Tragically, hip. Saw a proper sports doctor this morning. He pretty much confirmed that it's the cartilege where my right femur joins the hip that's messed up. I got an MRI this evening to find out just how bad. I'll get the full analysis of it a week from Wednesday, but by all indications my options are going to be a) take anti-inflammatories, play for maybe one more year, and not fix the problem; b) quit; or c) surgery. I can't imagine how invasive it must be to get to the hip joint during surgery, but it might be better in the long run. I don't like any of those options much.

The MRI was cool because I got to choose the music I wanted to listen to, through (non-metallic, air tube style) headphones. I almost fell asleep. If magnetic insoles and such are really supposed to have curative effects, then how come you can lie in a 10,000-gauss magnetic field and come out feeling only slightly bored?

Just got back from the Big Day Out festival, where we caught Franz Ferdinand, Iggy Pop and the Stooges, and the White Stripes. From a distance, as people our age are wont to avoid contact with screaming sweaty drunks. Franz Ferdinand was sterile, but less so than their records, so it was actually pretty enjoyable. Iggy's still nuts; I saw him probably fifteen years ago or so, and if anything, he looks younger and still has the same energy. The White Stripes sounded really good but we were too far back by that time for any real involvement.

It was interesting to watch for cultural differences in a festival crowd as compared to shows we've been to in the states. Mostly it was subtle things. I like that the whole crowd here can sometimes act in unison; you hardly ever see that in the US.

I failed to mention that a few weeks back I went and checked out the Stanley Kubrick exhibit at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image. It was fabbo. Lots of movie clips playing, along with original props, early press releases, protest letters, costumes, models, equipment; all kinds of wild stuff. I never knew that Kubrick put in the most work of all towards a bio-epic about Napoleon. It never got made, but just seeing his filing cabinet of notes, his stacks of books on the subject, production schedules, and repeated drafts of scripts was boggling. What's the most batshit crazy a person can be and still function in society? That's the place on the spectrum to look for genius. Exhibit's still running for a few more days if you're in town.

Marjorie hosted wine tasting at our place yesterday. It happened to be the hottest day that either of us can remember -- and we used to live in Singapore, so that's saying a lot. The high was 43 celsius, which is 109.4 fahrenheit. Yikes! Our place has no air conditioning, so we hooked up the bogan AC, which is bowlfuls of ice in front of oscillating fans. Wisely, Marjorie chose white wines, and everything went swimmingly.

Surreal moment during house cleanup beforehand. We encountered a number of spiders that were driven inside, presumably because of the heat. Marjorie, who's no timid country mouse, caught a big black one in a glass, and gave it to me to release. (Some of our best friends are spiders, so we don't kill them -- usually.) I ran across the street to set it free on a tree, which it promptly started climbing. What I didn't realise is that I had just condemned the poor creature to death. Halfway back across the street I turned around, just in time to see a minah bird swoop down, land, and do a quick hop up the tree to gobble up him up. It was literally less than five seconds after I let him go.

Nature, red in tooth and claw. All part of the food chain, I guess, but after that minah just pooed on me the other day, they're one species that's off my Christmas card list next year.

I went to see Fizzy O'Therapist a day after my last blog. Not being a true doctor, he couldn't give me a full diag- or prog-nosis, but the problem is definitely centered around my right ball-and-socket joint, where it joins the hip. And it's probably ligaments. He gave me some exercises to do, and I am going to see a real sports doc next Monday. At any rate, I'm a little more sanguine about my prospects for playing more, even if it isn't this season.

Boring soccer updates may be over, for good. I played a friendly game tonight, and my torn ligament, or whatever it is, decided to make a return visit. Worse than ever, too, despite being pretty much idle for months.

It's right where my right leg joins my hip, and I feel it bad whenever I kick the ball with my right leg, especially if I kick with the side of my foot. What stinks is that I can still run just fine, and am playing as good as I ever have. I just can't kick the ball. (And that's kind of important in soccer.)

I'll go see a physio, but I don't have a lot of hope, since I think it's a ligament tear. I suspect my options will be:

Learn to kick with my left foot exclusively.

Quit.

Become a goalkeeper.

I'm not depressed about it -- yet. I'm just angry right now.

Other Tasmania trip points of note:

While staying in a hotel in Hobart that had a small kitchen, Marjorie asked me to boil some water while she took a shower. What I didn't realize was that the kettle had its own separate base unit that you plug in. Instead, I put the thing -- which has a plastic bottom, btw -- on the burner, then left the room to go deal with the car situation. She came out of the shower to find the room filled with acrid smoke. I totaled the kettle, and left melted plastic all over the burner. It's a damn good thing I'm so good looking, and don't have to get by on my brains.

We arrived home sometime after midnight. While opening the front door, we disturbed a mynah bird that had been roosting in a rafters of the front porch. He shat on me and flew off. Welcome home!

If it's 4 a.m., it must be Regis. A friend of mine is right now trying to become a contestant on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire", at a taping at Disney World. He wants me to be his "Phone A Friend" person, so I might be getting a call, as early as 4 a.m., from -- well, I thought it would be Regis Philbin, but that just shows how long I've been out of the States. Meredith Vieira. The odds are slim that he'll be one of the ones randomly selected from the audience, but you never know. I'll be ready to Google the answer if I don't know it offhand.

I have been away from the States for a while. I just realized that last week marks two years since I've set foot on U.S. soil. Zowee. Later this year, we'll be heading back (now that it looks like I won't be getting World Cup tickets :).

Update. He didn't make it in. Oh well.

By the gods -- facial hair!. I didn't shave over vacation, and Marjorie apparently has a thing for Mennonites as she asked me to shave it this way.

My man sack. Girls are on to something. Over the break I bought a over-the-shoulder carry bag, and I already can't get by without it. What aversion do men have to being able to carry things?

Why do dogs always develop nicknames in addition to their given names? For whatever reason, Laika is almost always refered to as "Sweet Girl" or "Dingus McDognus" in our house.

We booked our trip to Tasmania just just a few weeks back. We called a bunch of places asking about rooms, and they all pretty much laughed at us. Finally someone explained to us that the Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race was going on, and the hotels in town were pretty much chockablock. Finally we started calling pubs, and found a place that agreed to take us.

When we arrived in Hobart and drove to the hotel, we found the room to have just a sagging single bed, crumbs in the carpet, etc. So we declined and tried looking around for somebody with a cancellation. We even tried neighboring towns. Finally we realized that we weren't going to do any better than sleeping in the car. We got a tip from a guy in a hostel about a good place to park along the river. So we got a bottle of wine and headed down. "Stick with me, babe," I told Marjorie. "With me, it's class all the way. Spending New Year's Eve in a Hyundai Elantra drinking wine from a thermos cup."

There were dolphins in the river, which was cool. We ended up crashing out at about 9 pm. Fortunately it was raining, which was conducive to sleep. We half awoke at midnight to the sounds of fireworks, and a few people in the park whooped it up for a while, but the rain soon drove them home.

We slept in until almost 9 am. Our booking the next night was in a caravan park down in Adventure Bay on Bruny Island, so we headed south, caught the ferry, and arrived around noon. Ah, showers and a soft bed. Bruny Island has some crazy wildlife, including white wallabies and lots of rare bird species. We took a few hikes and basically relaxed for a few days there.

The next day was unplanned, so we just decided to get a nice place in Hobart using the money we saved sleeping in the car on New Year's. Our rental car picked that evening to die on us. Consider all the remote places in Tasmania, it was fortunate for us that it happened within a block of our room. Hertz sent a man out who couldn't fix it, so they had a new car waiting for us the next morning. Good on 'em.

We then headed up to Bicheno, a nice seaside town with some great tidepools that we spent a lot of time exploring. We picked Bicheno because it is near Freycinet National Park, which we explored the next day. I love that one of Tasmania's biggest tourist attractions can only be reached via a hike.

Our last day was spent driving up to Launceston, to catch a late flight home. Again, see the pictures for a more vivid experience than my flat prose can provide. Tasmania was maybe not as different from Melbourne as we had hoped, but is definitely interesting in its own right. I wish every place was as focused on preserving their history and ecology. Traveling there, one finds oneself pondering deep questions, such as: What is life all about? Could I survive alone in the wilderness? And, is it possible to make a White Russian with soy milk?

(Birds we spotted: Tasmanian native-hens [which, as you could never guess from their name, are native to Tasmania], green rosellas, Australian gannets, little pied cormorants, white-faced herons, black swans, mallard ducks, Australian wood ducks, kookaburras, pied oystercatchers, sooty oystercatchers, masked lapwings, tons of silver gulls, Pacific gulls, a flock of yellow-tailed black cockatoos, musk lorakeets, a ton of welcome swallows, either a pink robin or a flame robin, New Holland honeyeaters, many superb fairy-wrens, some unidentified terns, and lots of unidentified birds of prey. We walked through the habitat of the exceedingly rare forty-spotted pardalote but didn't spot any.)

Mark didn't shave the entire time we were in Tasmania. Last night I shaved his beard with creative license, now he looks Amish. Funny. I suspect it will only last the morning. We'll post a picture if he allows it.

Tasmania. We just got back from our trip to Tasmania, where we spent New Year's and the week after. More detail to follow, but in the meanwhile, enjoy some pictures. Hope everyone had a nutty New Year's.

Marjorie and Mark get dey wing on. Tonight we made our best effort to recreate our favorite Atlanta tradition, Wing Night. When my parents came to visit (and I still have yet to blog about our trip together), they brought me some real buffalo wing sauce, which is not available here. (Well, they have Hooters wing sauce at USA Foods, but it's wrong on several levels.) Not owning a deep fryer, we cooked the wings on the grill, then doused them in sauce. We cooked tater tots (potato gems, in Aussie parlance) instead of fries, and used creamy Italian dressing (also brought by my parents) instead of bleu cheese. But the celery sticks were true to form, and the beer we chose (James Squire Golden Ale) was perfection: slightly microbrewish, just like the pitchers of (? we forget!) that we used to get at Taco Mac. A tas-ty TREAT!

The email you never received:

Subject: New friend request from Mark

Mark wants to be added to your Friendster friends list. By becoming friends with Mark, you will be able to send Mark messages and connect with his friends.

He would have invited you a long time ago, but, c'mon, "Friendster"? The name alone makes it seem like the sort of thing that Mark, in less enlightened times, would have labelled "totally gay-wad". It sounds like the kind of thing sent to you by the same sort of people who tell you that Bill Gates will send you $1000 for forwarding on this email. However, Mark and his wife both like meeting new people, and if Friendster helps, then why not? But he would rather not risk annoying you by putting an invitation in your email inbox.

So if you are doing the Friendster thing, drop him an email or leave a comment and he'll send you a proper invitation.

Go Knights! My old alma mater played their first ever bowl game this weekend. Sounds like it was a great game but with a disappointing result. They even had the highlights on TV here last night.

It's hard to get in the Christmas spirit when:

There is a largish planet between you and the bulk of your family.

It's the middle of summer.

Flies have taken over. (Okay, there are no "swarms" here but they're still pretty bad.)

You have to work the next week.

A large, dead tree in your backyard picks Christmas eve to start falling over. What's worse is that it's a tree that for some reason -- elephants? -- evolved prickly thorns all over its branches, and even its trunk. I've been at it with a saw for much of the afternoon.

Still, we're making do. This is traditionally the day to gorge myself ill on my grandmother's pierogies. We found some pierogies here to do the same, but tomorrow's supposed to be hot, so we decided to cook the turkey today.

Merry Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza/Festivus/Newtonmas to family and friends everywhere!

Year-end music wrap up. Oh, it's been a sad year. I just had a look at the Pitchfork Top 50 Albums of 2005 and I've heard, let's see, none of these albums. Not a dang one. I am official OLD and OUT OF TOUCH. Phooey. I've heard of one of the top ten bands, and that's only because he went on a rant after the New Orleans disaster.

I dunno, I filled out my collection of the back-catalogue of a few artists I already like, like Lucinda Williams. I listened to a fair amount of new stuff on Pandora. I saw a few concerts (Finn Brothers, Polyphonic Spree, PJ Harvey, Mudhoney, the Shins). But, musically, as far as new stuff goes, this year has been a giant sucking dearth.

If Laika, our dog, could talk, most days would sound like this:

Morning:
Me: Good morning. [Scratches Laika behind the ears.]
Laika: Good morning. Thanks for the scratching. You don't mind if I follow you around while you get ready, do you?
Me: That's fine.
Later.
Laika: I see you are ready for work now. Give me my rawhide chew, and I will run out back to eat it alone, because that is my instinct. Then you can close the kitchen door and go do whatever it is that you do.

Afternoon:
Laika: Hooray! You're home!
Me: Good to see you too, girl!
Laika: Hooray! You're home!
Me: Yes yes, okay, good girl.
Laika: Hooray! You're home!
Me: Settle down.
Laika: Let me lick your face!
Me: No.
Laika: Let me lick your face!
Me: No.
Laika: Let me lick your face!
Me: No. Oh, okay. [Lick.]
Laika: Hooray! You're home! Can we go to the park?
Me: Mind if I put my things down first?
Laika: Can we go to the park?
Me: Can I go to the bathroom first?
Laika: Can we go to the park?
Me: Give me a minute, would you?
Laika: Can we go to the park?
Me: Oh, okay.

(Back from the park. Mark is eating a piece of cheese.)
Laika: That cheese looks good. Can I have some?
Me: No.
Laika: Can I have some cheese?
Me: No.
Laika: Can I have some cheese?
Me: No.
Laika: Can I have some cheese?
Me: [Sighs.] Okay, here you go.
Laika: That was quite delicious. Can I have some cheese?

(Later.)
Laika: You can't take my toy away.
Me: You're right, and I don't want to.
Laika: You can't take my toy away.
Me: Yuck, get that slobbery thing off of me.
Laika: You can't take my toy away.
Me: Yes I can. [Yank.] See? Now go fetch it. [Throw.]
Laika: [Fetches, returns.] You can't take my toy away.