The USS Quad Damage

Pray I do not alter the deal any further.

I need to stop wearing my Man Utd. jersey. Whenever I'm in the city wearing it, random people feel like they need to comment to me regarding the team. Now, when this happens, I'm totally unaware that I am wearing it, so what these people say is totally lost on me until later that day when I realise it's because of the shirt. Normally, I could handle this, since it only makes my day all the more interesting, but once a white van stops next to you on the street, horn honking, with a large, bald man hanging out the driver side window shouting something about a game, you start to reconsider your garment choices.

Another interesting source of events regarding my travels into the city is the magical fairy-land known as Minto station. I think I've already mentioned my witnessing of a small kid with a lit cigarette stealing from a vending machine, so I'll keep this to more recent happenings. If you are a motorcyclist in Minto, you don't need to ride your bike on the main bridge over the tracks - just ride it over the ramp Cityrail provides for it's passengers. It certainly makes the day of those other people walking on it all the more interesting.

The genuinely interesting parts of my day is walking through Chinatown. My train options present me with either getting to Central early or getting there late. I choose to go early, and spend half an hour walking around, slowly working through the music I've yet to listen to on my iPod. I've only about 48 hours of music to go! What's good about walking around that area is that, as time goes on, I'm slowly recognising more and more of the words presented on the sides of various stores. Sure, they're all Chinese, so I haven't the slightest idea as to how their grammar and sentences work, but it's pretty nice to read the kanji for 'foot', 'hand' and 'energy', guess the place deals with acupuncture, and then reading the english up top to realise I'm right.

Oh, it seems I'm now 85kg. I must be doing something right. After doing a little math, it seems that reaching my goal of 70 by the end of the year is not only unrealistic, but would only be attainable if I were to die.