m from me. Tim only got a car, but I had been tipping him to win the entire season. He played the game beautifully. Greg was a knob-job who somehow won the $800K prize money that was left over after all of the fines were taken out and they got to play for some of the money to go back into the pot.
Side step and rewind 1 year........
BB season 5 was a tumultuous one, with a great cast of characters who, at the least, kept Australia entertained. BB season 6, which just ended, was a friggin' snoozefest. The people in the house lived like they were on camera, and there just weren't any strong personalities. I know I am having a critical discussion about reality TV, but if it can't entertain, don't put it on the telly.
The cast of characters in BB5 was a great blend of party girls, wingeing bitches, intellectuals, jocks, bogans, and even a farm boy(shearer). Vesna was always complaining, but a vulgar chick. Hotdogs was the bogan from Perth who had his particular view of womens' role in society...ie barefoot and pregnant. Dean was an alpha male cockhead. The Logans (Greg and David-twins) were Dean's lap dogs. Christie was the exhibitionist and topless most of the time (which is legal for Australian TV), Tim was the sensitive, quiet intellectual. Kate was the sweetheart, also from Perth. Glenn the Shearer was the chauvinistic sheep shearer...anyways, there were more but I can't remember their names.
I spent many a night with the BB5 crew, and they left me wanting more. Reality TV is for idiots and simpletons, and I can't figure out which one I am because I was a Big Brother fanatic! I never watched it in the US, but maybe the lax censorship laws in Australian TV made for a more entertaining program. BB, yes. Survivor, yes. Idol, yes. Biggest loser, yes. Any of the celebrity programs (except for celebrity real world and the celebrity fat camp), NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I don't want to watch C-grade actor/ "celebrity" perform in a circus or ice skate or ballroom dance. What they need is celebrity mixed martial arts...that would be entertaining! If they are that hard up for a gig, I'm sure there are a cattlecade of 13 y/o Jewish boys who need barmitzfah entertainment! Rant over...
Back to present day....
So here I am, giddy over seeing the BB5 winner and runner up. Wait a minute, Tim has a pot belly and looks haggard. Greg has about a half a head of grey hair. These guys look terrible! Greg was playing the almost famous card...you could tell. Tim was blending in...oh, that's so Tim (I'm a jackass, I know). So what is the protocol for reality TV personalities that are 1 year removed fro the spotlight? Do they expect to be noticed, or are they aware their time in the limelight is over and they have to move over for the newest crop of media whores? I opted not to gawk too much, and definitely did not approach. I would only know to call them "Greg" and "Tim", although those are not their real names. They're TV names, and they put them in quarantine for a week before going into the house so that they get used to their new names. Greg did become a running joke between myself and Ben, who had also been a fan a year ago. If we were somewhere, it became the "happening place" if Greg showed up. At random times I would ask, "I wonder what Greg is doing?" It was good for a chuckle.
Back to the business at hand....booze and scoping of the lady folk. Shenanigans started slowing down, so it's time to head back to Gilligans, which by now has surely picked up. Okay, looking good with a 50ft line to the door (it's ladies night BTW). We already have our stamps as a result of the early entry into the graveyard, so we jaunt past the line like VIP's and head straight through the door. Still a bit empty, but we opt to stay. Upon walking in, I notice something different....BITCH BOXES! You know those portable stands used by go-go dancers? There are 3 platforms, so something good is about to happen.....and it did. A treat for both the guys and girls. 3 ladies or 3 gents shaking their rumps in a rotating fashion for the next hour. The 3 guys were B-boys with straight-brimmed oversized baseball caps and jeans that clearly needed to be belted or hemmed. The girls in bustiers and fishnet stockings with long leather boots. Now it's a party. About 1:30am, we left there. A quick stop back at the nexus of the universe, PJ O'Briens, for a quiet one, then off to the hotel for a snooze. Upon arriving at the hotel, an acquaintance called me that lives in Cairns. Nina, the German traveler, who has dropped out of Uni back in Germany to pursue a career on the reef diving boats out of Cairns. I had met her on the first trip to Cairns (I promise I'll backlog my previous trip), and wanted to hang out a bit more this time in. She was at the Courthouse pub (a pub that used to be the actual Cairns courthouse...original name, I know). I couldn't for the life of me remember where it was, and the other 2 amigos were nearing unconsciousness, so I opted to have a snooze after the night before (and their 2 nights before). I figured there was always Saturday night. Schuss bis Morgan, Nina. Ich schlafe jetz.
Morning came too early, as I stirred once again before 7am. And the girls from Cannington that were coming up to join us called at 7am to wake Scotty up as they were preparing to head North from Townsville. We all shower, and to my surprise, no hangover...again. 2 for 2 with only a little haze, but no headache, no rotten gut...picture of health. Very interesting. Off for a little cafe brekkie...eggs, bacon, toast, tomato, and coffee. Perfect brekkie after a night on the slops. Back to the hotel to get ready for the races.
We had heard the races started at 11am. We planned to get there at 10:30. Let me give you a tip. If you call a Taxi in Cairns, it will either get there in the next 3 seconds, or in 30 minutes. We called for a taxi from the room, and headed down not 5 minutes later. Then we waited for a half hour and decided to call again to check the status. The one we originally ordered had already been there and we missed it. Please send us another. 2 minutes later, there! We get the the racecourse, and straight up, I lose Scotty's stubby cooler (can coozie to Americans)....bad form already. He almost left his camera in the taxi, so I don't feel as bad. We get in, and the racecourse is pretty empty at 11am. We snatch a great little table in the beer tent close to the bar and the bathrooms...and it's shaded (no sunburn this time, yeah). How do we kill time? BOOZE! The next 2 hours are kind of a big hodgepodge of empty beer cans and people walking past. Leigh and Ruth (Cannington girls) finally get to the racecourse at about 2 pm. I think I recall hearing some galloping in the background, so I'm pretty sure there were actual horses being ridden around a track. I can neither confirm nor deny that theory, though, at this stage. We were also waiting on Scotty's downstairs neighbour, Alana, to show up with her 5 friends. I think it must have been about 3pm when Alana surfaced, without her friends, who were busy chatting up some American Army fellas. Here's are a few snaps of the Cairns crew....
pic 1 (top L): Scotty, Alana, and Ben (seated)
Pic 2: (L-R) Ruth, Ben, Scotty, Leigh
Pic 3: Alana and me
Pic 4: Scotty and me.....smoooooth
Pic 5: A couple of wickpricks dressed like cavemen.
Now that we have the whole crew, the talk turns to fashion. I am quite let down by the shoe selection amongst the female race-goers. The races are about fabulous frocks and great shoes with a big, colourful hat or at least a dead peacock strapped to your head. The shoes just weren't there. For some reason, a general statement like, "I'm disappointed with the selection of shoes out here" becomes personal to anyone who hears it. So, one of our female crew asks, "What about mine?" I was not particularly impressed, and I thought there were not enough accessories to pull them off with the dress. I did not attack her selection, but rather offered an unbiased opinion.....here comes the shitstorm!! For the next 2 hours I get grilled by one of the other females (I'll not include names) as to what girl #1 could have done to accessorise, and my own outfit gets attacked. Now mind you, I was hoping someone would make a comment about my shoes, but not, "Only women and pimps wear fake snake skin". Crushing blow #1. My shirt and tie were OK I guess. The fit of my trousers, as well as my choice of pattern came under attack. Apparently I should have bought a size bigger in the pants (although the ones I had were my waist size), because they were too snug in the backside. Let's face it. I have a big can! Everybody who knows me knows I worked hard for years to build a big, round bottom that would fill out a pair of jeans. Hours and hours of deep squats, rock-bottom leg presses, and dead lifts during my bodybuilding days to build what I fondly referred to as a "gorilla butt". It has been the topic of many a conversation, and I am proud of my big arse! So, I can't expect regular trousers, cut for the sleeker, metro cappucino-kelp crowd to fit my ample behind, wide hips, and larger-than-average legs. If I had more time and a bigger selection of trousers, maybe I could have found something in a Eurpoean cut with more relief in the seat and thighs. I took what I could get, and I stuffed my honking big gluteus into them. Believe me, it used to be much bigger and rounder. 5 years ago, I'd never have even gotten my legs into these pants. What do you think?
So after the verbal thrashing, I took my bruised ego and went for a stroll. Look, I saw a horse...and there's someone on it, and it's a wee little bloke in a fluorescent coloured jersey with a number....and another one...and another. I am, in fact, at a horse race! Gentleman's bet, I picket #12 to place that race due to a decent stride and laid-back attitude. He came 3rd.
Back to the table to drink more booze. By this time, the derelict that was clearing the cans from the table had gotten overwhelmed and decided to take a smoko for about an hour and a half. The cans were piling up to monumental levels with the 6 of us pounding Carlton Draught and Bundy/Cola cans. We looked like raging alcoholics...which we were by that point, with Scotty, Ben, and myself having been pretty steady for 6 hours or so. Time to leave the races and head to town for a feed and fun (we hadn't eaten since brekkie). Bus ride to city. Straight to the Irish vortex of life, PJ O'Briens for more Kilkenny and some food (and some pool).
Next installment coming up...
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