Hey everyone,

Well, here I am, at a cafe somewhere in downtown Sydney. I never thought
I'd actually make it down here. But here I am, and even I can't believe it.
Right now, there is a woman with enormous breasts right in front of me and
behind the screen of my laptop eating what looks like crab salad out of a
pineapple that has been hollowed out. Quite a sight.

The flight from Houston to LA was brief. Guess who boarded the flight to
Sydney along with me? Claire Danes. Steve will appreciate the significance
of this. Here's the story: Once, while at USC, I chatted online with
someone who said she was Claire Danes. We talked at length about her career,
but I was skeptical, so I asked her to call me. She did, and we talked for
about 15 minutes. She was pretty convincing. Granted, back then I wasn't
too familiar with Claire's voice, but she seemed legit. Especially when
she refused to give me her phone number (she said she was calling from New
York). So that was it. Funny thing is, I got the whole thing on tape.
Anyway, Claire was sitting in business class during the flight. That's on
the upper deck (yes, this plane had two decks), and I wasn't allowed to go up
there. I really wanted to ask her if it was really her I talked to, cuz
it's been bugging me these last few years. And once I was at it, I wanted
to tell her how awesome she was in U-Turn, and what a great job she did with
Princess Mononoke (those who haven't seen it yet should). I even asked the
stewardess to go up there and ask her for me, but the stewardess returned
saying that Claire was mugging down with her boyfriend and that she didn't
want to interrupt. It was worth a shot.

My flight over wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was gonna be. Sure, it
was 13 or so hours, but it didn't seem like it. Maybe it was all the
adrenaline, maybe it was the four naps I took. But before I knew it we were
descending through the clouds and over the industrial coastline of south
Sydney.

I caught up with Claire in baggage claim, and I asked her if she had ever
done that before. She told me it must have been somebody else before
scampering off to customs. Oh well.

Once outside, I hopped onto a bus that was headed for King's Cross, the
neighborhood where there are youth hostels for backpackers like me to get a
room for a few nights. Not surprisingly, most of them were booked through
the millennium, but after lugging three rather heavy bags (I already know I
brought too much stuff) around a few city blocks, I managed to find a hostel
that had a dorm room with six other people. To give you some idea what it's
like, the room is smaller than my bedroom in Houston, and there are three
bunkbeds in it. All that for $25 a night. That's Aussie dollars, but it
still seems a bit steep. I got the room for the next two nights, after
which the rent goes up to $50 a night cuz of the millennium. After that, who
knows. Hopefully I'll find a more permanent solution tomorrow. No Internet
connections here, which sucks. Not even a phone line, which really sucks.
So anytime I wanna do anything on the Net I gotta go somewhere and pay for
it.

After plopping down my three rather heavy bags onto my tiny sheetless bed, I
rested my aching shoulders for a minute. Two girls walked into the room.
They were staying in the room and were travelling together. Suzanne and
Karen. Both are German. Then I met Yakitake (or something like that) and
his roommate whose name escapes me, who are also travelling together. They
speak three words of English between them, but I could tell by their soft
voices and teethy grins that they are both nice fellows.

I consulted my map (thanks to Mel and Steve; it has been a life-saver), and
then set off on foot to the nearest Apple store to get my piece of shit
iBook repaired or replaced, also to find out if my piece of shit iBook will
explode when I plug it into the wall here. It was quite a walk, about 30
minutes. They were closed. Ah, Boxing Day. It's the answer to a Trivial
Pursuit queswtion in America, but it's an official day-off everywhere else.
On the way back, I went into a camera store, only to discover that they have
cooler names for all the same plastic shit I used to sell back home. I
found a strip that looks a lot like Sixth Street in Santa Monica, complete
with screaming lunatics on LSD and baggily dressed, spiky-haired
pre-pubescent skateboarders. Then I stopped at a cafe for a smoothie, and
here I am.

Having studied the map and walked around town a bit, I feel like I know my
way around. The first thing that struck me about Sydney is how much like
Montreal it is. Old mismatched architecture, rust stains on the sides of
buildings, construction that looks like it'll never be completed, millions
of tiny shops crammed together at street level, lots of high-rise apartment
buildings, cracked, uneven, gummy sidewalks, crumbling curbs, dirty streets,
the same bus exhaust meets sweaty gym sock city stench with a dash of ethnic
food, city transit buses on every street, subways (with the same-smelling
draft blowing out onto the street from below), Queen Elizabeth on all the
money (which looks really cool), hilly, and a general gray drabness. The
only things *not* like Montreal are the humidity (rather high), the lack of
French-speaking snots, and driving on the left. There are also some cool
things I haven't seen before, like Internet cafes on every street corner
(every single one of them is logged onto Hotmail, interestingly enough),
crosswalk ringers that make it sound like I'm playing Super Mario Brothers
when I cross the street, and big-breasted women eating out of hollowed-out
pineapples. And then you have the same old shit you see everywhere, like
Asians in lowered Civics and homeless people on every other corner.

Having spent the last four hours since arriving thinking about my adventure, I
am only now realizing what a nut I am for doing this. Only now am I
realizing how long two months really is, and how much money this is going to
cost me. Room and board, food, travelling, whores. It all adds up. Looks
like I'll have to settle in Sydney and get a job rather than roam around the
continent like I was hoping to.

Wayne from room #22 just invited me to get dinner with him. Thai food. My
Gaydar is ringing, but over the years, all of those gay advances may have
hyper-sensitized my Gaydar. For now, we'll give Wayne the benefit of the
doubt. When he starts playing footsie, it's all over.

Well, it's 5:08pm on Tuesday evening here as I type. God knows what time it
is for you all. Thirteen hours on the plane to figure it out and I still
have no idea how it works. It looks like it's about to rain and I still
have quite a walk back to my overpriced bunkbed. I don't know when I'll get
access to a phone line and be able to send this, but as soon as I do I'll
fire this off.

Steve: The toilets here kind of gush out water and then suck it straight
down, so we'll have to wait till I get to another toilet before we solve
your mystery.

Until next time,

Jeff