It's Raining... Dust?

As you probably heard, things got a little dusty here in Sydney this week! They say it was the craziest weather in 60 years, and although I've only been here for nine months, I have to agree that is was one of the wildest things I've ever seen. The photo is the Harbour Bridge and that's not fancy photoshop - it's the real deal.

I was really confused when I opened my eyes at 6:30am. I could hear sirens and my whole bedroom had the creepiest orange glow, so the New Yorker in me immediately thought we must be getting bombed. Then I realized I was in Sydney. My second thought was a really bad fire because I could hear the trucks, but the glow was just beyond strange, so I got up and turned on the TV. My trusty local newspeople explained the situation, so I knew all was safe, but was it ever creepy! You know there is something wrong when your iGoogle weather just has an orange image box that says "DUST".

The sky stayed that way for a few hours, and eventually the sun broke through and the dust subsided. It was in the air all day, making it a little yucky to breathe, and I came home to find a bathtub full of red sediment, which wasn't the most fun to clean. All in all, no harm no foul, but definitely a very cool thing to experience and something pretty special to see.

Karaoke

A few weeks ago, I narrowly escaped my first (and probably last) karaoke experience. Everyone raves about how fun and silly it is, but the whole idea of belting out a Bon Jovi classic backed up by a television screen looping videos of 80's kids running and jumping and smiling has always creeped me out. Nonetheless, it was my idea to let my friend Bernie do whatever she wanted for her 29th birthday, so down the screeching hole of vocal horror I fell. Kind of like Alice in Wonderland, if she was a member of The Spice Girls.

Please make note - you cannot go to karaoke sober. Not only because everyone needs a little liquid courage to do what they normally do in the confines of their shower (singing of course!), but because karaoke joints are disgusting. After a lengthy pregame, we wound our way down a claustrophobic staircase in central Chinatown and into a basement that was probably once prominent a brothel in very recent history. Dozens of tiny, dark rooms covered and padded and faux fur furniture drew us in like a colonic. You don't want to go, but you have to. I wouldn't normally admit to this, but thank goodness for the fully-stocked fridge of vodka cruisers! Everyone drank, everyone sang, and everyone was sick the next morning. And me? Why, "Bed of Roses" of course!