The Incident

My blog posts are usually filled with smiling vacation photos and/or lush landscapes. And I do have more of those to share, but we have yet to upload the photos.

For now, I need to retell an anecdote that I mentally refer to as simply 'the incident.' I feel the need to record it now, a month after it happened, so that it doesn't morph dramatically over the years. Truthfully, it's dramatic enough without my imagination filling in the gaps of memory.

One crisp Saturday morning, my mom and I went to pick up my dry cleaning from a shop I'd used occasionally.
We handed the lady our claim ticket, but there was still confusion about where my items were. Eventually, the owner, an Asian woman in her fifties or so, found my blouse and work trousers.

Immediately, my mom and I thought that the shirt looked off in color. When I brought it in, it was close to an eggshell white, but now it looked pale yellow. We tried to discuss this color issue with the woman, but she didn't offer any helpful solutions. When she wasn't wandering away to help other customers, she told us, 'you need to speak to the dry cleaner.' Hold on a moment, we thought she was the dry cleaner.

It seems that the actual dry cleaning is done by someone else, but the woman didn't indicate when that person would arrive or if they could re-clean it. We were pretty annoyed by then because the woman kept ignoring us to help other customers while our issue remained unresolved. My mom asked what we should do and I decided we should pay for the trousers and either bring the blouse to another dry cleaner or try to hand wash it at home. For all I knew, the blouse was ruined.

When the woman realised we weren't paying for the blouse, only the trousers, she quickly turned her attention back to us and flipped out. She grabbed the dry cleaning out of my hands and we started in with a heated tug of war. She was adamant: yanking and yelling about 'you not pay!' I was stunned, but it was nothing compared to what came next.

I finally won the tug of war and we were about to walk out of the shop when she grabbed my mom's purse! Looking back, I still can't believe that this happened. She put it behind her on a shelf where we couldn't easily get to it. 'Excuse me!' we said. 'Ma'am, give me back my purse!' We were completely shocked.

My mom went behind the counter and tried to take it back and the woman responded by fighting her for it and moving the purse again. After prying the woman's hands off my mom's poor arm, we finally had the purse. Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, the woman started shouting that she'd call the police. 'Call them!' we shouted back. We knew that she'd likely be at fault as she stole my mom's purse and then tried to assault her.

Practically dazed but intact, we left the shop while the woman cursed after us. She screamed the 'f' word and then said something like 'second hand' meaning to insult my blouse.

Now here's where it starts to get interesting. In the light of day, yeah, you guessed it: my blouse was fine. Not discolored or ruined. I don't know what happened, but we could have sworn that the blouse looked absolutely yellow in the shop. Was it the yellow walls, fluorescent lighting or the plastic covering that made it look so off? I guess we'll never know, but we started to feel a bit bad at that point.

My mom considered slipping $7 (the absurd amount of money in dispute here) under the door the next day, but I told her we couldn't. That lady had taken her purse and assaulted her! Thoroughly shaken by the incident, we tried to laugh it off the rest of the weekend.

Mom's big takeaway from the incident is that $7 isn't worth a physical fight with a middle aged dry cleaner (although in the end it felt more like a fight for the purse). My lesson learned? I sure as heck don't live in the land of the customer is always right. This customer will never look at that blouse the same way.

One Week in California

The true purpose of our trip to California last month was to celebrate Nic's graduation, but after two days of that, we were left with five extra days to hit up some our favorite spots in the golden state.

About two weeks before our trip, I was possessed by a nostalgic whim to revisit Knott's Berry Farm, my favorite amusement park. Knott's earned the honor of being my favorite park not because it's the nicest (that's Disneyland) or has the best rides (that would be Six Flags). In fact, I like it precisely because, when compared to the Magic Kingdom, Knott's is a little bit grungy, almost grungy enough to be retro/hip, but not quite. Knott's is consistently cheaper and less crowded than Disneyland and sells their signature Knott's Boysenberry Juice alongside other soft drinks, so really, what's not to like?

Much like Wayne's World is my favorite movie, Knott's is also my favorite park because I've created a lot of fond memories there over the years. There's a sweet, drooly picture of a three year old me playing in one of those nasty ball pits in Camp Snoopy, the section of the park reserved for wee ones. I remember visiting Knott's with Allison and Debby O'Connor for Alli's tenth birthday and being completely terrified of "the big rides." Alli poured on the peer pressure and by the end of the day I was reciting the mantra 'there will be a tomorrow' to manage my fear of Montezuma's Revenge. I loved it.

We spent several summer days there during my middle school years. A couple of friends had season passes and I remember showing up at the park with a complete change of clothing (socks, underwear, shoes) in my backpack. My dear friend April couldn't get enough of Big Foot Rapids, the white water rafting ride, and we'd run from the exit back to the end of the line, riding it until we were completely drenched.

Well, this year there was no running from the exit to hop straight back on the ride only minutes later. Unfortunately, the park was too crowded for us to ride anything more than once. In fact, we were at the park all day, but only got on six rides. Upon arriving I quickly learned that our tickets purchased online were cheap because we chose to visit the park on the same day that every other middle school in Orange County did.

This put a slight damper on the day because middle school students are well... middle school students. They think they're quite clever and adorable when they jump the queue and there was a lot of screaming; even for an amusement park with thrill rides, there was a lot of screaming. Our party of four decided early in the day that we wouldn't tolerate anyone cutting in front of us in line. We didn't accept excuses such as 'I need to go with my group' and nearly got into a scuffle because of our stubbornness.

We had just joined the snaking queue to ride Montezuma's Revenge when half a softball team tried to cut in front of us. We told them that this wasn't okay and their mama bear got really bent out of shape.  She was armed with plenty of nonsense arguments: 'they're just little girls and you're adults.' Yeah, and we think everyone, regardless of age should take turns. Anyway, she asked her male companion who we later began to call Number One Dad, to get involved. Though the words coming out of his mouth seemed to agree with us, he was angry and decided to teach us a lesson (and set an incredibly poor example) by cutting in front of us. As you can imagine, the rest of the wait in that line was awkward, but Number One Dad was from that point on an excellent reference point and butt of all jokes.

Knott's had changed, but not dramatically so, since my previous visit. Though a self-proclaimed 'huge weenie' about roller coasters, Kat summoned the courage to ride most rides with us. I even dragged the whole crew on Big Foot Rapids despite their reluctance to get wet. We tried out a couple of new rides, too: Pony Express which is poorly designed, uncomfortable and generally sucky and Silver Bullet which is perhaps the best roller coaster I've ever ridden. Silver Bullet is the type that suspends you from the top and leaves your feet dangling.  It took you through plenty of loops and corkscrews, but didn't bang your head around which was brilliant.

I wanted to stay until the park closed, but our visit was cut slightly short by Nic's need to see the Laker game and Mickey's desire to get the hell away from middle school students. I couldn't blame either of them, really. In the end, I still love Knott's, but made a vow never to return unless it was a random mid-week day in the spring or fall; school days at the park are just too hectic.

Almost two months later, the rest of our week in California was a happy blur. We shopped, went swimming and played games. We celebrated my birthday by going out for In 'N Out burgers and my brother taught me the coolest trick: ordering a neapolitan shake so that you don't have to decide between chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, you get all three!

Nicholas Rennie, BA

Flying from Sydney to LA takes about 14 hours. If you count the return trip and time spent traveling to and waiting at the airport, the total travel hours involved in a round trip journey to LA numbers around 36.  Last month, Mickey and I took a week off from work and made that 36 hour journey to LA and back to celebrate my brother Nic's graduation, an occasion which was truly worth the trip.

Eight years ago, Nic almost didn't graduate from high school. He moved among a crowd to whom academics weren't important. He's always been bright, but at that time had neither the motivation nor the confidence to succeed in school. In fact, Nic was mentioned by name in a friend's commencement address: "we'll remember the bad boy antics of Nic Rennie and..." My mom recalls hoping my grandmothers wouldn't be too embarrassed by this claim to fame.

Nic spent a couple of years at the community college, enrolling in and then dropping classes, but making steady scholarly progress. He met professors and encountered issues that inspired him to not only learn, but act. Three years ago he gathered the courage to apply to the University of California, Riverside (UCR), was accepted and thrived. He graduated cum laude with a BA in Philosophy.

My family and I had never been so proud of Nic and my mom decided to commemorate the event with a big family party. Her friend in the embroidery business customized about 25 ball caps that said either "friend of NIC" or "relative of NIC." Because the word 'Nic' was spelled out in all capital gold letters on official-looking navy blue hats, my cousin joked that we'd be mistaken for a government agency with the acronym 'N - I - C' like SWAT or FBI.


My mom decorated the house with flowers from her garden, but the food and beverage for the afternoon reflected the tastes of the man of the hour: imported microbrews and Reece's Peanut Butter Cups and Twix on every table. Buca di Beppo catered the main meal, an Italian feast featuring a tray of lasagna for 40 and a similar sized tray of meatballs the size of your fist. As you can imagine, we were eating leftovers for a week.

The weather was sunny and warm enough for games of croquet on the lawn. At one point, my cousin's three children were each playing with a set of mallets, balls and gates, but none of them were playing the same game. We'll call it creative croquet. Most guests were content to catch up with each other, wish Nic well and pose for pictures wearing the 'NIC' hats. I believe that a good time was had by all.

We spent the next day, Nic's actual graduation day, with a smaller subset of family. Our two Rennie cousins flew all the way out from New York and Florida to celebrate with Nic so it was great enjoy a champagne brunch at Riverside's Mission Inn hotel with them, Nic, Kat and my mom. It's funny that I remember wanting to treat Nic to brunch at the Mission Inn since the moment I learned he was going to UCR. The quality of the food is decent, but it's really quantity and variety that are the restaurant's brunch buffet specialty. We delighted in the uniqueness of each plate that returned from the dizzying buffet hall: mussels, corn salad, roast beef and a danish or ceviche, breadsticks and rice pudding.


The commencement ceremony, honoring many social science graduates, was special despite our proximity to rude, low-class families. Someone needs to get a word about graduation ceremony etiquette out to the masses (perhaps via WalMart or truck ads). Though my humble blog resembles neither of these, I'll step up and be that someone. Proud families of graduates, please do not talk at normal conversation volume throughout the duration of the commencement. It's rude. Also, do not stand up for a half an hour waiting for your graduate's name to be called. It prevents those behind you from seeing their loved one. Thank you; I'll step down from my soap box now.


Anyway, even those bogans couldn't stop us from savoring Nic's shining moment. He deliberately kept his cum laude status a secret from us so it would be a surprise, the sneaky little smarty. Though his Lakers lost game 5 of the 2010 NBA finals (but eventually went on to win the title), I hope Nic was still feeling like a champion on June 13, 2010. You deserve it, Buddy. I love you.

Vivid Sydney Returns

Well, really, Vivid Sydney returned and is now gone again; I'm just a bit slow with the updates.

Last year, I was incredibly impressed by Vivid Sydney, our city's festival of light, music and ideas. This year's program offered some of the same visual treats (a series of slowly changing colorful images and patterns projected on the Opera House), as well as something new.

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the first NSW Governor Lachlan Macquarie's arrival in Australia and Vivid Sydney artists commemorated his achievements by projecting historical images and text on the facade of St Mary's cathedral. I personally feel there is no danger of anyone forgetting Lachlan Macquarie; indeed, you cannot travel two feet without running into a street, park, school or suburb named after the first governor or his wife, Elizabeth.

Still, I found the display absolutely stunning. A series of images, facts and diary and letter excerpts portrayed Macquarie as a compassionate man who showed mercy toward the convicts shipped to Australia against their will. Perhaps Australians are grateful to Macquarie because he granted their forefathers the dignity necessary to forge their new nation.

Though jetlagged, we insisted that my mom see Vivid Sydney on her first night in town and coincidentally the final night of the festival. And like last year, it was completely worth our while. Thank you so much, Sydney, for creating another piece of public art worth braving the chilly evening air.

Exploring Aussie Sports Part II: AFL

Months ago Mickey and I attended our first Australian Football League (AFL) game when we cheered the Sydney Swans in their decisive victory over the Richmond Tigers.

AFL players engage in a sport called Aussie Rules Football. I figure fans refer to the sport as AFL because ARF would be a little weird. 'My hobbies include painting, arf, karaoke...' Yes, better to refer to the sport by its league name, AFL, than have strangers assume you have some sort of canine Tourette's.

Anyway, the sport was designed to keep cricketers in shape in the off season. I find this puzzling because, in the words of Bill Bryson, 'cricket is the only sport in which the fans burn as many calories as players, more if mildly restless.' I can't imagine what sort of winter time activities would render one incapable of even cricket. Competitive eating, perhaps?

Though AFL is played on an oval-shaped cricket pitch, the similarities to cricket end there. While cricket is slow enough to make baseball seem positively thrilling, AFL is fast-paced and high scoring. To the untrained eye, it resembles a soccer/rugby hybrid sport. Players are allowed to kick and pass the ball, lift each other up and tackle. More than any of those actions, though, AFL involves running, so much running, you'd imagine it was designed to prep players for marathons not cricket.

I forget the rules, but recall sets of three goal posts on opposite ends of the field. When players kicked the ball through the center goal post, they score six points; if it goes through either of the side goal posts, they score three points. But because the Swans were so far ahead of the visiting Tigers, we didn't pay much attention to the scoring.

We spectators were more intrigued by the drunken fan who led cheers from the bottom of our tier. Mickey snapped as many photos of him as he did of the players. We also thoroughly enjoyed singing along to the victory song played at the end of the game and then joining our fellow fans on the pitch for photos and hundreds of simultaneous games of catch. It's as if the crowd couldn't wait another moment to burst on to the field and reenact their own moments of athletic glory under the harsh stadium lights. It was great fun until we almost got hit in the head by multiple AFL balls whizzing through the air.