Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night ...

Christmas has come and gone, but I thought this religious holiday provided a good excuse nonetheless to put some pictures up on this here blog. Here's one of me unwrapping a lovely photo album that the soon-to-be-married couple of K-Beezer and Cameroon bought me. I cleaned up on the gifts again, getting a couple of footy DVDs and a new game of Monopoly (because we all know how great I am at that) but honestly, I had more pleasure in giving than receiving this year.

For instance, Poppa Blog was chuffed to get a beer stein from Germany, whilst Rogan Josh's personalised Swiss army knife was put to good use in opening everyone else's presents. Cameroon will no doubt shoot better scores wearing his St Andrews golf shirt from Scotland and K-Beezer will smell better because of Ralph Lauren's romantic nature as will Kirstabell, owing to a sampler of lovely French perfumes. But Momma Blog, who by the looks great just the way she is, was resplendent wearing some Italian glass jewellery straight from Venice.

Indeed, it's a great time of year and we had fun. I hope you did too, wherever you are!

The world unofficially ended today, Johnny Damon is a damn Yankee ...

Merry Christmas to all!

How lame is this? Sending a festive greeting to my loyal followers in cyberspace. I had meant to send the Christmas cards out this year. Needless to say, you didn't get one from me, the JB. So I'm throwing a party. It's at a place called Jamie's in London. Great name. I visited there earlier in the year. Sadly, I won't be there as I'm here in Australia, but tell them I said 'G'day!'. Trust me. I'm sorry I cheated again and posted an old picture. My camera is currently on the blink, I don't have a connection to the computer and my photo opportunities are surprisingly drying up these days.

More surprising than seeing Kobe Bryant dump 62 points in three quarters of action on the Dallas Mavs today was the departure of Johnny Damon from Boston. It's like selling your soul to the devil for $US52 million, only worse. Needless to say, I'm disappointed.

Today marks my third week back in Oz and almost two weeks back on the job, which goes to show that time flies, no matter whether you're having fun or not. Work is kicking my behind. The weekdays generally consist of me waking, getting ready, around 90 minutes door-to-door on the commute, (insert work here), around 90 minutes door-to-door on the commute, getting unready, sleeping. Pretty simple really. I'm looking to the weekend and Christmas. Luckily, I don't have to work on the sacred day, which would go against my moral belief system anyway. But with Momma Blog working at the nursing home and the siblings with the families of their significant others, it might just be Poppa Blog and myself gearing up to watch some NFL games via satellite. Just like a normal weekend, until everyone gets home and then we can open presents. Back to work the next day!

What else is happening? Preparations are taking place for K-Beezer's wedding and earlier this week Poppa Blog and myself received our Geelong membership and seats at Skilled Stadium. I'm (not-so) quietly confident for next year.

Anyway, I wanted to spread some Christmas cheer and wish you all the best for the New Year. I hope you have a safe and enjoyable festive season and make 2006 a year to remember! Stay blog savvy!

No weddings, just funerals ...

One of my many bosses here at the esteemed broadsheet today called me "The Undertaker". The unwanted moniker came via mobile phone as I was just on my way back to the office having left one funeral I had just covered. It was then that he asked me to travel across town to go to another funeral. The earlier one had been for a teenager who had been hit by a taxi. This time, it was for a very wealthy couple who died in a plane crash. Many of my colleagues, including the Atomic Bombie, couldn't believe it. I just said I was a big boy and I could cope.

Both funerals were sad in their own ways. The teenager was due to become a man and turn 18 next week. The couple were being mourned in the same church as they were married almost 40 years ago.

Anyway, on a lighter note, here is a funny picture from the second Christmas party that I attended the other night. I'm here with my mate, Four Example, who graciously let me crash on the floor of his swank, inner-city abode. It's similar to the one I used to live in, but his is better. We drank plenty of not-so-free beer and then walked home and crashed at 3am after a beer on his balcony.

I had intended to travel to Killer Cali with him, but our times didn't match unfortunately. I envy this dude. Despite his attempts of blowing me a kiss, he's a perfectly straight bloke (so am I despite the pink polo shirt) with a dream job interviewing rock stars like the Rolling Stones and has an American girlfriend. Not that I want an American girlfriend as this would bring further complications to a very complicated life so confused by travel and geographic locations. I need solutions, not problems. Ya heard?

How much is that (stained glass) doggy in the window? ...

As fellow blogger and brewer, Polish Gypsy (pictured here with yours truly praying to a stained glass dog) so eloquently put it, I returned to "the old salt mines" on Thursday. Work. Time then just stopped. The place hasn't changed a bit. I'm not sure whether this is a good thing. Actually, the vibe is not all that great, which is partly due to many people taking voluntary redundancies. It all happened while I was away. Anyway, I went to another work Christmas party last night and am feeling the effects of it today. Hopefully I'll be right for work tomorrow. Nothing like turning up to your place of employment with a monster self-inflicted headache and other symptoms of hungoverness.

Some highlights for this week were heading back to my favourite lunch spot, York Cafe in Little Lonsdale Street between Queen Street and Elizabeth Street, with some work colleagues for my signature dish: Combination meat with vegetables, crispy fried noodles and added cashews. It's the best value in Melbourne, although the price has increased by 50 cents to $9. Plus another 50 cents if you want the cashews.

I also spent some quality time viewing the Gypsy's freshly updated blog, just not on company time. Yeah right. I could continue to lift pictures from his blog (like this one, with myself, Polish Gypsy, Blair Witch Project and Rivjuando paying homage to a brew in progress) but I encourage you to check it out for yourself. How many more links to his website do you need? He even named a beer after me and my fleeting visit to Corvallis called Koala Tribute. The logo is of koala clutching onto a beer stein. Let's toast to that!

Finally, I received an e-mail from (Not So) Single Forever who, like the Gypsy, managed to update her blog after a long hiatus. She had some lovely things to say, including that I left "a resonating memory of goodness" on everyone I met during my time in the Pac NW. Apparently everyone keeps saying: "I wish (insert JB's real name here) would be here for that, he is so much fun." Serious. (NS) SF invited me to her birthday party on January 7th but I'll be in Australia for a while. By the way, my birthday is on the 10th of January, so if anyone wants to send me presents or cash it will be much appreciated. I'm not kidding.

Check it, reality. It sucks ...

The places you have come to fear the most. An awesome line from a Dashboard Confessional song. For me, today is December 7, and it's the time I have come to fear the most. In other words, it's my last day of freedom before I go back to work.

Tomorrow.

December 8 has long been circled in various diaries that I own and, quite frankly, I never actually thought the day would come. Like my return around this time last week, I'm a bit indifferent to it all. I think that's just the way I am and the way it will be ... for a while. To quote a lovely card that I received in the mail from Rivjuando and Soule Sista yesterday: "We hope readjustment to 'reality' goes well but don't let the travelling spirit get buried in day-to-day life!" I couldn't have said it better.

I know I've been as regular as fibre in recent days recounting the last stages of my five months of fun but what have I been up to in the last eight days since my return? Well ...

• I had my first chicken parma last night with Cousin Davis, who makes his belated debut on this here blog. If you don't recall, he is the (older) twin brother of Cousin Slugg, who's somewhat a celebrity because of his frequent appearances on The Life And Times Of JB. He'll be stoked to hear that.
• I've caught up with K-Lenko a couple of times and we've talked about fantasy basketball and women, who, in my mind, are still a fantasy.
• To lessen the blow of returning to work after my extended hiatus, I decided to turn up to the work Christmas party (which was actually held in December this year) with the help of OG - The Original Gangster last Friday night. I caught up with many people who asked many questions. I proceeded to walk to the free bar to load myself up with beer. How very Australian.
• I did a tour of the lovely suburb of Abbotsford on Saturday afternoon with my work colleague, Fruity Lexia, who also makes her first appearance on the blog. It was a swell day, although I was a bit hungover from staying out until 5am. And what would a visit to this suburb be without having an Abbotsford Invalid Stout? An underrated beer in this man's humble opinion. We topped off the day with a souvlaki, although this was purchased in Swan Street, Richmond.
• I've been helping out my new housemates, Momma Blog and Poppa Blog. Yesterday, yours truly was behind the BBQ cooking for the Christmas party at Momma Blog's nursing home (I hasten to add she doesn't actually own it). I have also assisted Poppa Blog in digging up the backyard to lay down some grass.

It's going to be a weird experience substituting the camera, which has been attached to my person since July, for my mobile phone, which I conveniently left at home.

So there you have it. Plenty of proof that fun is still being had on Australian shores. Stay tuned.

In America, things are this big ...

When Coolio rapped all those years ago about walking through the valley and the shadow of death was he talking about Death Valley? Perhaps. Death Valley is often the hottest place in North America, with temperatures of more than 50C not uncommon during summer. Signs on the side of the roads regularly remind drivers to turn their air conditioners off and to refill their radiators with water. Alas, it was winter but the wearing of shorts was the preferred option as we drove to the valley early on Saturday morning to see what the fuss was about. That was after we cleaned up some Starbucks I managed to spill all over the inside of the car. Above to your left is me (in my coffee stained shorts) some 200 metres below sea level and what I'm standing in is not snow, but rather a big salt bed that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

It was a case of another day in another national park on Sunday when we drove from Fresno to Yosemite. It was Cousin Slugg's birthday and you would have thought the guy would have received something warm to wear on what was easily the coldest day on tour. He wore jeans and a t-shirt. Unlike the day before, there were no shorts as we saw snow and yours truly felt like his fingers were about to snap from the intense chill. My folded arms aren't a sign of being aloof or standoffish. It was seriously cold.

We saw some big trees and the waterfall. I also saw five months disappear right before my very eyes. Tomorrow would be my last day before my trip back to reality. We headed back to San Fran like many others were doing on Thanksgiving weekend and decided to ring in Cousin Slugg's 26th birthday with a few beers at that same Irish pub we were at eight days earlier. Then we retreated back to the hotel with a pizza. Luckily, my favourite movie (of the moment), Garden State, was on.

So, it was almost over. Earlier in the evening, we returned the car to Avis and had our picture taken with our car and map. It was no lie. For the most part, we traversed California using a map printed on the back of a postcard for about five per cent of what a real map would have cost. And I had so much to carry back home anyway. It's an awesome story, two Aussie lads making their way across a foreign land with a cheap postcard and the stereo their only companions.

Damn, that is a huge dam ...

We met destiny and grabbed it by the throat on Wednesday with a trip to Avis in Santa Barbara to hire a car. Cousin Slugg took the keys and proceeded to walk to the right side of the car to start 'er up.

Indeed, it had been a long time between drinks for the self-proclaimed Slugger (he last drove a car in January before his excursion to England) and soon he realised the error of his ways walking to the left side of the car or, in this case, the right side.

About an hour or so north of Los Angeles, Santa Barbara is a wonderful coastal city full of beautiful women. The way it should be, except my very casual attire of thongs, baggy shorts, trucker hat and fake designer sunglasses were not conducive to meeting the fairer sex. We cruised the town in our new wheels before the thought of venturing to Las Vegas entered our minds. However, the busy holiday traffic put an end to that and instead we did a U-turn and took the beautiful coast road north to Santa Maria, stopping for many picture opportunities along the way. Thanks to G.I. Vic for the many Southern California suggestions.

Thanksgiving Thursday and there was no turkey in sight for JB and Cousin Slugg as we went to Vegas. Generally the roads were quiet and we saw unusual sights in California like oil fields and wind generators operating at full capacity. No rest for the wicked. We hit Vegas in the late afternoon and proceeded to find our hotel in the unfortunate location a mile off the strip. From there, Slugger won but I lost playing Black Jack at Caesars Palace (yet we managed to get a free beer) and then walked up-and-down the strip walking into many casinos and didn't get back to our hotel until almost 3am.

The prospect of losing more money that I didn't have meant that we headed to the engineering wonder that is Hoover Dam on Friday before heading back to Vegas for - wait for it - more shopping at the famed outlet malls. Four hours later, I had maxed out my credit card and seemingly bought stuff that I couldn't (a) afford or (b) fit into my ever-expanding suitcase. Rivjuando would tell you that when I left Portland I needed to sweet talk the airline staff to carry more than I was technically allowed. Nevertheless, that didn't stop me trying as I bought more fragrances, another pair of shoes, three sweaters and countless t-shirts. Biting off more than I could chew, I knew - in more ways than one - that it was going to be a challenge to get home.

California, California, here we come ...

So the beginning of the end was near when I farewelled Rivjuando and Soule Sista at Portland International for San Francisco a couple of Saturdays ago. I met Cousin Slugg at the airport and we shuttled back to our downtown hotel before getting some grub at a nearby diner (which explains the old auto behind us in the picture to your right) and a few beers at an Irish pub to kick off our crusade of California.

The next day and it was breakfast (at another American-style diner) before heading off to the 49ers/Seahawks NFL game. I think I sold Slugg on the idea of gridiron as soon as he laid eyes on the Gold Rush, the San Francisco cheerleaders. Damn that dude who got in the back of our photo! I went to the same game at the same venue almost three years before and it was pretty much the same result. I didn't feel too bad, with the Seahawks of Seattle proudly representing the Pacific Northwest. They could go all the way this year.

If the sight of gorgeous American girls wasn't enough, we then went to Hooters at Fisherman's Wharf. The beer is overpriced and the food is hardly to write home about but it didn't matter. Did it? I sense female readership of the blog will plummet significantly after this but we had a good time and contemplated going back, only to get more pictures with the girls. The girl to my left (I forget her name although she's wearing a name badge) signed Simon's t-shirt with this lovely piece of prose: "Roses are red, violets are blue, the shorter the skirt, the better the view." We'll get her a job in journalism soon enough.

While we thought we saw all that San Fran had to offer, we decided to walk the town on Monday, taking in many sights, including Berry Street (it was the first on my list), the Bay Bridge, Coit Tower, Lombard Street and the Golden Gate Bridge. We would have walked 10 miles easily uo-and-down the city's steep streets, which was just as well, because on Tuesday we spent all day on the Amtrak train to Santa Barbara. It was ironic that I got a cheap ticket after complaining about their service from Seattle to Vancouver in early September, which was more than five hours late. This time, the train we only had to wait four hours after the scheduled time for the Coast Starlight service that apparently offers picturesque views of the Californian coast. We wouldn't know that, however, as it was after 10pm when we arrived in Santa Barbara.

Stay tuned to what happened next to the two men - armed only with a map of California printed on the back of a postcard - as they hired a car and hit the right-side of the road for one helluva road trip!