Classic trip home tonight which sums up why the BotF is the place to be on the way home.  Big topics covered – NSW politics, World Cup draw, TAB apple app, Will’s new contract, Chelski’s CC loss, Calypso Collapso amongst others.

Plenty of boats about, and one decided to capsize about 300m from where the ferry docks at Manly.  There was nowhere for the ferry to go, so we simply had to stop.  We watched the hapless two person crew endeavour to right their craft.  The BotF boys helped by counting down the attempts to get their boat upright.  Finally the crew got their act together and the Ferry was able to complete its journey.

So much traffic around Manly Wharf – dragon boats, surf boats, sail boats and tinnies.  Best spot to view all of that – BotF.

From Turn & Home Run

generely i smoke the la flor domincana maduro 700.

these jauwnts used to knock me on my ass…..like i mean i couldnt do the whole jauwnt in one sitting….if i cant hit the mall though ill hit up europia and cop the thing that flys out the humidor…the name escapes me but its real real nice, get at me in he short north for the name….ill prob have one in hand…..

yesterday i copped one of these ed hardy looking things, and its kinda nice…..so holler at alec bradley, weed steeler co-singed.

Not long after their darts triumph, some of the BotF boys added another trophy to the cabinet. Charlie, Chris and the latest member Tom brought home the bacon at their company’s awards function – winning team of the week/month/quarter or something like that. Their win was celebrated by a strong gathering on the BotF. The journey was further enlivened by the tail end of the swell that hit Sydney’s coast line this morning. The tell-tale signs of salt encrusted on the stern indicated the size of the swell that hit the harbour in the morning.

The BotF boys (we are still looking for our first female member) enjoyed the sight of the Gem of Segana which has been parked off of Point Piper for over a week now. There was considerable debate about what to do with the Gem. Suggestions included sinking it or turning it into a floating housing commission apartment block. The most practical idea was for the residents of Point Piper to buy and move it away if they are so pissed off by its presence.

Today we have a bootygroove classic for ya. A mandatory listen on Thanksgiving. Get comfortable and listen up for the next 18 minutes or so to Alice’s Restaurant. You might have to register for imeem to listen but totally worth it.

On Saturday 12th of December, the Racket will be making their debut performance at the Manly Rugby Club.  The Racket is a 6 piece band – genre undetermined.  In fact, we’ll let the crowd determine the genre post gig.  One of the BotF founders will be tootling on a sax and providing occasional back up vocals. 

Doors of the Manly Rugby Club open at 8pm.  The Racket will keep their sets tight, so there’ll be plenty of time for yarning on the night.  Beers are at club prices – and it might be the last night of live music at Manly Rugby Club as it is threatening to close its doors at the end of December.  History to be made on multiple levels.

Ort: Sydney (AUS), Auckland (NZ)
Zeitunterschied: +10/+12 Std. MEZ
Wetter: 4 Jahreszeiten an einem Tag, jeden Tag

Nach der holden Schönheit Tasmaniens drehte es sich dann einmal nicht um blühende Wildblumen oder bekloppte Wombats, sondern vor allem um neue Bekannte, die Freunde wurden.

Sydney fanden wir bei unserem ersten Besuch ja nicht so spektakulär wie erwartet. Doch es gab schon mal den ersten Pluspunkt, was das Wetter angeht. Nach kalten tasmanischen Nächten waren wir froh mal wieder die kurzen Höschen rauszuholen und etwas Sonne zu tanken. Es war mal wieder Couchsurfing angesagt und so landeten wir bei Joe und Lucy im schönen Vorort Manly. Alles wirkte sehr aufgeräumt, es gab wieder shiny happy people, einen Strand in kurzer Laufdistanz und gutes Essen. Manly war ein Ort, wo man seine Kinder großziehen möchte. Joe war zudem ein absolut witziger Typ, der einiges zu erzählen hatte. Wenn man in seinem Lebenslauf aber stehen hat, dass man in Armenien geboren wurde, in Kairo aufgewachsen ist und heute professioneller Hypnotiseur und gleichzeitig Daytrader ist, dann sollte das nicht verwundern. Sydney zeigte sich durch Manly und Joe und Lucy von seiner angenehmen Seite, es gab eigentlich keinen Grund in die hektische Innenstadt zu fahren.

Einzig das Wiedersehen mit Anja und Pit ließ uns die Fähre zum Circular Quay an der Oper nehmen, um uns im ältesten Stadtteil Sydneys, The Rocks, ein paar Bier zu genehmigen. Es gab frisch Gezapftes auf der Dachterrasse eines Pubs mit Blick auf die Oper, danach noch sensationelles Essen bei einem Inder und zum Abschluß des entspannten Abends lecker Lokalbräu aus einer urigen Eckkneipe. Wieder ein gepflegter Abend.

Der Drops namens Australien war also gelutscht. Drei Monate sind ins Land gezogen und das Fazit fällt gemischt aus. Der Preis und Kulturschock saß nach der Ankunft aus Südamerika tief. Die Ostküste mit nachtaktiven Hostelgästen, saufenden Iren und simpel gestrickten 19-Jährigen tat ihr übriges. Die bisher größte Enttäuschung. Der Spaß fing bei uns erst an, als wir unabhängig von Transport und Unterkunft im Spaceship unterwegs waren. Vielleicht hätten wir die Ostküste so auch anders erlebt, wir wissen es nicht. Darwin, im heißen Norden Australiens, war eine furchtbare Stadt und wir hatten nicht die beste Zeit für einen Ausflug in den Kakadu-Nationalpark erwischt. Es war einfach zu trocken am Ende der 5-monatigen Trockenzeit. Melbourne gab uns wieder ein Hoch, allerdings müssen die sich nach noch etwas mit dem Wetter einfallen lassen, das geht so nicht. Die Grampiens und die Great Ocean Road blieben uns auch in guter Erinnerung. Sicher auch, weil wir wieder flexibel im Spaceship unterwegs waren. Das klare Highlight aber war Tasmanien. Einfach wunderschön.

Wir würden wiederkommen nach Australien. Wir würden die Westküste mit eigenem Allradwagen erkunden und wir würden das staubige Zentrum mit dem großen roten Felsen, der den Aborigines so heilig ist, besuchen. Doch jetzt werden wir erst mal für neun Wochen Neuseeland entdecken.

Nach den vier Nächten auf der Couch in Manly, Sydney, ging es direkt auf die nächste Couch nach Auckland. Zu Lozo und Lucy. Und was für ein Empfang. Das riesige Haus in Waitakere, West Auckland, platzte nur so aus allen Nähten vor anderen Couchsurfern und Familienmitgliedern. Damit hatten wir nicht gerechnet.

Doch eine der bemerkenswertesten Persönlichkeiten, die wir je kennengelernt haben war unser Gastgeber. Lozo, eigentlich Lorenzo Santamaria, ist gebürtiger Südafrikaner. Ein sogenannter “Cape Coloured”, also Mitglied eine farbigen Minderheit aus der Gegend um Kapstadt und unglückliches Opfer von Schwarz-Weiß-Denkens am südlichen Zipfel Afrikas. Zu Zeiten der Apartheid stand er in erster Linie bei den Demonstrationen gegen die rassistische Segregationspolitik. Er war gesuchter Staatsfeind, musste im Exil leben, mehrfach seine Identität wechseln und saß dann doch ein Jahr auf der berüchtigten Gefängnisinsel “Robben Island” ein, wo auch schon Nelson Mandela 19 Jahre seines Lebens fristen musste. Dann nach Ende der weißen Apartheid, wurden Gesetze eingeführt, die die schwarze Bevölkerung wieder bevorteilen sollte. Doch Lozo war als Farbiger nicht Schwarz genug, obwohl er doch Seite an Seite gegen die Rassenpolitik der weißen Minderheit gekämpft hatte. Reverse Apartheid. Wie ungerecht muss man sich behandelt fühlen. Doch er ist keiner der jammert und schimpft. Ein Kämpfertyp, 100% Energie, ein Hurrikan. Er war 1992 Teilnehmer der Olympischen Spiele in Barcelona – als Triathlet. Und heute nach fast 20 Jahren ohne ernsthaftes Training steht er jeden Morgen um 5 Uhr auf, um ins Fitnessstudio zu gehen oder mal eben 280 Km mit dem Fahrrad zu fahren. Wenn mal gerade nicht trainieren angesagt ist, wird am Haus herumgewerkelt, jeden Tag scheint sich etwas zu verändern. Lozo scheint immer gut gelaunt zu sein und uns ist es ein Rätsel, wo er diese Energie hernimmt.

2005 ist der Familie auch noch das Haus abgebrannt und sie haben fast alles verloren. Heute ist alles wieder aufgebaut und die Einstellung zu materiellen Dingen hat sich geändert. Es sind andere Sachen wichtig. Das war vielleicht auch ein Grund, warum sie später mit Couchsurfing angefangen haben und in den letzten Monaten unfassbar viele Leute gehostet haben. Während der acht Tage, die wir in Gesellschaft dieser großartigen Familie verbracht haben, waren immer gleichzeitig um die 8-10 andere Couchsurfer da. Drei Amerikaner, zwei Deutsche, eine Französin, ein Italiener, zwei Argentinier, eine Schottin, zwei Spanier und die Monkeys aus Österreich. Wir haben wieder viele interessante Leute getroffen, alles Langzeitreisende. Doch hier jeden gebührend zu würdigen, würde den Rahmen sprengen.

Und was? Acht Tage couchsurfen? Ja, 8 Tage. Wenn man nach Neuseeland kommt, stellt sich schnell die Frage wie man am besten durch die Lande reist. Auto mieten oder kaufen und dann im Hostel schlafen oder doch einen kleinen Campervan mieten oder kaufen. Viele Möglichkeiten, viele Fragen. Aber nach Abwägen aller Optionen fiel die Wahl dann doch auf das Modell: kleinen Campervan kaufen. Für etwa 2000€ bekommt man dann einen alten ausrangierten Japaner, denn unsere Freunde von der Insel haben sehr strenge Auflagen vom Gesetzgeber, was den Zustand des Wagens angeht und auch die Entsorgung ist mit immensen Kosten verbunden. Daher lohnt der Export in alle Welt.

Lozo fuhr uns wie ganz selbstverständlich zum Wochenend-Automarkt, doch wir waren zu langsam bei der Kaufentscheidung und der Wagen fuhr vor unserer Nase vom Hof. Aber ein Auto kauft man mal nicht eben wie einen Kaffee, sondern man braucht etwas Bedenkzeit. Dumm nur, wenn die umgebauten Campervans mit Holzbett und allem was man so im Camperleben braucht, weggehen wie warme Semmeln.

Egal, zwei Tage später hatten wir Erfolg. Nachdem wir einige Hostels in Auckland abgeklappert hatten, trafen wir uns mit Martin, Pavla und Rosarka. Die ersten beiden stammen aus der tschechischen Bierstadt Pilsen und lebten ein Jahr lang in einem 1987er Toyota Hiace namens Rosarka. Da war sie also – Rosarka (bei der Aussprache die Stimme tief stellen und einen tschechischen Akzent immitieren, Anm. d. Red.). Von außen keine Schönheit, mit einigen Makeln aber innen tiptop. Der Motor läuft nach mindestens 230.000 Km noch wie eine Eins, obwohl offensichtlich am Tacho manipuliert wurde. Rosarka läuft nämlich mit Diesel, was zwar im Vergleich zu Europa um 35% billiger ist als Benzin, man aber gezwungen ist eine Phantasiesteuer von NZ$40 pro gefahrene 1000 Km zu zahlen. Und genau die kann man natürlich gut sparen, wenn den Tachometer abgeklemmt. Letztlich kommt es aber auf paar tausend Kilometer mehr oder weniger auch nicht an, wenn die Werkstatt sagt, dass alles in Ordnung sei. Und das war bei Rosarka der Fall.

Auto kaufen ist in Neuseeland so einfach wie mal kurz Brötchen beim Bäcker holen. Nur mit Formular eben. Es war eine Sache von fünf Minuten. Hübsch unbürokratisch. Nachdem das Kaufgeschäft abgewickelt war, haben uns die schlitzohrigen Tschechen dann auch noch ganz beiläufig gestanden, dass eigentlich 10.000 Km mehr auf der Uhr stehen müssten. Schlitzohritsch eben.

Top war aber die Ausstattung unserer Rosarka. Trotzdem wurde aber wegen dem Wohlbefinden (man gewöhnt sich an allem, auch am Dativ, Anm. d. gut aufgelegten Red.) neues Bettzeug gekauft und ein zweiter Gaskocher angeschafft. Und Vorhänge mussten her. Denn dunkel muss es innen sein, wenn draußen die Straßenlaternen scheinen und der Nachtschlaf gesichert werden soll. Wir hatten also einen schönen großen Wohnzimmervorhang im Räumungsverkauf erstanden, der genau das Blau unserer Innenausstattung traf und sonnendicht ist. Es musste jetzt nur noch zugeschnitten und geschneidert werden. Lozo hatte eine gute alte Genomi Nähmaschine aus den 60er Jahren, deren Handhabung nach 1-stündiger Begutachtung und unter großer Mithilfe unseres österreichischen Freundes Josef auch endlich verstanden wurde und wir wie in einer philipinischen Kinderwerkstatt wieselflink die Vorhänge umnähten. Mutter du kannst stolz sein auf deinen Sohn . Ich habe genäht, an einer Nähmaschine. Und so haben wir nun Vorhänge, die den Marktwert des Wagens nochmals in astronomische Höhen treiben.

So vergingen die Tage bei den Vereinten Nationen in Auckland. Acht Tage waren wir zu Gast in Lozos Haus. Wir kamen als Couchsurfer und gingen als Freunde. Aber wir mussten endlich los. Endlich on the road. Auf nach Norden, nach Nordland, bis hoch ans Cape Reinga, den für die Maoris heiligsten Ort Aotearoas, dem Land der langen weißen Wolke.

I am not necessarily what you would call a stereotypical “macho guy.” I’ve never really been the ultra aggressive alpha male type, except maybe for a period toward the end of college but that era of machismo ended soon after graduation.

Having that been said I do still possess a few cliché male traits including, perhaps most prominently, the fact that I don’t like to ask for help. Whether it’s getting directions at a gas station in the middle of nowhere when I am clearly lost, attempted to find an obscure home product in the labyrinth that is a Home Depot or trying to tie my shoe laces with two broken arms I remain stubborn in my desire to do everything myself.

Now I know that every female who reads this Blog will undoubtedly have a terrifying flashback to a time when their boyfriend wouldn’t ask for directions and they drove around in circles for 2 hours when their destination was 5 minutes away, or recall a time when their dad tried to put together a bird feeder without the instructions and ended up succeeding except for the fact that his hand was super-glued to the side of it, but as men we just can’t help it.

It’s genetically encoded into our DNA as males to be resistant toward any form of assistance in all non-life threatening situations. This is the way we are programmed from birth, and therefore it’s not going to change anytime soon, since most women learn at an early age that men are a slow evolving gender to say the least.

We take pride in doing everything are own way and figuring things out for ourselves. What women don’t understand is that as men it would be much more embarrassing and socially stigmatizing if we were to ask for directions when we got lost then the act of getting lost in the first place. This is because we know that it doesn’t matter how we get to our destination or finish a project as long as once we get there we can take full credit for the jobs completion.

You see in the mind of a male it is not about the fact that your hand was glued to the completed bird feeder, it’s about how you were the one who completed the project, without any help, and proudly displayed the feeder in your backyard once you got back from the hospital.

It’s the satisfaction that comes from completing a task or getting from point A to point B, without aid, that helps define a man as a man. When it comes right down to it the women in our lives are ultimately going to have to accept this fact, and realize that there are going to be a few Sundays a year where they are forced to follow us up and down every aisle of Home Depot, counting the number of sales people we walk past in our quest to find the right size screw all by ourselves.

Have you ever felt the emptiness without a clock when the phone is dead and you really don’t want to miss your bus? It would have been easy just to raise your tiny arm and look at the watch on your wrist.

Well, I’ve felt that feeling too and I’m gonna do something about. I’ve been looking at Swedish Ebay (tradera) to find something really cheap, but still good, but I can’t even find an expensive one that I like, so that didn’t work out well. So I’ll ask you about it! Do you know a clock that could fit me very well? Something cute, nice and a little bit special. Maybe with a touch of Sandra! I’m not really girly and not manly either, so maybe something unisex?

Há mais ou menos duas semanas comecei a sonhar com paletas de maquiagem, de sombra principalmente, pois maquiar os olhos é minha paixão! Essas paletas são verdadeiros arco-íris , com cores lindíssimas. Então, para fazer todos se apaixonarem também, colocarei aqui algumas opções que têm no mercado:

Paleta de 70 cores + Blush

Paleta de 88 cores

Paleta de 88 cores (sombras neutras)

Paleta de 120 cores

Paleta de 144 cores

Paleta de 180 cores

Pesquisei muito, olhei as comunidades de maquiagem no orkut, li todos os tópicos sobre o assunto e resolvi arriscar. Encomendei uma paleta de 120 cores para mim. Pelo que eu li, a que mais falavam era sobre as paletas da marca Manly, pois tem boa pigmentação e fixação e foi a que encomendei. Agora estou na anciosidade para receber (apesar de saber que vai demorar pois vem de fora do Brasil).
Ah, e outra coisa, essas paletas são muito vendidas na internet, e tem diversos preços. Cuidado para não ser enganado! Vi até por R$150,00 a paleta de 120 cores. Eu acabei encomendando de um site internacional e que saiu apenas por U$ 18 dólares.

Bom, então essa é miha dica, e assim que minha paleta chegar, conto pra vocês!

Beijos

Have you ever eaten something so spicy that you’d suck a cock just to get something to drink? The chili that’s been sitting in my refrigerator was like that. Basically, my husband emptied about seven jars of cayenne into a stockpot and added crushed mice to taste. Oh, and mushrooms. We like mushrooms in our chili. In cases like this, we end up with enough food to fill a cheerleader’s well-greased asshole, and we eat it for days. I tend to pull the pot out, set it on the counter, and leave it there while I eat a bowl of sulfur and tiny bones, just in case I want seconds. My husband is convinced that I’m going to get food poisoning.

But I won’t, and neither will you. Food that has been out of the fridge for a while is not lethal. Neither is carpet grit, dust mites or tap water. You all have this idea that “impurities” and “toxins” and “free-radicals” are some kind of microscopic army of ninjas just waiting to deplete your body’s whatever-the-fuck. Half the bacteria you douse your hands in alcohol to kill don’t give a shit about you and your neuroses.

The advent of the vacuum cleaner began the process of shrinking mankind’s collective balls. All of a sudden, it isn’t enough to take the rugs out and hit them with a stick until they look less gray. Now you’ve got to get rid of all the “dirt you can’t see.” We used to give dishes a few swipes with cold water and lye soap and call it good. Now we’re in a state of complete panic if we see “water spots” on a glass. Our nuts are now so small that they’ve migrated into the pelvis, allowing the sack to hang in folds and form the wrinkled twat that has replaced our once virile danglers.

Human beings are animals, and animals are built to live in filth. You know what we’d be doing in the wild? Sleeping in the dirt, motherfucker! With ants! We’d be eating raw meat with hair on it and drinking from green, gelatinous pools. (Think your sister’s panties with less stagnant trucker cum.) A wild human would shit on the ground and let his hair grow into actual dreads and never wash his hands or pits. Basically the most disgusting homeless guy ever + the Canadian wilderness. But you know what? One swing of his healthy, red-blooded crotch conkers and a rabid bear with a 30-foot conjoined shark wouldn’t stand a chance.

If you want huge balls, you’ve got to start eating everything off the floor. And no 5-second rule bullshit. It needs to sit there until it’s stuck in the carpet fibers. Refuse all vaccines and sit directly on every toilet seat you can find. When someone sneezes, run over immediately and rub your face all over him. And if he’s already thrown the coveted mucous out in a tissue, retrieve it and lick up the manliness. You’ll need that hearty immune system when you’re trolling for gutter whores with your enormous bag hanging out the back window.

1. I went night diving yesterday evening and Oh. My. God. It was marvellous. Wonderful. Splendid. Fantastic. Generally Jolly Good.

Its amazing how much breathing through a hose in the pitch black focuses the mind.

And it is beautiful down there at night. Really, quite indescribably lovely.

Peaceful – with only the sounds of your own bubbles and with every movement made in graceful slow motion, trailing phosphorescence.

So, what did I see in the sweeping beam of my underwater torch? Crested horn sharks, wobbegong (or carpet) sharks, yellowtail barracuda, red morwong, octopus, cuttlefish, cardinalfish, bullseyes and even some anemones with their bright red tentacles out.

I didn’t have my camera, but here are some other photos* of the creatures mentioned above, since they are, I expect, none of them immediately recognisable to non-Sydney divers.

So, above is the crested horn shark…

this chap is the spotted wobbegong or carpet shark… for obvious reasons…

Barracuda are recognisable anywhere with that underslung jawline…

Octopus, however, are masters of disguise and are almost as unexpected as the Spanish Inquisition…

Cuttlefish are my favourites. Any creature which can change the colour of its own body and flash lights along its sides, not to mention having an expression like that, earns my respect…

And those guys are the red morwong, who look to me as though a child painted them, which makes me smile. No mean feat when you have a regulator clamped between your jaws, believe me.

So, night-diving: if there is a better way to spend Thursday evenings, I don’t know what it is.

2. This afternoon I have been ’storyboarding’ (i.e. drawing up concepts for) a new children’s book about Leonardo da Vinci. If there is a better way to spend a Friday afternoon, I don’t know what it is.

3. Tomorrow I will be baby sitting for 4-month old Hugo in Balmain, which is one of Sydney’s more relaxed and artsy quarters, accessible by ferry from my house. If there is a better way to spend a Saturday, I don’t know what it is.

*Obviously, those photos were all taken during the day, but you get the idea…

Lex Luthor ~ Hero Of Humanity

Not a man.

Not even close.

Yet most accept him like a member of the family. Grown-up little girls and boys, certain that the uncertain will bully them, find comfort in their…big brother from an another planet.

He’s made himself appear so much like us he has almost everyone forgetting he’s not one of us.

Almost.

Lex Luthor in Lex Luthor: Man of Steel

Generally, I intend to avoid voicing my (phenomenally) unpopular political views around these parts but this is one issue which I believe I will have the full support of both WMWM contributors and our esteemed readership. Local hero Lester Henry has been unlawfully arrested for the so-called “crime” of indecent exposure. What was he doing? Masturbating to a wrasslin’ video in the Boone County Library. I don’t know about you but if a man can’t rub one off to old replays of Macho Man Randy Savage and personal favorite Doink the clown in privacy of the library what freedoms will they come for next? That’s not my America. Will I no longer feel safe using public drinking fountains to bathe my genitals? Am I no longer free to engage in autoerotic asphyxiation with my neighbors hose? Wake up people our G-d-given freedoms are being stolen away one by one. Join with me in calling for the immediate and unconditional release of political prisoner Lester Henry from the Boone County Detention Center.

FREE “MOE” LESTER HENRY

more here.

Hello fellow citizens. Welcome to the first edition of “no, no stop it you look ridiculous, just stop what you’re doing” or NNSTYLRJSWYD for short. In this bi-monthly segment we will discuss various issues pertaining to human beings being ridiculous in the many ways they can be and see if we just can’t make our world a little brighter.

Chapter 1:

Like many, one of my favorite past times is people watching. You can do it just about anywhere and the possibilities of what people will do in a given amount of time is both limitless and hilarious. From beating their kids in public to being left hanging on a high five you can just about see it all.

But recently I have started to notice a fashion/lifestyle trend that has reason for alert. Simply known as The “Neo Hillbilly Hipster”.  This is a “man” who has never come out victorious in an arm wrestling match or cut down a 400 foot oak tree with nothing but his hands but would love to think he is being manly by wearing flannel. Let’s get one thing straight. Thinking your being manly and actually being a man are two totally different things.

Do you think lumberjacks gave a damn whether or not what they were wearing looked good? Hell no, they were too drunk on whiskey and too tired from wife beating to even care. Flannel was designed as a thick rough material to halt the cold and saw cuts. The only thing these hipsters were ever cut by was their second grade basketball coach.

Listen, you know how to read, you have the majority of your teeth, and you certainly are miles away from any possible altercation with a bear, so don’t dress like you own farm equipment or any tool for that matter.

Friends, keep your eyes peeled and I assure you it will only be a matter of a day before you see this Hillbilly Hipster. You can stop this by embarrassing them in a number of ways: Handing them a full load of logs to cut, beating them up in full bear attire, or simply calling them out in a large group of people.

Let’s end this before it gets out of control.

Projected 2010 Hillbilly Hipster clothing line:

Here at WMWM, we want our followers to know what it means to be a man.

In this case, dressing like one of the Village People, destroying Pearl Jam CDs, and ending your obsession with Marissa Wilson is all it takes. Oh, that and being loco for  some guy named Jesus.

I still can’t figure out who the hell Marissa Wilson is.

See more clips from found videos at http://www.foundfootagefest.com/

There was something special about today – it was meant to reach 40 degrees and although it didn’t get quite that hot, it was humid – you could see and smell the moisture in the air. And even at 8am this morning the swell was picking up in Manly and plenty of people were in the water making the most of the nicest, cleanest waves in days.

But tonight…..the atmosphere was literally electric. I got the bus home for a change, and as we got round the last corner I could see straight away the swell had picked up dramatically since this morning. I couldn’t just go home and miss seeing it properly so I went to get a closer look on the beach, along with hundreds of other people finishing off their day. There is just something electrifying about being near a surf beach when a good swell has come in suddenly. People are running towards the water with their boards, paddling out between sets, watching the guys who are already in getting some big waves – and seeing the looks of complete satisfaction as the surfers who got in early, walk wearily back onto the beach, always casting a few last glances back to see if they’ve just missed a better wave. You can feel the buzz of excitement and anticipation in the air. Tonight it was made even better by some truly spectacular lightning.

My favourite image; a surfer standing on the edge of the rocks, board under his arm, judging the right moment between waves to jump in, while forked lightning lit up the almost violet sky behind him. The kind of shot a surf photographer would kill for. I wish I had my camera with me, but I doubt I’d be talented or lucky enough to get the perfect shot of that moment. Instead I rushed home to write about it. Either way I’ll keep the memory and that’s what’s important. Realising the beauty of scenes like that, instead of just walking past. I’m lucky to live where I do – I need to realise that more too.

Still more manly than the Jonas Brothers

(The Village People)

So was Herve

Picture by: dunno source Caption by: alobf via Our LOL Builder

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In honour of National Beard Month, a list of the 15 Scariest (and Most Culturally-Relevant) Beards of All Time. Like this one:

Rasputin – Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin’s beard may have led to the fall of the Romanovs. A Russian mystic, called by some the “Mad Monk,” he was the only person who could alleviate Tsar Nicholas II’s son Alexei’s suffering from hemophilia. We think his magic powers originated in his beard. As legend has it, he also used his beard to seduce the Tsarina and scores of other Russian women into wild orgies. We’re scared.

The 15 Scariest (and Most Culturally-Relevant) Beards of All Time [Flavorwire]

Shock indeed!

Nouza isn’t taking his defeat from the previous episode too well, and he’s already begun the development of a mecha which will be able to mimick Gaiking’s Face Open. In the meantime, the Daiku-Maryu isn’t going anywhere any time soon, with both the Captain and Daiya out for a bit. Ruru has been put in charge of the Daiku-Maryu in the meantime. The team comes under attack by the enemy, and this time it’s up to the Daiku-Maryu and a Daiya-less Gaiking to fend them off.

Spiffy:

• WOAH WOAH WOAH! Turns out the captain actually ISN’T Daiya’s father! He’s actually a Darius scientist who opposed Darius’s rule. I did NOT see that coming.
• The Gaiking parts all fight individually, which is totally freaking sweet.
• MOAR Face Open goodness.
• Nouza Face Open! :O
• KAMEHAMEHA HYDRO BLAZER OH YEESSSSSSS

Iffy:

• For some reason the art in this episode, for the most part, is ages below the standard the show usually has. I’ve been told that this is was due to a guest director or something but yeah. Some people seem to like this style but I personally thought it was just far to undetailed character wise to be the sort of thing you’d put up with for a whole 39 episodes.

WOW OH WOW OH WOW OH WOW. Man. This series just somehow passed the previous episode, even with underwhelming art. The Nouza-Gaiking batle here  went into Dragon Ball Z mode when the bezerker modes were pulled out. That being said, the character art here was pretty bad: It was like a layer of details weren’t applied or something. Oh well, at this point the show was apparently getting pretty popular so LARGER BUDGET AHOY!

This is so cool I'm fairly sure we'll never see it again.

I'm wondering if we'll never see this guy again either

Strangely, the art in this episode looks loads better when screenshotted because it's a lot simpler.

So this weekend I went over to my old roomates birthday party. The Rodeo boys now live in a new location, and have new roomates. Seeing them was great, they are still awesome and still very much the same people as before which is nice. The house they now live is was a typical guy house, dirty floor, same silly dogs, bar on the carpet, pizza boxes in an overly full trash can, a real guys house. The garage is what interested me most. You can certainly judge a lot about a man about his garage, much in the same way you can judge him by what he keeps in his pockets.

The garage at the rodeo house is ultra manly, here is a rundown of what is inside. A race-car. Yea. A full size Lotus race-car with one seat, no windshield, candy-apple red, delicious fast, and not so pristine so you know they actually use it. They Also have a racing Ducati, no lights not street legal, painted yellow. They have a mini motorcycle that has been painted to look like a replica of the larger ducati. They have a huge import street legal bike, as well as many mountain bikes. They have about 10 surfboards or all shapes and sizes. They have a fridge for beer. With a freezer full of meat they killed themselves while hunting. The garage contains boxes of ammunition, toolkits, and hunting gear. There are saddles, bull riding equipment, work boots, gear to climb telephone poles. There are 2 anvils, and the associated hammers and knives and rasps needed by a ferrier. And the piece de resistance, is a forge! No joke they have a forge its a metal box connected directly to a propane tank with asbestos insulation used for heating up horseshoes that then get hit with 1.5 pound long handle hammers on top of an anvil. This is seriously manly. The walls have posters for Jack Daniels, as well as half naked models (who cares if they are photoshopped they look good on the posters).

This garage is the ultimate mans domain, I can only hope to one day have something only remotely this cool. Until then i will daydream about my future garage and the activities that will take place there…