I'm not saying Cloverfield, but I'm gonna have to say Cloverfield

Earlier today, I was tipped off about an incident that took place on Long Island this morning. Apparently, this thing washed up on a beach in Montauk:



Are you thinking "What the eff is that?" I am. And I've been staring at the photo for little over an hour. Oh, it's also 4:15 a.m. This is what I do when I can't sleep. I geek out about possible monster carcasses and blog.

So what do you think it is? Rumors are circulating that the creature is a dead dog. If this is the case, I don't ever want a dog. I would never be able to look at it the same way. And if the thing ever got pissed off at me, I would naturally assume it would take the form of whatever washed up on the beach at Montauk and eat my face off.

Others are saying that the monster is a turtle, minus the shell. If this is the case, I now understand why turtles have shells in the first place - they are uggo. Fuggo actually.

I'm going to go with the hypothesis that this is a retarded version of the monster from Cloverfield. Or maybe it's the baby of a bigger monster yet to come. All I know is this - monsters can read blogs so I'm obviously on the list of people to eat if this thing ever emerges from the ocean, I'm hightailing it overseas. They've dealt with Godzilla. They can certainly deal with this.

Small beaches, crappy Nicole Kidman movies and French take over.

Things have finally slowed down here in Sydney. This weekend was the first weekend I didn't have plans in a while, so I took the two days to just relax and pal around. However, since I last wrote alot has transpired, so here it all is, in brief:

I discovered a beach called Watson's Bay, with the help of my German friend, and I have to say it might be one of my new favorite places here in Sydney. It's towards the northern part of the harbor, hidden on a tiny peninsula. Unlike the beaches at Bondi, Bronte and Coogee, you can actually swim without being knocked on your ass by massive waves, and you don't have to worry about any Italians smoking next to you. Although I find Europeans greased up with tanning oil while smoking utterly hilarious, it can be a bit bothersome when they talk a decibel louder than every one else. At Watson's Bay, it's quiet enough to actually hear the ocean, and if you're so inclined, you can easily listen in on any conversation around you. Hey, when I get bored I like to snoop. So sue me.

I've also moved into my new apartment. Although it's not in New York, it'll due for now. The location is quite awesome, if I do say so myself, and I really enjoy the neighborhood I'm in. There are a number of movie theaters, good bookstores, cool little restaurants and bars - all in all, a good place to land. My only real complaint, and this isn't special to my hood or anything, but the bats in Sydney are terryifying. Up until I moved to Sydney, I had only seen a bat once: 1988, summer camp in Branson, Missourri. It was horrible, and I was happy with the idea of never seeing a flying rodent again. Wellllllllllllll...Sydney is filled with bats. I actually saw one fly underneath a street lamp while walking to a taxi from the art gallery last Wednesday night. Imagine a rodent the size of a pug with wings. Now imagine me covering my head and running, quietly muttering under my mouth in a frantic tone "Don't bit me, don't bite me, don't bite me." On the plus side, animals in Australia don't have rabies. On the negative side, I would forever be known as "the girl that was bitten by a bat." At least I could pretend to foam at the mouth every so often and no one would REALLY know if I was kidding or not.

I've also learned that French culture is pretty prevalent in Australia. Next week I'm attending the Alliance Française French Film Festival, which just happens to be taking place in my neighborhood, Paddington. Also, I just bought tickets to see the band Air play at the Sydney Opera House - for those of you not familiar with Air, they are an iconic French band who have been making music FOREVER. I'm pretty stoked about my new francophile status, if you can't tell.

Lastly, I saw the Nicole Kidman movie "Margot at the Wedding" last night at one of the movie theaters near my house. Other than the fact that the guy working the concession stand was pretty foxy, the movie was one of the most retarded films I've ever seen. I typically enjoy films where at the end, I have some sort of attachment to the protagonist. But at the end of this film, I wanted to strangle Kidman's character. Thanks Nicole Kidman - you officially pooped on the last few hours of my weekend.