A beard of cork

The Diversity Lottery, or Green Card Lottery, happens every year, despite the fact that most Americans we’ve met, and many Australians, have never heard of it. It’s one way that the US Department of State diversifies immigration into the USA from countries such as Australia, with its traditionally low emigration rates.

Not only does it happen every year, it happened to me.

On the morning of Saturday 10th October, 2009, there were four adults, three children, too many empty wine bottles, and a mysterious envelope in our house. The envelope, postmarked from Kentucky, USA, was discovered lying under a large grocery list on a table near the front door. Cranky exchanges of “Did you leave this here? Why didn’t we see this? It could have been thrown out!” preceded the opening of the envelope, which contained a letter duly informing us that we could now proceed with our application for immigration to the USA.
Holy s**t.

To backtrack, when we first found out we’d been randomly selected in the 2010 Diversity Lottery for the US Green Card in late April 2009, we were elated, but of 100,000 selected only 50,000 to 55,000 make it through the process, so we were sober about our chances. Sober, but hopeful.

Summer of Salt (Part 3)

In November 2009, 6 months before moving to live in the USA, I decided that my final Sydney summer should be marked by something more than barbeques and beers – I decided to become an ocean swimmer. This is the third and final installment in my story. Previous installments have been posted on this blog.

Next up was Long Reef and again, I woke up the previous day feeling rough and sleep deprived. Tortured myself about entering, decided against it and – huzzah – the swim was postponed due to the alleged tsunami that didn’t really materialise. So I get a second chance in April. Plus I can train more!

Blissful next swim at Balmoral – harbour again, so it was a soft, sand entry into lake-like conditions. Sunny, glorious day, warm water, flat and a simple polygon out from the beach. Dragged the grandparents along to mind the toddler – they were impressed with the turn-out and the fact it’s an older person’s sport. I must say I get a kick out of seeing all these older, leathery but fit bodies, particularly the old guys with the big (beer?) bellies who can certainly do the distance in good time. Impressive.
Did a reasonable time, stayed out wide even around the turns – am happy to swim the extra, just to have the space, and not get pushed where I don’t want to be by a peloton that is cutting it too fine around the cans.

Finish line at Balmoral.

North Steyne was another flat, clear sunny day, with a simple course which went out from the beach just a short way, then along the beach toward Fairlight, then back, in a very thin, very long rectangle. Did it with my swim training buddy who made excellent time and is looking the fittest I’ve seen her. Beautiful swim through clean water, watching the sandy ocean floor, and mentally preparing for the Tama-Cloey marathon next week on Easter Monday.

My Summer Of Salt (Part 2)

In November 2009, 6 months before moving to live in the USA, I decided that my final Sydney summer should be marked by something more than barbeques and beers – I decided to become an ocean swimmer. This is part two of a three-part story of what happened.
(Part one)

2010 signalled a new year, a new decade, and a new set of ocean swimming challenges. First of the year was North Bondi on Jan 10th. How fortunate that it was the perfect morning at Bondi - glassy, flat. All we needed were lane ropes! Considering I’d done nothing for three weeks besides drink tea and eat cake (when I wasn’t eating Christmas meals or downing beers) I was fairly happy with my time. This marked the end of the holiday, the resumption of training.

Bondi Beach

The pack thinned out very quickly, due to the course running straight out from the beach to the horizon. The clear water allowed me to see the bottom all the way out - it was like snorkelling, with underwater rock formations, swaying weed, schools of fish darting directly below. A sting of jellyfish broke my reverie and forced a girlie squeal from my lips, underwater, and also pushed me to work through the water, rather than dawdle.
The course was longer than the 1km, perhaps about 1.2kms, and I certainly felt that final 200m. Yet it was beautiful out there, and I was conscious of creating memories to store up for later use.
Looking back toward Bondi and knowing the toddler was splashing happily in the ocean rock pool while mummy did her thing was a great feeling. One I’ll treasure this time next year in the cold, overbuilt city of my future dreams.

Boot camp training resumed and I was working on increasing my distance in the pool in training sessions - managed 4 lots of 500m in one session at Andrew Boy Charlton. The back of my throat burned with salt, my jewellery went grey with tarnish.

View Separately

I’m a magazine junkie.
And like most users, I have a love-hate relationship with my drugs.
Back in Australia, the locally produced drugs were expensive and poor quality.
But here in NYC it’s just so damn cheap to feed my addiction. A year’s supply can be as low as $12 and the quality is so much better.
As a result, my wife and I have gone mad with magazine subscriptions.
So far, we’ve signed up for a year of Nylon ($15), Readymade ($7), Billboard ($50), Vanity Fair ($15), The Atlantic ($20), Vogue ($15), Mother Jones ($10), Tape Op (free), New York Magazine ($20).
With savings of up to 90% off the retail cover price, for me, it’s a no-brainer. But I’m thinking, how long can the pricing of this heavily-subsidised media be maintained?
Seems I’m not the only one asking this question, and yes, digital magazine publishing on platforms like the iPad is starting to shake things up.
One print magazine to have launched a successful magazine app is Wired. It’s digital iPad version Magazine costs $3.99 per issue, but subscribers to the original handheld format of the magazine do not get access - they must pay again for the same content.
Over at Time, their popular People Magazine is on the iPad, and is available free for subscribers. But you cannot buy a digital only version of the magazine.
Apple’s iPad is leading the way, offering a new income stream to digital artists and independent software developers. The iPad is showing traditional publishers that being digital need not mean becoming the enemy. But to be truly digital, print magazines will have to reinvent themselves. And for many that’s going to be tough. Some magazines will decide that going fully digital will suck too many resources from their traditional output.
Will this traditional output stand the test of time? Sure. I love my physical magazines. It’s a knockout format. I also love the digital Wired. But remember, Wired had the digi-smarts and technology to redefine the paradigm. And heck, they’re still attracting lots of flak due to their digital pricing policies.
My warning to other traditional publishers - the transition to a digital brand needs to be done right, or not at all. Look at the scathing customer reviews on the People Magazine, Time and New Yorker iTunes app store shopfront.
Is it worth generating so much angst from your customers?

Danny Jumpertz

Photo - Sam Javanrouh

My Summer Of Salt (Part 1)

The stunning, built-to-last weatherboard and steel construction of Balmain’s Dawn Fraser pool was a revelation to me the day I began my ocean swimming campaign for 2009-2010. I knew Dawn Fraser existed, but I’d never made the time to experience its retro appeal.
In the same way, the timeless-yet-slightly-weather-beaten physiques that I would see, week in and week out across the ocean swimming season, began as a eye-opener, yet soon became an affirmation of what ocean swimming means to so many people of all ages, and what it has begun to mean to me.

I’ve lived in Sydney nearly all my life and had never been to Dawny, that was, until November 22, 2009.
Getting a number texta-ed on my arm, being given my ticket stub for my bacon and egg breakfast to claim after the swim (”You’ve made my day!” I croaked to the registration lady), getting my plastic hat and timer chip - this was the most fun I’d had in far too long.
The toddler could paddle in the central, salt water pool as we waited for the race, then it was a matter of swimming for just 20 minutes from the race start, and I was back again, lining up for my breakfast of champions.
I’d been visualising this breakfast the whole way, of course, (a cooked breakfast in a bun - what a motivator) when I wasn’t trying to get out of the way of other swimmers, especially round the booeys.
(This is an American bastardization of buoys, as Aussies know them, or you can call them cans, if you want to be colloquial about it. I’m told the French also say boo-ey for buoy, but that could be wrong).