White Christmas

I have been lax with the blog updates, which I do apologise for. We have moved from Bedford-Stuyvesant (Bed-Stuy) to Williamsburg. In Sydney terms, it is like going from “Mino” (no t needed) to a Newtown-esque Paddington. Coolly detached, young peacocks strut around flaunting their plumage of designer flannel, clear spectacles and immaculately groomed beards. This is mecca for posers, hipsters and tortured artists. Wanker central. Suffice to say, I love it here and feel a kinship with each one of my post-modern brethren.

As Christmas draws near, I can reflect on six months of ‘properly’ living in the USA. While I would love to wax lyrical about the home of the free, I have bowed to my OCD tendencies and decided to list my top five pros and cons of American life.

Pros

Food

Truly New York is the melting pot for cuisine. Ruiz and I plan to enjoy Christmas dinner at a restaurant called Greenwich Grill, where we will be feasting upon Italian/Japanese fusion. Classic Christmas fare. The portions are enormous, all budgets are catered for and they have more options than Ryan Gosling on RSVP.com. [Ed- While proofreading this manuscript, Ruiz asked “Is Ryan Gosling on RSVP?” She then asserted that she needed to use the computer. Pronto.]

Public Transport

In a city where it seems that no one we know owns a car (sample size of seven), the subway is the easiest and cheapest way to travel. Sure, there are drawbacks. The platforms are perilously narrow, commuters draw dangerously close to the tracks as they navigate the warren of subway transfers. The underground reeks of piss but the upside balances it out. There is a non-stop procession of bucket drummers, break dancing crews, barbershop quartets and general crazies who spice up every ride. The subways are prompt and reliable. And, where else but New York would this happen? 

Alcohol

If you want to get hammered, then New York is the place for you. The low cost, free-pour, seemingly endless happy hours and blatant disregard for anything close to a RSA policy ensures that a cheap night out can be had by all and sundry (though your ID will be thoroughly checked, a process known as being ‘carded’). However, a word of warning: we have underestimated the potency of this combination, and paid the price. The hangovers that follow are as welcome as Alan Jones at the next Gillard family reunion.

People

The myth of the Ugly American is patently untrue. We have been constantly amazed by how polite and helpful the seppos have been to us. Admittedly, they have struggled to decipher my clipped strine, which has resulted in one disastrous haircut where the opposite of what I requested occurred. Seriously, I looked like Nudge from Hey Dad…

instead of my normal dapper self…

The repercussions of not being able to finish colonizing the New World linger to this day.

Clothes

Approximately sixty seconds in any store will make you realize how much of a rip off shopping in Australia is. The range, quality and price are second to none. In addition, they cater for larger humans like myself. Where else but America would a 6”2’ 200lb man be classified as medium? USA! USA! USA! [fist pumping]. As a self confessed show-pony, the joy of shopping in New York is only matched by Ruiz honouring my birthday wish to stop regaling me with her seemingly endless cycle of puzzling dreams. Amazing! Another dream where you are fighting someone? Please elaborate…

Cons

Food

It seems strange to share top billing on both lists but the processed nature of the food here is unbelievable. You can get things like “cheese-like food” and “ham-like food”, which are neither cheese nor ham. The amount of preservatives and artificial elements included in every food source means that bread can be left on the counter for two weeks and not spoil. Also disappointing is the Asian food here which, with the rare exception, is ridiculously greasy, bland and overpriced. The longings for Cabramatta and Eastwood grow stronger as the months fly by.

Public restrooms

In a city of more than 8 million (and that's not even counting the illegal latino contingent), it is amazing that they have concluded that six public toilets will suffice. Any outing that Ruiz and I undertake involves her asking me “Do you have to go?” like a deranged kindergarten teacher. I maintain that it is good training for her for motherhood. She takes the view that I need to eat less bran.

Recycling

It seems to be a middle class hobby or a novelty like the vuvuzuela . If there is one lesson that the USA can take from Australia is that we are exceptional at finding new uses for rubbish. Ask Israel Folau of Melbourne Storm, GWS Giants, NSW Waratahs fame. Shit, we even got Danni Minogue a gig after YTT, it might have been Australia’s Got Talent but it got her out of the house.

Sarcasm and Irony

Essentially, they do not play in New York. As a result, I constantly give the impression of being an arrogant, offensive prick. Ruiz says that travel reveals your true nature.

Coffee

‘Nuff said.

Ruiz and I can look back on a whirlwind start to our New York odyssey with a sense of achievement. In the next month or so we will be braving the Manhattan real-estate circus and looking for apartments. Horror stories are sure to abound. We look forward to sharing them with you in the new year. Merry Christmas. We are thinking of you all and wish you a wonderful 2013.

ps: A special congratulations to our cousins Sooz and Leo on the birth of their gorgeous twins Mya and Jimmy. We are so happy for you all! xx

Rock me like a hurricane

Greetings from windswept Brooklyn,

We have survived the worst of Hurricane Sandy due to a structured plan with an emphasis on routine, logic and higher order thinking. I would take credit for this but Ruiz said that people who know me read this and they would soon realise I was being dishonest.

The onset of Hurricane Sandy created tension and uncertainty in the Connors household as the closest we had been to a natural disaster was when I allowed Nobby to cut my hair in the summer of 2004. I can only hope the devastation and damage inflicted across the eastern coast of the United States does not surpass the horror that I endured thanks to the uncoordinated flailings of a clueless man.

Once the gravitas of the situation became clear we sprang into action. Natalie collated important documents, communicated with our families and set about hurricane proofing our place. I was no less pragmatic as I ensured that my workout singlet, hair pomade and latest GQ were within arms length. The storm was upon us in a flash and our main concern were the ten foot glass windows in the living room. Natalie's engineering background came to the fore as she duct taped - nay, "gorilla taped" - the windows into place as we waited for the tempest. In the midst of the storm she calmly worked on an upcoming presentation, while I jeopardised our future by consuming the majority of our food supplies in a frenzy of panic. I am an emotional eater, don't judge me. Thankfully minimal damage was inflicted to property and people in Bed Stuy and Ruiz's claims as the heir-apparent to McGyver appear to be well justified.

In the week leading up to Hurricane Sandy I decided to give my karma credit a boost by returning to charity work. I selected BARC, a no-kill dog shelter, as my ticket to paradise. I was required to walk dogs that had been abandoned by their owners, the only proviso was that the majority of these dogs would be BIG dogs and generally of the pitbull variety. I think it has been established that "heroic" will never be a shortlisted adjective for my tombstone, so I approached this undertaking with a fair degree of trepidation.

After completing the necessary paperwork and ignoring the briefing, myself and three other dogooders (see what I did there? don't worry if you don't get it, it's not that clever) were marshalled into an area to receive the first of the two dogs we would walk. I strategically placed myself at the rear of the line and from the commotion behind the door it was a sensible strategy. The first three dogs were a female pitbull, a german shepherd and a mongrel of enormous girth and energy. The trio of dogs tested the strength of their leash and the resolve of their volunteer as they dragged them towards the door and out into the night. I steeled myself for an onslaught of pent up canine energy. I was then presented with a pint-sized, docile, snow white terrier called Lola. As we strolled through Williamsburg, I directed Lola to piss on hipster's fixies (and truth be told I helped her out when she was running low).

I thought that the organiser must have decided to soften my entry into the experience and the second dog I would walk would obviously be Cujo's older brother. I again waited to see what the dog lottery would spin up for me. The two dogs I saw dragging their walkers outside were a mastiff that would have nudged 100 kilos and a ginger samoyed that I was tempted to lie down on and take a nap on, such was the thickness and lustre of its coat. I braced myself, and this time I was handed Woody, a minature pomeranian. I could see why Woody would be rejected as a dog as I could palm him if I did not feel like walking him.  Overall, I felt good about helping two very friendly dogs get some fresh air and I will probably return to assist again.

Natalie had been getting harrassed on her way to mass for the past fortnight, so I was enlisted as her chaperone to St. John the Baptist Roman Catholic Church on Sunday. The journey was uneventful for Natalie, but my presence has the lightning-rod effect of drawing trouble. I drew the ire of a tough 10-year old who, while walking past holding his mum's hand, menacingly whispered "Run, whiteboy, run!" to me. Thankfully my marathon training had not diminished my fast twitch fibres and we had our choice of pews due to our punctuality.

The service itself was like nothing I had ever experienced with people testifying whenever the spirit moved them. If I had ever wondered what had happened to the Commodores once Lionel Ritchie left them, I had my answer now. The funky rhythm they were laying down under the guise of the church band ensured that the congregation were nodding their heads to the good book and the phat beats. I know I will return, especially if the pancakes that Natalie promises me for attending keep coming. Man cannot live on bread alone.

We thank everyone who expressed concern for our wellbeing during the past week. We knew we were going to be ok because as Billy Joel said only the good die young.

Connors

Rochester 2012 Recap

I have a confession to make, I don't like running.

It seems like an odd thing to say days after completing my first marathon, but I don't consider myself a runner. I realise that I am runner in the sense that I have clocked quite a number of kilometres and participated in numerous races, but I am not a runner in the sense that I glide along and find serenity on the open road. Running is hard work and will always be a grind for me. I really admire several of my colleagues who have a rhythmic quality to their running which is almost hypnotic. They are poetry in motion. They are the kind of runner I aspire to be but theirs is a state that I believe I will never attain. Running for me is a challenge, a deeply personal one that provides me with irrefutable evidence of my progress and effort. You cannot bullshit the clock or spin the distance you ran. That is running's appeal to me.

Two days prior to the 2012 Rochester Marathon I reflected on my preparation, which had been designed to ensure I was in the best possible physical condition to complete 26.2 miles. I had run in thirty degree heat with high humidity and in the cold and rain to prepare for any conditions that may occur on race day. I was quietly confident, but an unsettling narrative ran through my head. If I did not reach my targeted time would the race have less value? Would my effort be diminished if I missed my self-appointed benchmark? My head was spinning with these thoughts as I strove to stop thinking of others’ successes as the barometer for mine. Thankfully, I received some wise counsel from one of the most inspiring women I know, Danila Checchin, who pumped up my tyres with the right mix of belief and humour. I drew strength from her words and the goodwill of others.

Once in Rochester, my nerves started to jangle as I saw the top seeds for the race milling around looking relaxed and confident. The Rochester Marathon is a qualifying race for the Boston Marathon, which has famously stringent qualifying standards, hence a number of highly credentialed runners would be competing. They seemed a different species to me with their greyhound limbs and loose and easy gait. I collected my number and the volunteer manning the booth inquired if I had any questions. I asked what was the race record was. Her head jerked up from the desk as she appraised me - I am a fit man but my physique does not scream marathoner - and she stumbled over her reply. Admonished, I thanked her and said "Good to know." The race record was actually broken, just not by me. I missed breaking the record by a mere two hours and twenty minutes. Note to self: don’t be afraid to push yourself out of your comfort zone.

Race day found me up before the alarm and keen to experience what the day brought. Any number of criteria can be used to evaluate the health of your relationship with your wife but an often overlooked one is having your spouse coating your tree-trunk thighs with Vaseline to prevent chafe at 6am. Natalie's smile and ever-present laughter relaxed me and allowed me to focus on my race plan and my two goals: first, to finish the race under my own power, and second, in a time of 4hrs 30 mins. I resolved to let the race unfold and not to put too much pressure on myself to attain a time.

Over the ten minute stroll from the hotel to the start line, it became apparent that I would not overheat as the temperature had not reached double figures; a strong wind swept the St Andrews Bridge which made finding shelter a priority. These conditions did not abate throughout the day and prompted the race organisers to provide complimentary cups of coffee for spectators. A concession that Natalie was grateful for as she waited for me, she did however remark later that she would have preferred a cocktail to pass the time. She is nothing if not adaptable.

I took the time to survey the field and my eye was drawn to a tall, middle-aged Scotsman decked out in a fetching tartan kilt. He was reveling in the attention he received for his choice of attire. It prompted a couple of pretty young things to slink over and ask provocatively “Is anything worn under a Scotsman’s kilt?” His reply of “Worn? No everything is in perfect working order” had the required timing and projection to leave everyone in the vicinity in hysterics.

Waiting for the gun, the cold was starting to grip me and I could feel the pins holding my right index finger together pulsing, it would take more than half the race to rid me of that unnerving sensation. Another obstacle to overcome was the ear-shattering version of the American anthem. The poor girl who provided the rendition must have been convinced that the untimely demise of Whitney Houston had left a vacancy in the field of vocal pyrotechnics. The four minutes of warbling she produced was far more painful than the run itself.

I fought the urge to explode from the start as I knew I would need energy for the latter stages of the race. I concentrated on running each mile in ten-minute increments. This was also a preventative measure against hitting the wall. I was always wary of accelerating too early. I made a conscious decision not to shadow a pacer as I had trained alone and wanted to face whatever obstacles the race brought solo. Hitting the wall was my greatest fear as I was unsure if I would have the resilience to persist through such hardship.

The majority of the race was run parallel to a canal, which was filled with motley green water and bordered by dense scrub. Hardly the scenery along the front of the Opera House. The path was gravel, which made footing treacherous. The hardest element for me was the lack of spectators. I am a self-confessed show pony who thrives on an audience for energy and praise. I had to reconcile myself that I would have to rely on intrinsic motivation to overcome the lows that the race would bring. This aspect of the race provided me with the most self-satisfaction, as I feel I fought and won the mental battle with my self-esteem and emerged the stronger man.

The race itself was a blur of images and emotions. I began to flag mentally at one stage and took an idea from Paula Radcliffe. The multiple marathon winner has a mantra that focuses on her daughter of “I love you Sarah” which she repeats when she feels overwhelmed. As much as I was loathe to follow the advice of someone who pulled out of a marathon, while leading, to collapse and piss herself in a gutter (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWB2ofa8NZU), her sentiments rang true for me. I thought of Natalie and the strength that I draw from her love. Her complete faith and positivity was a key ingredient in me undertaking this race with so much confidence. This elevated and refocused me.

I must have been in the fabled "zone" because the finish line loomed up unexpectedly as I turned a corner and saw the digital timing displays and the spectators flanking the final stretch. I heard my name and announced while I scanned the crowd for Natalie. I saw her, dark eyes wide and dancing and that familiar gleam of white teeth as she smiled and cheered for me. I drew near to her and saw a look of relief wash over her, as she realized she would not become a widow in Rochester. I lent over the railing, told her I loved her and kissed her. I then trotted the last fifty metres to finish the marathon elated.

I have learnt a great deal from this experience and I am unable to do it justice. Suffice a message on a tee shirt I saw on the day surmises it perfectly.

Be the moment.

Connors

Educating Ruiz

Greetings from Brooklyn,

Exciting news in the Connors household (no, not that news, Mum): Natalie has secured a fantastic position with Thomson Reuters in Times Square. Her role is senior design researcher for the financial and risk division. Natalie explained to me what her role entailed but I must admit I was concentrating on a hilarious commercial on YouTube. As a result we may have to take a trip to Ottawa, Canada to transfer our visas. 

In our quest to increase our cultural capital we ventured to the Museum of the Native American. It was a fascinating day as we were exposed to the music, custom and relics from various tribal backgrounds across the Americas. We were fortunate to see a 2000 year old duck decoy that was made from reeds that was used for hunting by the Cherokee tribe. I was really struck by the Alaskan tribes display. The artwork there was amazing and the detail and intricate carving into ivory had to seen to be believed. There was also a display on the various tribes from Peru. The display was characterised by a plenty of nudity, violent art and barbaric rituals. It really explained a lot about Natalie.

We also stumbled across the National African Burial Ground Monument in the Financial District. In 1991 during construction of an office block, human remains were discovered. This led to further investigation and the discovery of the remains of an estimated 20,000 African slaves. The political wrangling required to transform the site into a historical, sacred site is detailed and was amazing to the say the least. It is described as their Ellis Island by one notable advocate. One display that reinforced the enormity of the slavery was where there was a 400lb/180kg barrel that you had to push up a ramp to replicate loading a ship. I did it fairly easily and was proud of myself for such a Herculean effort. I was then brought back down to Earth by Natalie who said that at age 35 I would have exceeded a slave's lifespan by five years and that most male slaves would have been doing this from the age of ten. Natalie attempted the task but could not complete it. I wondered why we were receiving such withering looks while Natalie was attempting to move the barrel, and retrospectively me taking off my thong to provide "encouragement" on Natalie's backside was a touch insensitive. I did tell Natalie that I believe in authentic learning experiences.

We are preparing for the arrivals of our mothers in less than a fortnight which should make for a memorable experience. We are stocking up on blood pressure medication and alcohol. Once we have confirmation from our mothers we will attend to their requirements.

Until next time.
Connors

Bed-Stuy Do or Die

Hello Australia,

My apologies for being lax with correspondence but I will attempt to update you with our latest adventures. Natalie has settled into work and unsurprisingly is excelling in her role. She is a consultant who works predominantly from home, which poses a problem for her as she enjoys the cut and thrust of office interaction. The upside to this however, is that her work uniform is a sarong and she has chaired meetings in her pjs. Natalie has travelled to meet with clients at various sites such as Orlando, Atlanta and Houston. I keep asking her to return with a souvenir from her travels but she seems to be forgetful about such matters. She assures me that she has an excellent memory, which is all the more perplexing.

My trouble free life as a trophy husband continues. I am waiting on my work permit to be finalised and it gives me time to pursue my philanthropic bent. My first assignment was in the Brooklyn suburb of Bedford Stuyvesant, an area we have resided in for over a month. The area is gritty and predominantly African American. I went to assist at community food co-op and I could not work out why I was received with such hostility. I milled around the front of the hall with a crew of twenty people ranging in ages from twenty five to seventy. I was ignored which is par for the course if you are white but I was determined to do good. We entered the hall in silence and were given a number from 1 to 4. The rumblings of discontent grew louder as I took mine. I thought we would be divided up into working groups based on the numbers. I was wrong. It turns out that I had entered the line for the soup kitchen and I now was eligible to receive free food and services. I also managed to have an awkward conversation with an elderly lady about whether Jesus played a prominent role in my life. Apparently he does not. I returned home upset as to how my good intentions could be misinterpreted. Natalie assessed the situation. "You turn up to a soup kitchen wearing an Armani watch, Ray-Ban sunglasses and freshly pressed clothes and wonder why people get upset when you take food from them?" I do not think I will return to that particular soup kitchen.

My search for decent coffee in New York continues unabated. The search has proven to be fruitless as I have been met with subpar offerings and I have been delighted with anything even approaching mediocrity. Anyone who also supports Parramatta would be familiar with those emotions.

I am coming towards the end of my training program for the Rochester Marathon on September 23rd. I completed 30kms yesterday around Prospect Park, a lush parkland in an upscale part of Brooklyn. I took Natalie along to tend to the drinks and provide support and encouragement. I had mapped a course that was 5kms in distance and I would meet with Natalie to hydrate and give my impressions of the lap just completed. The first four laps passed without incident but by the time I had completed the fifth lap, the temperature was well over thirty degrees and I was really not feeling the famed runner's high. I was hoping for some sympathy and the distinct possibility that we could head home but that was in short supply. Natalie gave me a terse taste of reality and I completed my final lap. If I was not so dehydrated at the end I would have cried, so I had to content myself with crumpling in a heap under a tree. Natalie let lay there for a while but then was moved to come to my aid. Would she hug me? Pour water on my sweaty brow? No, she simply turned me on my side into the recovery position and went back to reading her Penguin classic. Time will tell if Natalie's methods bear fruit.

We are really enjoying our time in New York and are excited with the prospect of both our mothers visiting for a fortnight, at the same time. I look forward to updating you with our latest triumphs in the near future.

Connors

American Domination (Part II)

Arrived in one piece. Just.

I normally enjoy the banality of long haul flying and the self reflection that it brings. The chance to immerse yourself in a book or natter away to the bride are rare luxuries these days. Sadly this opportunity was denied.
We encountered a prolonged period of turbulence so bad that Natalie actually held my hand as opposed to how it normally plays out. The flight staff ceased service and the inflight entertainment broke down. When it the entertainment resumed it made me pine for the turbulence. Anyone who has willingly chosen to see This means war, John Carter and the Vow need no longer acknowledge me in the street. We are not from the same species. The movies were that bad they made me wish that any of the six infants seated in a four aisle radius would drown out the tripe on the screen.


Sadly my hotline to God seemed to have reconnected after malfunctioning during the tempest. Any maternal tendencies that Dr Ruiz was harboring after be exposed to a seemingly endless supply of calm, beautiful and obedient children from our Sydney escapades were shattered over the trip. At one stage she confided in me that she the remedy for children crying as one of our fellow passengers entered in their third hour of wailing without 
a break in stride. The veins in her right arm as she clenched her fist and the look in her eye made me glad they choose that moment to switch on the fasten seatbelt sign.

We did survive and make it to our accommodation in Brooklyn. The welcoming sounds of the police sirens and motherf&cker as a verb, consonant and adjective in every conversation told us we were home. We had a fantastic time in Sydney and thank everyone for making time to see us.


Connors.


PS Congratulations to our good friends Daniel and Rosie on the birth of their daughter Isabella. At less than a month old she already has a more expansive diet than her Dad and clearly her Mother's good looks. Well done team!

Hello Beantown

Hello Australia,

Due to the overwhelming requests, just Mum actually, I thought that I had better keep everyone abreast on our adventures since my last installment.


We have moved from the West Village as our generous hosts have become property owners in Brooklyn. We leave behind a suburb where being an urban hipster is at an elite level. Beards, flannel, fixed wheel bikes, displaying your Dostoevsky novel at all times and never removing your sunglasses regardless of weather conditions are a badge of honor. We will miss certain aspects of the Village. It never failed to amuse me with space at such a premium that New Yorkers kept dogs indoors and had two size options for their dogs, enormous or tiny. Great Danes that you could saddle or chihuahuas that can be transported in your purse are common sightings. Natalie will miss access to cable television to indulge her passion for rubbish reality television. How such an obvious intellect can devote three consecutive hours to the Real Housewives or the narrative arc of the Karadashian sisters remains a mystery to me.


We have entertained various friends from Australia, notably having dinner with my former boss Deni and his wife Lena. Never burn your bridges. I have been corresponding with a K.Rudd from Queensland on the topic but he seems a reluctant student.


We journeyed to Boston for a few days to see Natalie's college, Boston College, and also toured Harvard where we soaked up some reflected glory from the intelligentsia. We attended a Boston Celtics NBA game which was a revelation as I was significantly smaller that every single player on both rosters and seeing them up close made reinforced that. The sheer size of these athletes is breathtaking. Upon settling into our seats and once my nose had stopped bleeding, we were treated to an amazing game of basketball that culminated in a home victory with two seconds to go. However the two highlights stood out and they were not from the court. The national anthem was sung with such passion and fervor by 28,000 people, well maybe 27,998 with two Aussies humming along, that it will remain a moment to remember for some time. The true highlight for me was a half time having the 1962 Celtics championship winning team honored for the fiftieth anniversary of their win. The last player introduced was Bill Russell, 10 NBA championships and generally the only older player regarded in the same echelon as Jordan etc. Quite simply the place went apeshit and the ovation lasted for almost ten minutes. Words cannot do the moment justice.

Yesterday we went to the TriBeCa Film Festival to the premiere of Booker's Place. I would urge everyone to see this movie about a man's courage in the face of institutionalized racism. At the conclusion we were loitering near the exit as the rain was falling quite heavily and Kellan Lutz of Twighlight fame walked past and smiled at Natalie. I did not get the chance to ask for the two hours of my life back after watching his movie Love.Wedding.Marriage. However as he stepped into his blacked out SUV after waving to the screaming hordes and we trudged off in the rain to find the subway, the appeal of vampires has not diminished.

Connors


PS It would be remiss of me not to acknowledge my good friend Ronnie Taib. We decided to run the Canberra Marathon together and while one of us chased fortune and glory in the USA, the other kept his word and completed the run in 3 hrs 33mins. You are a better man than me Ronnie. Well done!

First Impressions

Hello Australia,

I have decided to update you all with the experiences I have had in my first week in the States.

1. Coffee in America is shit. I realized that I have been spoilt living in Surry Hills for seven years. The swill that they pass off as coffee should have a Konyesque viral video made about it to raise awareness of this atrocity.

2. New Yorkers are busy, impatient people. Pausing before entering a doorway or crossing the road immediately brands you as a tourist. I discovered this brutally as a 6''5' 265lbs Africian American woman physically removed from a subway entrance as she wanted to enter before me. I wish I could recreate the moment as Natalie found it hilarious but I would not be able to do it justice, however I have attached link that gives you a visual of the incident http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4FDCbkuaD4

3. There is a clear racial divide. The Latinos are busboys/waiters/cleaners and clearly at the bottom of the food chain. Africian Americans work in retail and do not like to make eye contact. Whitebreads rule the world and are shit scared of the two previous racial groups. Natalie's family made a sound decision to move to Australia rather than the USA.

4. My accent is essentially indecipherable to 95% to everyone I encounter. I have to round out my vowels so that I sound like a Missouri native, albeit one with a learning difficulty. Those of you familiar with my skill at accents and impressions would realize that this poses no problem for me, the person I am interacting with, not so much. I just tell myself that the stunned look they are giving me is due to my uncanny resemblance to Clark Kent.

I am off to brave the 40 degrees temperature (approx 5 degrees) and check to see if we were able to win part of the 640 million New York Mega Million Lottery.

Connors