18 FEB 2011
Staring off into the never ending possibilities of another excursion, this time to North America, both Jet and I had decided that our last night in Sydney should be spent investigating the bottom of beer glasses until the sun rose on our date of escape. Projecting fun and good times
forward in that inevitable fashion that derives purely from optimism and a dash of all things macho we aimed up at 'clocking' the game in (Donkey Kong) speak and attempted to make it to the Virgin Australia check-in counter without a flayling eyelid or half a snore sounded. That was the plan.
Commencing at the Courthouse on Oxford St somewhere around 7:30pm we meandered through the streets of casual conversation for several hours as actual and virtual friends docked for a casual ale in aid of our all night vigil. Playing a tight game in the first few hours of drinking both Jet and I were pacing our run to the finish line which would inevitably be bathed in the glorious light of a fine Friday morning. As we outgrew our stay at our first place of residence, the Courthouse, we found that most accomplices had dropped off for the evening, this being a school night and all. However Janelle, our master and spiritual guide in all things spirit related was however in full support of our endeavours and offered suitable encouragement as we strolled down Oxford St in Friday's early hours. As the lights of the Nevada bar beemed a neon haze metres and metres from its actual point of entrance in a weird type of premomition of what we would encounter hitting the lights of Vegas as it arose out of the Mojave, we were drawn into its eerie, seedy clutches.
It's usually at places such as the Nevada bar that time loses its meaning and your only point of reference as to the duration of your stay is counting the number and type of drinks you believe you consumed. It's an odd game to play but somehow it makes more sense than actually deducing whether the minute hand is actually 15 mins away from 12 and whether the hour hand is laying somewhere between 2 and 5. Drinks were concocted, drinks were mixed and I'm sure a lot of numbers were dialled by yours truly on JJ's phone for reasons still unbeknownst to me. It's the second time that I've felt compelled to steal JJ's phone and drunk dial both her friends and members of family in the early hours just out of sheer enjoyment. For some reason the recipients of the calls don't find the deal as amusing as I inevitably do at the time, go figure!?
At somewhere over the 4am mark there were many facets of our initial 'magnificent' intentions that had caught up with our optimism and we were all of a sudden stomped out of our bliss with size 15 forms of the new craze in town, 'reality'. Sleep deprivation was riding hot on the heels of solid inebriation and only short distance behind a alcohol induced grease request that was being demanded from our stomach via a brain that was in it's very own world of struggle.I always find it incredible how the stomach can outrank the brain in terms of decision making in those situations. It's always as of the brain says, 'Hey dude, you make the call, I'm totally spaced out and wasted at this moment to really care what we, as a team, are going to consume'. With a Hungry Jacks stay under our belts and a bed beckoning us into its fold, Jet, JJ and myself made our way to JJ's safe haven of eternal peace and rest. The need for sleep had beaten our game plan of awaiting the Friday sun.
Evil, evil, evil alcohol. Why does it sneak up on you in those early morning hours? What did I ever do to hurt it? We play games sometimes, we enjoy each others company and then all of a sudden it feels the need to smack you over the head six times with a baseball bat when you least expect it. That 9:30am alarm was about as entertaining as watching an 10 episodes of Days of our lives back to back. In those first few minutes I entertained the idea of pulling out of the trip altogether in the hope that several more hours in bed with assist in saving me from permanent brain damage. This plan of attack didn't work. In a stellar effort however JJ had managed to make her way out in the early hours and came back to home base with heavy doses of caffeine, what a champion! By that point somehow both Jet and I made a sufficient enough recovery in those next 20-30 mins that we were able to drag our luggage to the car and then laid comatose for the drive down to the airport, which JJ again was more than kind enough to provide.
Saying our goodbyes at the terminal we walked through to the Virgin Australia check-in, clocked in for our VA008 flight to LA and settled back into the comforts of our seats as the plane lifted off from Charles Kingsford-Smith. Things were starting to come together in those first few minutes of flight until a wail drew my immediate attention to the row behind me, 'f**k, two toddlers! F**k', I knew exactly what this would mean to our hangovers! I turned to Jet and commented, 'I bet those little bastards are going to scream all the to Los Angeles! And you know what, they bloody well did! Son of a b*tch, it was like a tag-team screaming match between the two little gremlins, how the hell do they get any satifaction out of letting loose those long drowning wails and high pitched screams for hours on end? I'll never figure it out! A perfect advertisement for why kids are not in any of my future plans! What's more I think the parents were probably as retarded as the kids. I recall one mind numbingly dumb conversation where the mother was trying to convince her daughter ,Tilda (see Matilda), that she would be leaving her seat for just two minutes in order to walk up a few rows and speak to their father. The mother assured her daughter that the nice stewardess would look after her for those two minutes. The screaming and carrying on that eventuated from that mental conversation was one thing but the fact that the mother went on trying to convince her daugher for at least 20 mins in the following manner was totally another;
'Tilda, it's just two minutes, I'm going for two minutes, OK?'
'NOOOOOooooo, WAH, WAH'
'Tilda, just two minutes, can you just stay here with the lady for two minutes?'
'NOOOOooo, WAH, WAH'
Now repeat that conversation approximately thirty times over and you'll figure our why I felt like giving that mother a full blooded backhanded dose of 'wake the hell up'!
By the grace of all things supreme and powerful we escaped doing anyone any serious injury and landed in Los Angeles some 13hrs after leaving Sydney. If we had learnt anything in those early hours it was certainly a lesson in what not to do when preparing for an international flight. Somehow the whiskey sour Wednesday I had prior to disembarking in June last year had escaped my memory!? Still, here we were and la la land was awaiting just beyond customs, time to roll out.
forward in that inevitable fashion that derives purely from optimism and a dash of all things macho we aimed up at 'clocking' the game in (Donkey Kong) speak and attempted to make it to the Virgin Australia check-in counter without a flayling eyelid or half a snore sounded. That was the plan.
Commencing at the Courthouse on Oxford St somewhere around 7:30pm we meandered through the streets of casual conversation for several hours as actual and virtual friends docked for a casual ale in aid of our all night vigil. Playing a tight game in the first few hours of drinking both Jet and I were pacing our run to the finish line which would inevitably be bathed in the glorious light of a fine Friday morning. As we outgrew our stay at our first place of residence, the Courthouse, we found that most accomplices had dropped off for the evening, this being a school night and all. However Janelle, our master and spiritual guide in all things spirit related was however in full support of our endeavours and offered suitable encouragement as we strolled down Oxford St in Friday's early hours. As the lights of the Nevada bar beemed a neon haze metres and metres from its actual point of entrance in a weird type of premomition of what we would encounter hitting the lights of Vegas as it arose out of the Mojave, we were drawn into its eerie, seedy clutches.
It's usually at places such as the Nevada bar that time loses its meaning and your only point of reference as to the duration of your stay is counting the number and type of drinks you believe you consumed. It's an odd game to play but somehow it makes more sense than actually deducing whether the minute hand is actually 15 mins away from 12 and whether the hour hand is laying somewhere between 2 and 5. Drinks were concocted, drinks were mixed and I'm sure a lot of numbers were dialled by yours truly on JJ's phone for reasons still unbeknownst to me. It's the second time that I've felt compelled to steal JJ's phone and drunk dial both her friends and members of family in the early hours just out of sheer enjoyment. For some reason the recipients of the calls don't find the deal as amusing as I inevitably do at the time, go figure!?
At somewhere over the 4am mark there were many facets of our initial 'magnificent' intentions that had caught up with our optimism and we were all of a sudden stomped out of our bliss with size 15 forms of the new craze in town, 'reality'. Sleep deprivation was riding hot on the heels of solid inebriation and only short distance behind a alcohol induced grease request that was being demanded from our stomach via a brain that was in it's very own world of struggle.I always find it incredible how the stomach can outrank the brain in terms of decision making in those situations. It's always as of the brain says, 'Hey dude, you make the call, I'm totally spaced out and wasted at this moment to really care what we, as a team, are going to consume'. With a Hungry Jacks stay under our belts and a bed beckoning us into its fold, Jet, JJ and myself made our way to JJ's safe haven of eternal peace and rest. The need for sleep had beaten our game plan of awaiting the Friday sun.
Evil, evil, evil alcohol. Why does it sneak up on you in those early morning hours? What did I ever do to hurt it? We play games sometimes, we enjoy each others company and then all of a sudden it feels the need to smack you over the head six times with a baseball bat when you least expect it. That 9:30am alarm was about as entertaining as watching an 10 episodes of Days of our lives back to back. In those first few minutes I entertained the idea of pulling out of the trip altogether in the hope that several more hours in bed with assist in saving me from permanent brain damage. This plan of attack didn't work. In a stellar effort however JJ had managed to make her way out in the early hours and came back to home base with heavy doses of caffeine, what a champion! By that point somehow both Jet and I made a sufficient enough recovery in those next 20-30 mins that we were able to drag our luggage to the car and then laid comatose for the drive down to the airport, which JJ again was more than kind enough to provide.
VA flight # 1 to Los Angeles right under the last flight that I took out of Sydney on June 24th, 2010 - Aerolineas Argentinas flight AR1183 to Buenos Aires....hmmm, is Noumea by next stop?
Frichot - just before the torment commenced!
Saying our goodbyes at the terminal we walked through to the Virgin Australia check-in, clocked in for our VA008 flight to LA and settled back into the comforts of our seats as the plane lifted off from Charles Kingsford-Smith. Things were starting to come together in those first few minutes of flight until a wail drew my immediate attention to the row behind me, 'f**k, two toddlers! F**k', I knew exactly what this would mean to our hangovers! I turned to Jet and commented, 'I bet those little bastards are going to scream all the to Los Angeles! And you know what, they bloody well did! Son of a b*tch, it was like a tag-team screaming match between the two little gremlins, how the hell do they get any satifaction out of letting loose those long drowning wails and high pitched screams for hours on end? I'll never figure it out! A perfect advertisement for why kids are not in any of my future plans! What's more I think the parents were probably as retarded as the kids. I recall one mind numbingly dumb conversation where the mother was trying to convince her daughter ,Tilda (see Matilda), that she would be leaving her seat for just two minutes in order to walk up a few rows and speak to their father. The mother assured her daughter that the nice stewardess would look after her for those two minutes. The screaming and carrying on that eventuated from that mental conversation was one thing but the fact that the mother went on trying to convince her daugher for at least 20 mins in the following manner was totally another;
'Tilda, it's just two minutes, I'm going for two minutes, OK?'
'NOOOOOooooo, WAH, WAH'
'Tilda, just two minutes, can you just stay here with the lady for two minutes?'
'NOOOOooo, WAH, WAH'
Now repeat that conversation approximately thirty times over and you'll figure our why I felt like giving that mother a full blooded backhanded dose of 'wake the hell up'!
By the grace of all things supreme and powerful we escaped doing anyone any serious injury and landed in Los Angeles some 13hrs after leaving Sydney. If we had learnt anything in those early hours it was certainly a lesson in what not to do when preparing for an international flight. Somehow the whiskey sour Wednesday I had prior to disembarking in June last year had escaped my memory!? Still, here we were and la la land was awaiting just beyond customs, time to roll out.
