An Unlikely Ambassador

During a regular video chat with my brother a consensus was reached on eBook readers. We both agreed for a whole host of reasons that you can't beat a real book. We mentioned how you can pickup almost anything you want at the library, at no cost, so why would you need to buy a new book, or for that matter invest money on an electronic device. In converting the simplest form of popular media to digital you are now locked into filling it with content that you need to purchase, your old books are not welcome. I figured I would get by with the popular time tested tech of the good old fashioned book, and when I feel the need for new digital content I can refer to the many ebook reader apps for the iPhone.

You may find that this is a bit of a lighter post. I should serve to equalize my blog a bit from discussing only the positives of life in Tasmania for a New Englander. This should provide a little equilibrium so the people at home don't think I've tore up my passport.

Lucy and I both had a busy week, and haven't really had much of a night life in months so we dressed up a bit and decided to head into the city for a drink.. it was 7:00pm.

There are several bars that we had to choose from, and we settled on one called "The Northern Club". Located on one of the main streets in town it was selected because it wasn't full of the post-work crowds. We entered into a very dark oak bar and glanced through their extensive cocktail list. Lucy selected a glass of champagne while I decided it was time I ventured back into Martini-ville. I asked the barmaid for Lucy's champagne and then for a Dirty Vodka Martini with Stoli, extra Dry. She cocked her head like a curious dog and said she'd need to consult another employee. I was then told that they didn't have any "stolichee" vodka (a terrible massacre of the name Stolichnaya), so I said that Grey Goose is fine, which it is not, but at this point I was trying to be magnanimous, and I didn't want to be that "picky American". She began making the drink, clearly unaware of what "extra dry" meant, using half a shot of vermouth.

She went out back and returned saying "We don't have any olive juice, only olives, is that okay?" I said that it was, although it wasn't. As I waited I brought out Lucy's champagne to one of the lovely tables outside that lined the street. It was across from the old Launceston post office, one of the more historical landmarks in town, home to a large clock tower that had me scanning the streets for Doc Brown.

I was back at the bar watching the glass of vodka and vermouth get progressively warmer when she returned with something in her hand. "These are the only olives we have, they are brown, and they have pitts". I could not hide my disappointment and said, well the drink as it is will be fine (no it won't). She returned the olives.. I presume to be used in someones salad later that evening and handed me my drink, and the bill. The glass of champagne and my drink cost $29.

Lessons learned:

-Never be shy to back out of a drink order if you see it is heading south.
-Always have a backup drink ready to go, in this case a double Johnnie Walker Red on the rocks would have sufficed.
-A Dirty Martini is a rare drink in Launceston, or Australia for that matter and I must take it into my own hands to craft that elusive mix of vodka and salt so delights my palette.

I've decided that going out in the future will see my ordering beer. If not for the cost, for the ease of ordering it. When we went to the next bar I confidently ordered a Guinness. Alas, they did not have it, in fact after a bit of research I found that nobody has Guinness on tap in Launceston. I ordered a "Crown Lager" which is a tall thin looking dark bottle with a gold label that extends up the neck. It looks to me like a beer bottle from the 70's. It was good, but not great.

After much deliberation I have decided that my new Beer of choice will be Boags XXX. It comes in bright red "stubbie" (bottle for westerners) and tastes quite good despite its vibrant packaging.

I can handle the fact that my DVDs won't play, that my electronics will need adapters, and even that I had to relearn to drive, but when I can't get Guinness on tap, a decent Dirty Martini, and of course.. clam dip, than I do realize that I am indeed quite far away from home.

Last night I decided that I would do something worthy of writing about.

I don't know why 1000 push-ups came into my head, but it was the first thing, and I decided I would stick do it. I am a man of my word.

As far as I know, nobody can bust out 1000 push-ups at once, so attempting to do that would be as useful as punching myself in the face. What I can do, is perform 25 with little difficulty, so I should be able to do 25 push-ups every 15 minutes. This will give me 100 per hour, and if I start the moment when I wake up I should get to 1000 push-ups by 5pm.

The alarm went off and I was up immediately ready to get started. The first 25 were rough, but they woke me up. I set my watch to go off every 15 minutes and went about my normal daily activities. Sure enough as the morning progressed the beeping noise would proceed my dropping to the ground and pushing out 25. As I reached the 350 mark I noticed fatigued setting in at push-up number 20. That number began to get lower. By the time I reached 500 at lunchtime, I was wobbling at number 16, and hesitating before commencing. Do a few more, rest before finally getting to 25.

Fatigue would case strength to leach out of me so rapidly, one moment I'm sticking to a decent cadence, and in just a few repetitions I would be gritting my teeth just to do one push-up. I could see that I was losing the battle, my muscles weren't able to recover in the 15 minutes I gave them. I dipped into my long distance running training and did what I would have done had I hit the wall on the road. I gelled. I sucked down a "Gu" and took an hour break.

As the afternoon went on I continued, slowly reaching 700, then 800. I felt confident. If marathon training teaches you anything, you know that the human body was built for the long haul. If you give it enough time, it can perform almost anything you ask of it. As I moved up the to the golden number I was again wobbly nearing 25. 5pm came and went, as any breaks, or hesitations I took cumulated in my original completion time being extended.

We had company at 6:30, and I had to excuse myself while I double-timed-it to the guest room to eek out my final few sets. Yes, it is embarrassing, how do explain as an adult that you are trying to do 1000 push-ups? My poor wife was not in an enviable position.

I was able to record the finish, so here it is in all its anti-climactic glory.


I did it. I can now say that I did 1000 push-ups in one day. It was not as hard as I thought it might be. I was only inconvenienced the next day when I experienced soreness in my pectorals so intense it felt like the muscle itself had the flu. Aside from this however, the challenge wasn't that challenging, and I may have to up the ante next time.

This is not a post about an exercise regimen, or about how you too can get a better workout in 6 minutes or less. This is a post about the idea of creating stories to tell.

I was inspired by the television series "The Long Way Around" to create something worthy of telling. The Show follows two motorcyclists as they travel east from London, all the way around the world.

It gets your blood going, and I asked myself what can I write about? What story would I tell? Truthfully I'd rather not bore my readers. If I were able to read these posts out loud and get yawns or notice people checking email on their phones or texting in would feel like i would need to up the ante some how. I'd do things like move my hands, be animated, and embellish facts in order to validate my time with you.

I'm sure I could spend an entire day writing a description of the mundane with every ounce of creativity and a dog eared thesaurus to open new insights into something that is in fact dull. I've decided that I am going to work for it instead. So i ask myself what I can do that will make for a good story to tell. What kind of adventure could I undertake that I could bring up at a party and turn some heads. I don't want to do this just for your benefit, but for my own.

Because I am currently unemployed, and have few limits on what I can do with my time, I'd thought I'd give this creative philosophy a try.

Tomorrow I will complete 1000 pushups.

Wish me luck.

Eaglehawk Neck is the name of the 150 meter wide bridge that connects the Tasman peninsula to the rest of the island of Tasmania. While spending a few days in the area recently I realized that the Tasman peninsula contains everything I like about Tasmania. It has a rich and brutal history, an astounding collection of natural wonders, and an abundance of stunning views. Where each cell in our body contains our complete blueprint, I believe the Tasman peninsula reflects the identity of Australia.

The penal colony of Port Arthur was opened in the 1830's in a little tucked away harbour, and stood as the endpoint for some of the worst offenders to the British crown. Typically these were incorrigable men who wouldn't adapt to the prison system elsewhere. These men were tasked with carving out by hand their own prison. This harsh prison system had the men providing all the labor necessary to support their incarceration with no thought towards ease of conditions, or efficiency of action. Once they established a meager living and their numbers grew they then moved on to public works projects such as roads, increased farming, etc.

I'd wager that I am a lot like many modern people who have never felt awed by the power of agriculture, being conditioned to having instant access to every conceivable product. I have to admit that I became awestruck of the elements of primitive life in Tasmania, and how they resembled a machine getting up to speed. Cut trees down, and you get buildings, plant crops and you will get vegetables, raise sheep for wool, cows for milk and beef. There is a complicated relationship between all these pieces. There was no alternative than to exploit the land, no Wal-Mart, no air-drops, trains, or even highways as a supply line to any other resources. They were limited to what they could grow, harvest, or slaughter. This is akin to going camping in the remote woods, and then slowly building into a town with almost no outside assistance. Expansionism and fronteirism akin to manifest destiny was powered by the labor the detritus of society.

As with anyone who really wants to understand history, I often put myself into the position of those who were there. What must it have been like to be a British Solder in 19th century England to be shipped halfway across the world to a distant land? It must have felt like the beginning of time. Imagine being forced to leave everything you know and love for an indefinite period because of a criminal act. While there is certainty that many men were guilty of the crimes they were prosecuted for, there must also have been men who's guilt was a machination of state incompetence. Both men, innocent and guilty lined the sweltering and filthy bunks of the convict ships headed south.

I'm on a beach facing the sun, there is no noise but the waves, and the heaviness of the heat seems to push me deep into the hot sand. I have just walked across the thinnest part of Eaglehawk Neck, from the inner bay to the beach. I have followed slowly and methodically along the path of the infamous dog line. The reason this peninsula was selected was due to this particular feature, in concert with a similar neck to the north it forms a natural barrier to escape. The method to keep the convicts from escaping was to chain a line of ferocious dogs at intervals along this point. The line consisted of as few as 10, to as many as 18 snarling dogs stretching out onto platforms that extended far into the surf, taking account for the tide. There is a monument to the dog line that resides only a few feet from the road. From there I followed the short path to the sea. I struggle to look for any signs.. a raised mound, a rusty chain on the bushes, but they are all long gone by now.

The peninsula is a popular tourist destination now. In addition to the obvious historical interest the area attracts, it is filled with rare geological formations. There is the tesselated pavement only a few hundred meters from the dog line up the beach, as well as the Tasman Arch (see picture), and the Blowhole. Each one of these features would draw crowds on its own, but it is all within a few kilometers of area upon entering the peninsula.

Eaglehawk Neck is the reason for the Penal colony that was built here, and Port Arthur has become a thorough and informative national monument which respects both sides of the law whose history it bears. There are informative tours, that includes a moment when the visitors, rather sinisterly, select cards from a deck. Each card represents a former inhabitant of the prison, gaurd, or prisoner. You earn your card by chance, and I can't think of a more fitting way to instill a respect for past then this. What was once a prison, is now a place that people flock to, to learn about their own past and to gain insight to where they come from. I'm standing on an empty beach appreciating the contrast between my heaven and their hell.

As of 1 week ago I began my job search in earnest. I have created an "office" in the lounge room for the purpose of getting down to business. I have my laptop, a label maker, a desk, chair, and I'm open for business... finally.

Since finishing up at Tufts on December 18th, it has been 59 days that I have been essentially unemployed. That sounds like a lot of time, but consider that I spent the first week after leaving Tufts packing and shipping the remainder of my belongings. I also spent some time in a "farewell tour", traveling around and visiting friends and family. For a lot of the time I lived out of my carry-on luggage and was in a constant state of flux.

I arrived in Tasmania and was probably in a state of shock well into the first week. It was sunny out, warm, I was in a busy house with a lot of people and I was adapting to many different changes. It took a bit of time to acclimate to more clean living. As happens during going away celebrations people like to buy you drinks, take you out for dinner, buy you more drinks, and do several toasts. It is fantastic. I practically came into Australia with a drink in my hand. (see photo)

It took awhile to get back to normal, but I had several things working in my favor. The first was the weather. It was so nice out, I just had to be outside, and I felt like I owed it everyone stuck in New England under many feet of snow. I started running again. The other thing that works in my favor is the cost of booze here. With the average six pack costing $15 my desire to have a casual drink while being unemployed seems to have dissipated. I won't even mention the cost of Scotch.

But I digress...

As I mentioned it has been a week since I sat down to my desk determined to spend 8 hours a day on employment related tasks. Thanks to the book "Getting Things Done" by Dave Allen, I have been able to drastically improve my workflow. I won't go into the whole story, but in this $15 book I found a few things that once I put them into place, made me 1000 times more productive. The morning finds me eager to get to the computer to work on one of the many projects on my plate.  I am able to finally focus on the bigger picture.

I have a long laundry list of things to get done, the first was a project for Tufts, the second, is another project for Tufts, but the third... is my own portfolio website.  It is hard to sell your services as a web designer without one for yourself. You also need business cards if you want to do any freelance work.  At the end of the first week I had met with the owner of an advertising business and received a lead on another potential person to talk to.  I am also considering expanding into doing some photography. There seems to be a market for Photographers here, and thanks to Tufts University I received the training, and gear necessary to give such an undertaking a go. 

My prospects look surprisingly good. I have a lot going for me right now. I don't have to be desperate, thanks to our living situation, and can be selective about the work I choose. It is a tight community here, and word spreads fast, if I can do a good job on a project here, I think I'll see the dividends rather quickly.

I've got a lot of momentum, as much support as can be expected and am sincerely looking forward to working again.  Since it always good to end on a high note I will mention that I booked my first paying gig today. I will be photographing the Launceston Cup for the Tasmanian Turf Club.  The Cup draws a crowd of 25,000 people, and I'll be there with an all access pass to every tent and room in order to get decent photos for the management. I'm quite excited about the prospect really.

It should be noted that the Cup has a reputation for being a location for a lot of drinking.  Somewhat like Nascar is in the states, the horse races are here... including all the tailgating. Instead of Dale Jr. jackets and A-shirts, the attendants dress in glamorous clothing with big hats and proceed to get blotto.  I will be there with a camera to capture it all... soberly.  The circle has become complete.  I am open for business.

Matt