Autumn in April = the most nonsensical phrase ever uttered.

The smell of roasting almonds on the streets is missing

Trees are still green, no specks of orange, yellow or red

Unlit Christmas decorations are not being hung downtown in preparation

Cozy bars in the Village aren't packed with the conversations on Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas

Pumpkins aren't for sale at the farmer's markets

Seasonal drinks are not on the menu, no one has ever heard of Pumpkin Spice or Gingerbread lattes

It's autumn in April and I miss New York when it's spring.

Lists.

While getting my hair cut on Saturday, the obligatory question once the stylist heard my accent was asked: "Where are you from?"

Then, she asked me something that no one has asked me since I left America - "what do you miss most?"

Well, here's my list:

1. I miss being able to call my family and friends whenever I feel like it. I'm now relegated to the brief window in the morning between when I leave my front door until I arrive at the train station. The time difference sucks - plain and simple.

2. I miss being around people who understand my sense of humor. I think my sarcasm comes across as rude in Australia. And for those of you who know me, you know it's virtually impossible for me to NOT be sarcastic.

3. Bodegas. In New York, you can't walk five feet without running into one. Sure, the milk on sale might be crunchy, but at least you can count on them to always have milk.

4. The New York subway. Now, I can honestly say that I NEVER thought that I would miss that sonofabitch, but man, you can't beat the convenience. There are subway stops everywhere, so no need to take a bus or walk for 30 minutes.

5. Really good pizza.

6. Living no more than 20 minutes away from some of the greatest friends in the world.

7. Only being a plane ride away from the Midwest.

8. Watching Strangers with Candy with Emily.

9. Watching the Food Network with Jessy.

10. Wandering around the West Village with Damien listening to him say "Not breadloaf, is baby!" about 50 million times in 37 minutes.

11. K-I-C-K-A-S-S cupcakes.

But most of all, I miss the energy of New York. No other city in the world has it - nothing seems impossible there. I can't wait to have that again.

P.S. My new hair cut rocks, by the way.

Bacterialism.

I used to think that homesickness was a passing ailment, something that could be overcome if you "stuck with it" or "just hung in there." Basically, that's what everyone tells you when you admit to the disease - and homesickness is just that, a disease - albeit more of the bacterial than the viral kind as homesickness can be cured. For me, I've reached a certain point in my bout with the illness. I've reached the stage where almost anything triggers a memory and the thought that homesickness is something that everyone can get past becomes implausible based on the fact that some are just happier where they came from rather than where they end up. The final destination is not always the best. It just sometimes takes new surroundings to realize that.

A jar of Nutella reminds me of a past lover from college, the smell of pancakes reminds me of breakfast at the Village Inn with my family as a child, sirens remind me of night in New York, and any long stretch of highway takes me back from the stretch of America between Oklahoma City and Lawrence, Kansas. Just a couple of days ago, I saw a canister of parmesan cheese at the grocery store and immediately flashed back to eating lunch with my best friend when we we were still in high school and every Wednesday was "Spaghetti Wednesday" in the cafeteria. We would never get sauce - just massive plates of plain, public school-grade pasta with parmesan cheese. How we survived off of that type of diet, I'll never know, but even eight years later, I still crave the stuff. Music is another inflammation of this disease, the pattern making no sense to anyone but me. Brazilian music reminds me of Scotland, French music brings back memories of New York while New York jazz takes me back to college, and lastly, just the mention of Johnny Cash makes me long for my parents - even th0ough I have no memories of ever hearing Johnny Cash before the age of nineteen.

And much like the flu, homesickness is a constant struggle of waiting for the fever to breakk, waiting for things to go back to normal. In this case, the cold wash cloth on my forehead is instead a plane ticket and the thermometer in my mouth is not measuring my temperature as much as it is my pride and not wanting to disappoint anyone back home.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk!

My alma mater, the University of Kansas, is currently gearing up to win the NCAA Basketball Tournament, so if anyone wants to start celebratin' early, I'm willing to come back to America for this. ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK! GO KU!

Why NPR's "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!" might be the greatest thing ever invented.

For anyone that knows me, I'm terribly homesick. Perhaps it's more of a case of I really love where I'm from, but that doesn't really hold true for where I've ended up. Regardless, I get a massive high whenever I realize that I can export a little bit of Americana to my current end-of-the-world existence. And what is more American than National Public Radio?

NPR has been called "boring," "liberal," "REALLY boring," etc. There is even a blog entitled NPR Sucks. The author of this blog has apparently been receiving a lot of hate mail, so he has revised his stance: NPR News is what sucks, the rest of the programming is great. I won't start a full attack on this man, because frankly, I don't listen to NPR News, and as long as he doesn't talk shit on the program "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!", I fine with his opinions.

I first heard this program about two years ago at my friend David Herman's apartment in Borough Park, Brooklyn. David had made brunch for a group of us and we all sat around listening to the program - I think Tom Hanks was the guest that Sunday). I had never really listened to a radio program before, so I was shocked with how much I enjoyed the experience. From Carl Kasell's promise to record the trivia winners' answering machine message to Peter Sagal's quick jokes, I never get tired of this show. The majority of panelits are hilarious as well - Mo Rocca and P.J. O'Rourke are two of my favorites.

Since that brunch at David's apartment, I have had several other fond memories of listening to NPR, but they are priviate and unless you get your hands on my diary, you'll never know about it. Stop nosing around my business.

And among the numerous things I miss from America, NPR can be counted as one. Everything I read about Australian radio before arriving here has proven to be true, and that's not a good thing, so my NPR withdrawl was even worse than expected. I missed the humorous comments on current events and I missed the circumstances of which would allow me to listen to NPR. But alas, peer media has saved the day.


Perusing the live feed on my Facebook page, I noticed my old colleague Mike Dory, ex public relations professional/current brilliant grad student, had become a "fan" of NPR. I, of course, joined as well. And what did I find? Well, I'll tell you: I FOUND "WAIT WAIT...DON'T TELL ME!" PODCASTS! SWEET FUCKING JESUS I FOUND THE SHOW ONLINE!

I never thought I would be saying "Man, I'm so happy to hear Carl Kasell's voice, but I'd be lying if I denied that hearing that baritone was like peeing your pants while sleeping - extremely relaxing and one of the most calming experiences you'll ever have...at least until you wake up and realized you pissed yourself.*

* To clarify, I'm not a chronic bed wetter. The last time I peed the bed, I was 11 years old. I was having a dream where I was sitting on the toilet peeing, so I guess my body said "hey, why not?" and so I did. To this day, I have never felt more relaxed than the 10 seconds between where I was peeing the bed to when I realized I had actually peed the bed. Also, prior to this incident, I had not wet the bed since the mid 1980s. You can call my mother for confirmation if you don't believe me. I take great pride in flushing the toilet, so take that as my final response.

Stank.

While walking home today, I passed an alley where the faint smell of urine was present. It made me homesick. How gross is that?

I can honestly say that I never once thought I would miss the incessant smell of pee that invades New York City subways, alley ways, the sidewalk the city in general.

And since you're already visiting my blog, feel free to use the urine chart posted to the left of this entry. It will help you figure out if you're drinking enough fluids, and at the same time, completely gross you out. I'm a #2, in case you were wondering.

More fun facts related to human waste:

1. If you eat enough of those candy coated almonds you can buy at most grocery stores, your poop will turn white. Swear to god.

2. If you eat enough Boo Berries cereal (the blueberry cousin of Count Chocula and Frankenberry cereals), you poop will turn neon green. True story.

The most rejection I've faced since high school...

About thirty seconds ago, I just received my sixth formal rejection from potential roommates. There have been numerous people who just didn't call me back so we'll leave those ones out of the final count.

Seriously. I've never had this hard of a time making friends/finding roommates in my entire life. I'm not going to be nice anymore. Faking enthusiasm just got tired and boring. If these people want to stereotype me, oh, you better believe I'll give them a stereotype to work with. Everyone can go fuck themselves (that last sentence was the beginning of the transformation, in case you were wondering...).

And to anyone that I've ever met that claims that Americans are judgemental of other cultures, it's amazing when the shoe is on the other foot people. For Christ Sake, I'm not a bad person just because I come from a super power country.

Sheesh.

The Latest Adventures of the Holiday Inn...

That's right. I can speak about the Holiday Inn because I now live there. Yeah, you heard me. I live at the Holiday Inn in Sydney's Chinatown.

If you're thinking right now,"Man, that's about five steps away from being homeless," then you're right. But it's more like four steps depending on how much credit you still have left with American Express.

To my friends that live in New York, I have a little advice for you:

Don't ever leave New York. I repeat: NEVER. LEAVE. The grass, in fact, is NOT greener on the other side. I repeat: NOT. GREENER. And think about it - grass requires mowing. Stick to the concrete jungle. Less maintenace. And I mean that on multiple levels.

In the meantime, please send money and good wishes my way. I don't play an instrument, but if I can find some buckets in the maintenance closet at the hotel, I'll beat on those and take up busking as a part time profession. Seriously. New low folks. All-time new low.

Oh New York (and the rest of America). I miss you.

To my friends in New York, Kansas City, San Francisco, Oklahoma City and everywhere else:

I will pay you a million dollars to come visit. Granted, it will be on a post-dated check for somewhere around the year 3040, but still. That check is as good as gold. Good. As. Gold.

I'm homesick. Please help.

XOXOXO.
MAP