I'm getting reacquainted with North American life, and the bullshit that goes with it. This past Wednesday I was invited to my nerd school alma mater to learn about the Xbox software development kit that was to be made available to all inh@bitants. Two guys from M$ kicked off their presentation by saying that videogames were so specifically marketed that the genre was stagnant, and that they were looking for new, exciting forms of interactive entertainment that would appeal to everyone. Fair enough, that is until they launched into a PowerPoint detailing the specific market they were looking to conquer. I walked out on the slide titled "Microsoft's Essential Elements of Good Storytelling"...

For anyone jealous of my business-class vacation, don't be. I'm pretty much over it. Yeah, there's more legroom and yeah, you can drink like a fish if you want to, but for me it ain't worth paying for either of those privileges. Even the elusive and exclusive Maple Leaf and Red Carpet Lounges can't deliver on what they promise; they're kind of like the VIP theatres at The Varsity -- chock full of dumbasses like you and me, but who somehow think they're better than everyone else. I'll take Virgin Blue any chance I get, thanks!

My return to Honolulu was pleasant but a little rushed. Coming in from the Pacific side meant jet lag of the sleep-in variety, so no early-morning dip in the ocean for me. Instead I drove my rented convertible over to Pearl Harbor, and missed that memorial's last ticket for the day. I didn't feel too bad; apparently you spend twenty bucks to watch a film, then take a boat out to a cement block to hang beside the mast of the sunken Arizona, just peeking through the surface. Thankfully I could still get on board the U.S.S. Missouri, which I did -- learning about America the war-monger was much more enlightening than honouring America the victim!

On my way back into town I returned to the Ala Moana Shopping Center, the only place I knew of to procure indigenous cuisine for less than twenty bucks. Through a misunderstanding I concentrated mostly on the laulau, consisting of pork meat (good) coated with pork fat (awful) wrapped in taro leaves (good)... And threw the poi out! I thought you had to spoon the tasteless, starchy purple goop on its own, not realizing I could dip my other courses in it, or as suggested to me, mix in some sugar and eat as dessert. Yeah, maybe next time...

I parked my car and walked Waikiki end to end, but by the time I got to the site of the free beachside movie it was time to haul my souvenir-filled bags to the airport. And here I am, 100K Aeroplan miles later, worn of body but broadened of mind. I'll most definitely be doing this again. But the photos will have to wait... I need me some sleep!

As mentioned in my last entry, the sudden stoppage in uploads ain't my fault; my trusty iBook has developed some kind of glitch that prevents it from connecting to the Internet. So far the rest of its functions seem intact, so I'm able to at least compose my entries from high above the Pacific Ocean, that is until my battery runs out -- this particular aircraft has no power jacks.

My bad experience at the Taronga Zoo was but the first thing to taint my otherwise five-star rating of Sydney. In terms of authentic Australian culture, the nearby (relatively; it's a fourteen-hour drive) city of Melbourne seemed more like the real deal. It didn't hurt a bit that I was flown in for free, spending just over an hour with gorgeous stewardesses and funky youngsters on Richard Branson's rock and roll airline, Virgin Blue. Upon my arrival I was greeted by my ticket benefactors and immediately whisked away to the charming Mexican-flavoured adobe of Rusty Berther and family. After a tour of bohemian St. Kilda it was time for a gourmet dinner at the similarly bohemian loft of John Fleming and wife Judith. I fell asleep watching road videos of the Scaredies on tour in Canada -- sorry boys, been there, done that!

The next morning I watched the down-under duo in action at a local radio station, then experienced another first class museum, and the first I've ever seen with an exhibit on human sexuality! I spent the afternoon gadget hunting up and down the Bourke Street Mall, marvelling at this country's mobile culture all the way. Text messaging is huge here; I couldn't walk four steps without seeing someone hammering away on the keypad of their mobile, which for me immediately demanded an explanation of why I could send SMSs to Canada but not locally to the Scaredies. The answer I got is that SMS transmission isn't guaranteed internationally, at least not in Australia, which in turn begs the question: What's the point? The ability to contact friends on the other side of the world for pennies is to me nothing short of miraculous, but the utility of said service goes way down when you can't beat roaming charges and do the same with someone coming across town to pick you up. As the locals say, "Not happy, Jan!"

Technology did make my first footy experience that much richer. Rusty took me to the MCG, bringing with him a radio so's I could listen to some colour commentary with the game. Aussie Rules football is an invention of cricket players, who as legend has it, drew up the rules in an afternoon for a sport that would keep them fit during their off-season. Their creation is as exciting to watch as it is popular, and much more agreeable to this hockey fan's tastes than any North American version. On the way though the stadium after the game I met members of the Canadian footy team, in town for a world match that had transpired earlier in the week. I was invited to watch them play out their regular season at an outdoor community centre in Mississaugua; somehow I don't think it would be quite as "full on".

When I touched back down in Sydney the next day, I had to hoof it to get checked back into my hotel in time to load up on souvenirs at the big market across the street. Then I went back to Paddy Maguire's Pub, and sat out the wait for a real outback burger with a pint of local stout. I could have bought some at the bottle shop -- a counter at the pub where you can take home your favourite brew -- but sorry friends, my suitcases are all full of vegemite :-P

Today I visited Taronga Zoo to see three things: A Dingo, a Koala and a 'Roo. I got to the grounds just in time to queue up for the hour-long Koala photo opp, cleverly scheduled during their feeding time. Standing in line was brutal, the sounds of tourists complaining intolerable in any language -- yes, I realize that I'm a tourist as well, but at least when travelling alone I mind my Ps and Qs! When my turn came up one of the bears had already fallen back asleep, which they tend to do for about twenty hours a day. I took my position beside the other one, whereupon it immediately started chewing on my hair, making for a fantastic photo if only the Koala-keeper could have figured out where the zoom button was on my camera. The one he did get was moments later, with a big fuzzy grey butt parked on my shoulder, ready to squeeze out a big eucalyptus dump on my shirt... Or so it seemed by the smell!

The rest of the critters were doing as well as they could under the circumstances, I suppose, though the last time I had seen a tiger endlessly pace around the perimeter of its cage was at Siegfreid & Roy's wildlife hick-tasia in Las Vegas. What ruined this zoo for me was the total lack of respect the other patrons had for the animals. I'd be pacing back and forth seeking escape myself if I was beseiged by people pointing and screaming at me every thirty seconds. In a rare moment of solitude I think I experienced a zen moment with one of the dingos, but it may have just been smelling the Koala crap on me.

I finally got around to sampling some Aussie cuisine, splurging for the twenty-dollar buffet breakfast in my hotel -- hey, that's only nineteen Canadian -- just so's I could sample me some vegemite. Alas, no biggy. I had a girlfriend once who said she'd break up with me if I didn't like the similarly-flavoured marmite the first time I tried it, so I knew what I was in for. For dinner, I had a lovely local beer, and an Aussie burger. What's in an Aussie burger, you ask? Well, take your regular hamburger, cooked in the usual way (easy, right?), add caramelized onions (a no-brainer), a fried egg (stay with me; they do it at Fatburger in LA) and sliced beets. And if that doesn't make your face turn sour, consider that I had my particular Aussie burger at McDonald's, because there was a forty-five minute wait for food at the pub I started at!

It wasn't just that the place was around the corner from my hotel (although it seems that almost everything is); the PHM is a museum of social culture, perfect for someone wanting to find out more about its Australian variant. For example, did'ja know that Australia was where the world's first feature film was produced? Other exhibits include a valuable treatise on sustaining the environment, with a corner devoted to WTO protests!

One thing I hadn't mentioned about my arrival in Sydney was the delousing of our plane before we could leave it. Under the watchful eye of a government official, the flight attendants walked down each aisle with spray cans -- not aerosol, I hope! But after watching the news and seeing just one of the weird diseases endangering the country's citizenry, I can see why they freak so much about bringing in foreign food and plants.

Oh yeah, the chocolate... The PHM also has an interactive lab for invention and experimentation. In the section on taste, there's a video presentation on the different kinds of chocolate and how they are made. Every couple of minutes you're invited to touch the screen and hold your other hand under a plastic tube, for free samples!

I spent the rest of the day on rails, circling Darling Harbour in the Monorail, then transferring to the CityRail line to pay a sunset visit to the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge. I could see the silhouettes of no less than four groups in various stages of scaling the summit, half of them held up by someone near the top chickening out. I capped off the evening with a visit to the Star City Casino. Aussies are no less enchanted with gambling than the rest of the world, and the apparent legality of sports betting might help explain the popularity of "footy".

I'll find that out firsthand Friday night; it seems that some old friends in Melbourne are -- ahem -- flying me in to see them!

My good buddy Kevin Hilditch helped me out with a little experiment I've been meaning to try ever since I was in Hong Kong last September. My landline number forwards all calls to my cell phone, but the landline is also connected to the call box at the gate of my condo. So Kevin went down to my gate and dialled up my suite. Over here in Sydney, Australia I answered the call, pressed "9" and let him in. Neat, huh? For anyone who knows where I live you can now reach me anywhere in the world for free; just keep in mind the time difference, please!

I've definitely got a serious case of wanderlust, addicted to the exhilarating rush of stepping out into another part of the world. This part of it is so far both foreign and familiar -- I knew I'd made the right vacation choice when I entered a nearby mall and found myself face to face with a mobile phone kiosk inside. Strangely, my Treo isn't proving to be as useful as it was in Hawaii. There I could almost do without my laptop, only needing it for entries to this site. And if I was a real geek, I could probably figure out a way to do that as well. But for some reason, none of the four GSM providers in Sydney will let me get on the wireless Internet. Luckily, I've got a high-speed connection right here in my hotel room.

I was wondering what my Sydney accommodations would be like. I've had bad experiences in Holiday Inns before -- small rooms that stink of cheap air freshener and bathrooms that only a submarine crew could love. On paper (or at least on the Holiday Inn website) this place had a perfect location at a reasonable price. I wasn't disappointed. Turns out this used to be the Furama Hotel, and has kept the best qualities of its former marque. I was expecting to be homeless until check-in time; instead, I got a room upon my 8am arrival, and not just the room I had booked, but a free upgrade to a two room business-class suite. This place could sleep five!

Not able to sleep myself, I set out to reconnoiter the area. Someone had told me that Sydney was a lot like Toronto; if so, then Darling Harbour is a lot like Chinatown, Ontario Place, the Eaton Centre, The Royal Ontario Museum and Casino Rama squeezed into a couple of city blocks. A monorail passes by below my window (I don't hear it) connecting to all the attractions. On foot, it took me all afternoon to cover about half of it. Though my interest was piqued by the new Nokia picture phone I did the right thing instead and picked up some presents for my nieces and nephew.

I was hoping to pay an evening visit to the casino, but surrendered to jet lag and fell asleep during the six o'clock news. With eleven hours of executive sleep now under my belt, I should be able to keep a more reasonable local schedule.

Try as I might, I couldn't stay up much past sunset Friday night. But my early rise the next morning didn't just get you Saturday's entry sooner; it also gave me the opportunity to take a quiet stroll along the beach before the crowds showed up. As the rising tide poured over my feet I just couldn't believe how warm it was, and immediately ran back to the hotel for my swimming gear. By the time I returned the beach was already starting to fill up (at 8 in the morning!), but I now knew why. A power sun bath was followed by a power swim. Actually, letting the surf thrash me around was enough of a workout.

I barely made it back to the Aston Waikiki Beach Hotel in time for checkout, and after transferring my bags to a rental car, set out for Oahu's North Shore. About an hour of spectacular scenery later, I was ready for some Polynesian culture at, fittingly enough, the Polynesian Cultural Center.

The PCC positions itself as an interactive hands-on learning environment; what that means to you and me is audience participation at every exhibit, which is great if you're the one on stage but lousy if you're the one sitting alone in the audience. While wandering around I got a little creeped out by the incessant greetings of "Aloha" from the employees as I passed by. After a little digging, I made a startling discovery -- the joint was run by Mormons! Apparently Brigham Young University has a Hawaii campus next door, and all of the employees, honest to goodness Polynesians from Fiji, Samoa and so on, perform at the PCC as work trade for studying the ways of Christ and polygamy. I guess its better for Fijians to believe in god than cannibalism, but who am I to judge one cult over another?

I skipped the PCC luau and instead hooked up with Kim Binsted, the former CEO of i-Chara who took me out to dinner in Tokyo last summer. She's now on track for tenure at the University of Hawaii, but still has some kind of research deal with Sony. She graciously invited me to a birthday party at her north shore oceanfront condo. And talk about an entrance -- I tried to beat the entry gate on the way in and lost, made apparent by the loud "whack" as it came crashing down on my windshield. Hey, it's a rental!

Soon I was back at the airport, waiting for my midnight departure to Sydney. I arrive early Monday morning (hence no Sunday entry), so to help me sleep on the plane I used my bizknob class ticket to suck back a couple of Caesars before boarding, adding to the mix a glass of complimentary champagne when I got to my seat. I was out moments after takeoff, and all was going as planned; until a surly flight attendant woke me, demanding an order for a meal that, oddly enough, never came. I've eaten twice since, but not that particular thing I ordered. Weird... Maybe I dreamt it?

At this moment I'm looking out my window at the rising sun, somewhere over the Pacific. I think it's five-thirty in the morning, but I'm not entirely sure. It's going to be interesting stumbling around downtown Sydney like a zombie until my hotel room is ready. Beeeddd... Beeeddd....

After a morning orientation of the area I paid a visit to the Waikiki Aquarium and a variety of strange-looking undersea life, including the world's only captive specimens of the nautilus, a species millions of years old. Not content with joining the thousands of other tourists hanging out at the beach, I opted instead to check out Honolulu's consumer culture, and do some people watching along the way.

The many Japanese visitors to the island give the scenery a welcome break from everything U.S.A. They may be naught but Asian hicks themselves (if there is such a thing), but seeing their game shows on my hotel room TV and their Pocari Sweat soft drinks in neighbourhood variety stores brought back fond memories of my trips to Japan and China. But when cultures collide at the huge Ala Moana Shopping Center, it is the Japanese department stores that must bow to the likes of Macy's and JCPenny.

As for Polynesian culture, I'm way ahead of ya. Stay tuned!

Any '70s TV show will tell you that when you de-plane in Hawaii you're greeted by a nice young lady in a grass skirt who puts a flower lei around your neck as a welcome to the island.

Didn't happen.

Thankfully, everything else about this place seems to fall in line with its clichés. My hotel room is a tiki paradise, and my first evening stroll along Waikiki Beach took me past two guitar sing-a-longs and about as many new ukulele owners. This morning as I gaze upon my ocean view I can see some kind of a mass surfing lesson taking place just beyond the retaining wall. Is it a testament to the popularity of Blue Crush, or just a way to pass the time when there's nothing else to do? I shall investigate...

My next transmission will be from sunny Oahu, Hawaii :-)

Some sad news: Anyone who knows the talented local actress Tracey Hoyt may not know that her father Sandy passed away over the holiday weekend. Well-wishes can be directed this way.

Before I head halfway around the world next week I'm making a quick trip to Washington, D.C. for a buddy's birthday, and also to suggest to George dubya that he might be more successful if he concentrated on ridding the world of one evil-doer at a time :->

There are, of course, a few things to take care of first, most notably my monthly commitment to Second Cine. For the first time, my short film showcase features a film that ain't so short. So come on down to The Tim Sims Playhouse at 9PM next Tuesday (August 6th) and see the meisterwerk good enough to comprise the entire second act of my show!