Australia, Part III - Melbourne

Melbourne was the last city we stayed in for our trip down under. The urban culture is so diverse and rich and vibrant that it's hard not to find inspiration of some kind or other every time you turn a corner. Unfortunately, I was running out of film at this point, so I didn't get too many shots of the city and its many colorful offerings, so I can only point you to Ryan, our trip historian, for more complete coverage. Some of what I did get in Melbourne and from our road trip down the Surf Coast:

Of course, we had to cap things off with a trip to the Twelve Apostles (as promised earlier). We arrived a couple of hours before sunset, and stayed until about an hour after. Some of what we saw:

Great trip. Ridiculously friendly people, probably the most beautiful coastline I've ever seen with my own eyes, and a healthy appreciation for drinking the night away - what more could you want?

Australia, I'll be back.

Australia, Part II - Sydney

The second leg of our trip took us to Sydney, which, along with its beautiful beaches and sights and harbors, is home to an apparently inordinate amount of beautiful people. Seriously, you could turn a corner and fall in love.

Ryan and I met up Casey and Ed there, staying first in a Kings Cross hotel before moving down to an apartment right across the street from Bondi Beach. We ate poorly and drank excessively, which is to say we lived quite well; we climbed rocks, enjoyed long walks on the beach (hand-holding optional, and sometimes not-so-optional), nearly burned a store down, discovered the wonders of Chili Chicken prepackaged sandwiches at the Australian 7-11's, and Ryan and I even squeezed in a rainy hike in the Blue Mountains in between.

Piss take. Let's try again:

Ryan gets in some piano practice at the Queen Victoria Building.

This is Waverley Cemetary, which overlooks the coast along the Beach Walk from Bondi down to Coogee. Not a bad place to be buried.

Ryan and I spent a day up in Katoomba, at the Blue Mountains northwest of Sydney. It was a particularly gloomy day, and here you can see the divide between the forest floor and the fog that's sunk in to the canyon, right at an overlook of the Three Sisters rock formation (only one pictured here).

End of Part II.

Australia, Part I - Terrigal/Wamberal (Central Coast)

I'm back, America. Aussieland was awesome. Here are some of my adventures.

Our first stop was Terrigal, a Central Coast town about an hour and half north of Sydney by train. It's about as picturesque as you can get. The evidence:

It's obscene how beautiful it is.

We're here to meet up with our good friend Alicia. Here she is.

Don't let the smile fool you. She's absolutely mad.

Alicia was wonderful enough to put us up in her home in Wamberal. Reminds me of the Goleta days.

I need me a veranda.

This is Alicia's friend Sarah. She hung out with me and Ryan all day, despite her first hangover after a long spell on the wagon.

What a trooper.

I pulled a rookie move and didn't load my film properly, so I spent the first day shooting half a roll of memories before I realized my goof. These shots are all from the second day, after "brekkie," as they say down under. That's b-fast to the rest of you.

Ryan fulfilling his duties as trip historian.

Sarah and Ryan on our hike up the Skillion, the top of which is where that first shot of Terrigal was taken.

Saturday morning fishing.

Ryan doing his shutterbug thing.

Rugby. Not, as we later learned, nearly as fun as Footy.


Ryan and Sarah take in the game.

Before Ryan and I packed up and headed back down to Sydney, Alicia and Sarah took us down to Alicia's family home for afternoon tea.

That's Paul on the right, Alicia's mom Sherry in the bright blue, little sister Holly behind mum, and in pink, Alicia's nan, Nan. Oh, and there was cake, too!

Sherry saw me rocking the ol' Canon AE-1 I inherited (read: stole) from my dad, and she dug up her not-as-old-but-nearly AE-1P. There was much excitement over this. Even our sweet, sweet straps matched, just hers was a little pinker. Go figure.

I'm pretty sure Alicia's going to "inherit" this from her mom, too.

Paul showing us his classic Australian Holden Torana SLR 5000. She's partly on blocks at the moment as Paul works on her, but the engine still roars.

Vanity shot.

Alicia's brother Harrison tearing it up on his RipStik.

He's a prodigy on this thing. Ryan, not so much.

In retrospect, I would've loved to have stayed longer. That's probably a theme that repeats throughout the trip, but here more than most.

We definitely need to make our way back here someday.

End of Part I.

Oh, please just last

Oz-bound and down. Won't be back until I've conquered you:

When the sun come up, I'll be there to say

New music excites me. New music from a favorite band, even more so.

We're getting a brief reprieve from the rain here in Los Angeles, and the sudden gift of sun and mostly clear skies brings hope that the astronomical first day of Spring is actually going to pay practical dividends. When I left New York this past Friday, it was a gorgeous day. LA has been gloomy and wet since I've been here, culminating in yesterday's cold, cold rains and blustery winds. Appropriate for this particular trip home perhaps, though still disappointing. But this sun, and this sky? This feels like Spring.

The feeling of New is in the air. One of my favorite bands, Company of Thieves, has released their new lead single off their sophomore album Running From a Gamble, due out May 17th of this year. I got to see them twice in one weekend while in Chicago (their hometown) last August, and their exuberant performance brought the house down both times:

"Death of Communication." Yes, thank you, more please:

Death Of Communication by CompanyofThieves

Inside it all feels the same

In the summer of 2006 I was a bright-eyed intern working at Universal Studios in Los Angeles, happy to just be allowed on the backlot. One mercilessly sunny day, I was in the dup house picking up a few DVDs that we had sent in to be copied. The attendant had disappeared into the back to dig up my order, and I looked at the volumes and volumes of tapes and DVDs that were sitting around on the shelves, some neatly bundled and ordered in color-coded and alphabetized stacks, others orphaned and strewn carelessly about the various counters and tables.

One disc caught my eye in particular, sheathed unglamorously in a white disc envelope, a cellophane window laying bare its plain label for the whole world to see. It read, "Friday Night Lights: Pilot."

That was the beginning.

I remember thinking at the time, "That might be interesting." And that was it, mostly. I'd really liked the movie, and loved the restrained and moody score that Austin post-rock band Explosions In The Sky had composed (or re-recorded) for it. I did have an incredible urge to swipe one of the screener DVDs in that dup house, fueled by the intense curiosity of just what this TV version could be. I debated for the twenty seconds or so I had before the attendant came back out, and decided I liked my job, so I walked out of there with only the discs I had come to claim. And yet.

A few months pass. Summer comes to its inevitable end, and the Fall TV season starts. The first Tuesday of that October, the show premieres. I watch the pilot. I meet these strangers in Texas, speaking of God and football in equal reverence. I learn their names. I learn their dreams, their fears. I watch Coach Eric Taylor and his wife Tammy face the expectations of the entire town of Dillon. I watch Tim Riggins toast "Texas forever." I watch the lights of a high school football field turn on, the air buzzing with the electricity that only a high school football game in Texas can generate. I watch.

I watch Jason Street go down preventing that pick-six. I watch an undersized, scared, wide-eyed boy wearing #7 take up the reins of that offense. I watch the time run down, down, down. I watch him, that boy Matt Saracen, throw a Hail Mary bomb downfield. I watch the crowd explode. His eyes were open. His eyes were open. Now mine were too.

Five seasons later, what began as nothing more than a sudden curiosity and an urge for larceny, turned into exhilaration and admiration and respect and love. It turned into a relationship. And I know it's just a TV show, but what a TV show. What an enriching and rewarding TV show. It was never watched as much as it should have been, nor was it ever celebrated to the degree that it deserved, but the loyalists who knew the show championed it and preached it to any who would listen. Improbably, it survived poor ratings, a strike-shortened second season, and almost certain cancellation. Casey and Ryan and I always talked how with the last three seasons, we were basically playing with house money. The show got to continue, to excel even, reaching new heights. Most importantly, it got to end on its own terms. And for that, I am thankful. For that, I am at peace.

I will miss the characters and cinematography and music and stories that journeyed with me across four apartments and two timezones. I will miss the show the way that I would miss a good friend who I knew couldn't stay. Someone who made my life a little better, an hour a week at a time. I'll toast him with a beer, say with him a promise of "Texas forever," and watch him drive into that approaching night, feeling empty and full at the same time. Goodbye, Friday Nights. You taught me that a few will never give up on you, that those are the people to carry with you in your heart. That sometimes, just wanting to be better is enough, that character is in the trying. But most of all, you taught me this:

Clear eyes, full hearts.

Can't lose.