Earlier this year I made the decision to take a trip to NYC for the Christmas holidays. After all, it has been a childhood dream of mine since I was, like five. But, knowing I’d probably forget many of the experiences therein, I set the goal of writing everything down. This is still a work in progress (I’m still here after all), but below is an extract from ‘The NYC Diaries’.

This entry follows the first half of the story of my first attempt at meeting people at a bar.
All names included are made up to retain privacy.

Setting: Irish Pub in Times Square
Day: Tuesday
Time: 7:00pm

…Now, since Pat didn’t answer his phone the entire day, I decided I would just leave it up to fate and go to Manhattan by myself, hopefully get into a bar (being underage and all) and then make some friends.

I had a list of thirteen bars that were supposedly good, but luck would have it that the first random bar I chose to relieve myself in, proved to be the one where I would spend the remainder of the night.

Dope.

Anyway, it’s an Irish pub – O’Neilys. It’s funny how things work out. I walk into the bar behind some guy in a suit and neither of us get stopped for I.D checks. I did almost hesitate and go for my I.D , but I kept my cool and kept walking straight.

The next part was tricky. I go to the bathroom. Well, okay no that was easy (and with 20 years of experience, I’d hope so). The next part consisted of me ordering a drink. Good posture, head high, find a crack in the wall of people at the bar. Excellent.

*Nods*

Hey, could I get a Corona please?  (according to some bitch of a train worker, apparently it’s ‘miss’ not ‘hey’).

She eyes me down momentarily and says, “Sure, that’ll be $6”. Hell yeah America!

I give her a $10 note and she hands me the beer. A second later she gives me back $4 in change expecting me to take it. I knew I had to leave a generous tip so she would continue serving me without questions. Anyway, I gave her the four bucks.

Legit.

I place the ice cold bottle into my mouth, slowly swirling the alcohol from side to side, creating meadows of delicious, pregnancy inducing elixir. Okay, it’s just a beer. It wasn’t that intense.

I drink my beer, while trying to pretend I really care what commercials are being shown on the TV or which team is playing. Nonetheless, I clap when the Knicks score. Go Knicks!

This won’t work though, I know I have to talk to somebody otherwise I’ll just be that guy standing at the bar all night, and the beer isn’t good enough to make it that exciting.

Lame.

I turn to a group of three to my right and ask them whether they know any other ‘cool’ bars/clubs nearby. They seem a little bit apprehensive at first but I try to prolong the discussion by interweaving stupid questions about distances, miles/km, I’m from Australia, where are you from? into the conversation.

Working through the tier 1 – tier 3 system.

Tier 1
First their names
Then my name
Then how they know each other
They say, work.
Then noticing they don’t look American, where are they from?
South America. And you?
I give them my answer, while saying some things in Spanish.

Tier 2
Now they ask me how I know Spanish. I respond that I’ve been there etc.
Find out one of the girls lived in London – Camden. I comment on the hipster town etc.
I offer to buy the guy a drink (he’ll reciprocate later).
One of the girl’s is called Margaret. Refer to Marcy (coke smurf) from Californication
They laugh and make it a running joke
They introduce me to their friends
Ask what are they famous for. They give me their responses, I give them mine.
Go out for a cigarette with the guy
How are they broken
Dance / hat shenanigans

Tier 3
Marcy tells us about the car crash she was in
My head story
Mike tells us about his NBA injury
Ashley tells me she is adopted.

Outta’ the palm of my hands. I’m getting free drinks now, I’m part of the gang.

Boss.

We hang out at the pub for the next few hours, and then come 11 they want to go to some club. This is where things get interesting…

 

Want more details with references to hollywood? Read the long version.

Lock and loaded, here we go!

Facts:

PinPioneer has made a combined profit of $8000 during August 14th-September 27th.
It cost $50 to get the release version out and selling, and another $20 to get it polished.

The idea formed after seeing competitors not adding any value to a long term Pinterest marketing strategy via their apps. Instead, PinPioneer was made to create a win-win situation for both marketers and Pinterest. High quality content uploaded to Pinterest, unlimited content for marketers to use to build user engagement.

I used one developer (16 y/o whiz kid from Italy) at a rate of $12 per hour who I hired after discovering he copied one of my previous apps and did a better job than me.

The application was privately launched first to my existing customer base at an ‘introductory price’, in order to get feedback back before the public launch.

A 100% commission was given to affiliates for one week in order to build hype and incentivize sales. Commission was then lowered and product was released through..

PinPioneer was pushed through three Internet marketing communities (Blackhatworld, WarriorForum, Blackhatteam, and soon to be WickedFire).

Two partnerships were formed with other merchants to cross promote, and add value through the recommendations of products to each other’s users.

8 free copies were given in exchange for testimonials of the product.

Free ‘sneak peak’ content was posted to existing users, and on marketing community forums to build interest.

PinPioneer sells at the link above, which is running off the WordPress with a custom theme. The support desk also uses WordPress and the ‘SupportPress’ theme.

A sales video and a series of tutorial videos were created thereafter to drive traffic back to PinPioneer and increase conversions on the sales page. YouTube has so far delivered 15%-20% of total sales.

Has made a combined profit of $8000 during August 14th-September 27th.

Software gets updated 1-2 times per week, by monitoring user ‘chatter’ on discussion boards and through a Google alerts system.

Expenses per month are about $500.

In order to maximize profit, different ‘discount’ prices are offered in different places online (judging by the demand and market share I control in that space).

Customer support is kept to a high standard (no longer than two hour response times). I also offer live chat, and remote control sessions via Teamviewer.

Back in my high school days I was required to write a short story for my English class. Inspired by The Battle of Iwo Jima, the raising of the flag and a slew of pop culture adaptations I decide to base it, well.. on the Battle of Iwo Jima. Particularly, a semi-fictional recount of the group of marines who raised the flag, and their journey through the bloodbath that was Iwo Jima.

Here’s the story.

High Hopes, and Deadly Dugouts at Iwo Jima

It was early morning on the 18^th February 1945. The air was bitterly cold and the strong gusts of ocean wind made it feel that much colder. There were still a few hours left until the sun would rise, and so the mood remained sombre. A battalion of soldiers were sat waiting aboard the Missouri BB63. The large battleship was a long way away from being spacious despite a maximum holding capacity of 20,000.

“Not much longer until zero hour, men, any final words?”

“Yeah, who are we fighting Major?” asked Private First Class Keith Wells, a junior among the many others that surrounded him.

Laughter emerged from members of the company.

PFC. Keith Wells always had an act of bringing a humorous edge to any situation without the care of what others thought. It helped the members of his team forget the challenges that awaited them. And this time, it was no different because after the heaviest pre-invasion bombardment had ended it was now time for the battle of Iwo Jima to be handed over to the grunts.

So, as the battleships approached the sands of Iwo Jima (lo-jima), the first shots were fired which could only mean one thing; zero hour was finally upon them. Wells didn’t know what to expect but nor did he really care.

Like a swarm of bees, hundreds of B29’s lifted from the ships and ascended into the air. Traveling at breakneck speeds, their goal was to disarm fortified buildings and bunkers firstly on Mt.Suribachi and then the surrounding areas. Unfortunately they weren’t all that lucky because within 15 minutes, 34 planes were lost and 20 men were killed. Those who lived needed to deploy their parachutes mid flight and steer away from the oncoming shrapnel, definitely easier said than done.

Wells couldn’t comprehend whether it was the heat of the moment or whether so much time at sea had driven him insane but as the battle began, orchestral sounds could be heard over the stereos. Battlefield music played in a thundering crescendo as squads packed into gunboats and dropped from the hangar into the sea. One by one they fell, causing unrecognizable splashes in the vast ocean. The synchronization was flawless, rehearsed even. If it wasn’t for the size of everything, one could have been fooled into thinking they were in a musical of disastrous proportions.

Speeding away towards the shore, PFC. Keith Wells was in awe at the situation.

“Can you believe it? There must be over twenty thousand men out here! “

The boat propelled forward, narrowly avoiding the bullets and the shells that had fallen victim to years of political propaganda.

He didn’t have time to mourn the deceased; he didn’t have time to do anything other than storm through the black sand, trying his best to evade the hail of oncoming gun fire.

The Japanese had established over 500 blockhouses and pillboxes around the island: little igloos of rounded concrete, reinforced with steel rods to make them virtually impenetrable.

“Major!” yelled Wells over the explosion of nearby shells.
“This is a bloodbath; we need to get control of those bunkers up there! I’m willing to help” showing no hesitation in offering himself up for the team. The consequences never bothered him; instead Wells thrived under the excitement.

­­­

They made their way up the mountain, using the presence of infantry down below as a diversion. While the Japanese were occupied with blitzing through allied soldiers on the shore and thus over inflating their own confidence levels, PFC. Wells and Major. Douglas effortlessly took bunker after bunker, quickly cutting down the stopping power the Empire of the Sun had over them.

****

On the 23^rd February, exactly a week after the date of invasion, Mt. Suribachi had been secured. The conflict had already taken longer than the original estimate of three days and there didn’t appear to be any sign of it slowing down. Nevertheless, team morale was glowingly high with heroically high hopes of a smooth resolution.

The soldiers began cracking jokes, wrestling and lighting cigarettes under the hot pacific sun, reassuringly carefree amidst the impending danger of enemy gunfire.

Unfortunately, the Japanese had been brewing an underground operation and the naivety of the allies fuelled their desire to retaliate early. Without warning, a group of Japanese infantry emerged from a foxhole a few hundred feet away, and in rapid succession started firing at the marines, grazing Wells’ shoulder in the process.

“Ah! I’m hit, I’m hit!” yelled Wells.

To avoid further bullet wounds, Wells fired a shot at the head of the enemy. Like a ragdoll he fell down, melting into the gravel ridden ground. Ammunition supplies were low so it was crucial that the marines made every shot count.

Gasps emanated from the other men, all clearly impressed with Wells’ new found marksmanship. Wells was delighted to earn the respect of the other marines because behind his frivolous exterior lay a deep social void that yearned to be filled.

With the recent threat firmly subdued, Wells and the team continued up the shelled slopes of Iwo Jima. However, all was far from quiet now that the team realised the Battle of Iwo Jima was not just over.

“Get ready men!  The enemy is deploying turrets up ahead,” shouted the captain.

“What! How many? asked Wells.

“One or two, about a mile ahead… our services are needed. So get into formation, Wells, you’re up front, Jimmy to the left and the rest of you scatter out.” ordered the Captain, recognizing Wells’ effectiveness as a shooter.

While they prepared for yet another confrontation, Wells couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback by what had occurred. On the one hand, he had just taken a bullet for his country but, if it had been another inch he would have become another statistic, another uniformed, standardized man to die in his prime…

So, as Wells powered through the rugged terrain of Iwo Jima, he felt submerged in his thoughts shifting back and forth from the past to the present.  An only child to a widowed mother, he was classed as an underachiever in school, and although he was never picked on, he didn’t have many close friends, maybe it was because of his constant jokes or maybe because of his obsession with the military.

In his youth, he would attempt to predict how his future would turn out. He was never biased. On some days he was a doctor, on others a violent drunk and yet at other times a brave military man who would greet fleets of women on his arrival back from war, anything to keep himself entertained.

The enemy turrets fell into view. The team instantly went into combat mode, proving that behind the jokes and jests these were a group of expertly-trained marines.

To avoid being seen the team fell into a prone position, crawling across the ground and taking cover behind boulders until they were merely a few feet away from the first bunker. An enemy soldier could be seen inside, gripping the turret with his trigger finger locked firmly in the ‘on’ position. Prior to entering the compound, the men encountered a pause to absorb the complete and utter essence of the situation they had experienced. An experience that would be discussed, dissected and retold in history books for years to come, a story without pretense or falsification at its core, but instead magnificent valor shared between the men involved. The squad stormed inside, creating a whirlwind of bullets and debris as they gained control of the turret. This was the final straw and they knew damn well they had to inflict as much damage as humanely possible. Blast after blast, pieces of the bunker broke away. The marines now had to stay in the fixed position, or risk getting hit.

The roar of aircraft engines could be heard in the distance

“Airstrike, Incoming! Get down”

Wells stuck his hand into the pocket of his armour jacket and retrieved a flask of whisky he had been saving for difficult times during the war.

Between shouting profanities and evading mortar shells, Wells turned around to see a flock of Nakajima Ki-27’s flying overhead, their machine guns scattering 7.7mm bullets across the battlefield. Miraculously, the bombs were not released but instead the planes continued onwards.

“Wait. Wait. They are turning around! Ah shit” reported PFC. John Keith Wells.

From 3000 feet there was still a chance the unguided rockets would miss the marines, but at this point wherever they did land, the same outcome would result. Locked in a freeze frame of deadly gunfire, the team retreated into the back of the bunker put down their firearms, found some cards and shared around the flask of whisky. Here was a group of war-torn men who were trained to do nothing else other than defend their country, playing cards and reminiscing. It was indeed a moment of youthful innocence, a moment of purity, caught in a rather impure situation. The planes started approaching the marines and the bombs were released. One after another they fell, each one coming closer and closer to the bunker.

“Oh well, we had a good run guys” joked Wells, standing up to take a look at the incoming aircraft.

“Wait! You see that? Quick, quick!” yelled Keith Wells, noticing something about the planes.

“Those aren’t Ki-27’s! They are P40’s. Look at the wings, they’re friendly’s!”

It is said that smiling at death is a man’s greatest honour and if nothing else, the marines sure were honourable. Sticking to their formation, in a funny sort of way they placed their arms around one another and welcomed the oncoming planes. The ground shattered violently and what was left of the bunker went up in a pirouette of fragmented smoke, falling rhythmically in tune with fading sounds of distant gunfire…

Words: 1645

Now I don’t hold grudges but there comes a point where a company gives such little shit about you that you start getting irritated. In fact, as of late I have given up believing that businesses will actually deliver/call at arranged times. If it’s my day and I manage to get my payment, parcel, pizza when scheduled THEN I am surprised, otherwise I plan around the delay.

In any case, here are three companies and three reasons why I will never use them again.

KFC

Back when I reached the legal age to get a job (14.9 years in Australia), I was constantly being nagged by my mom to get my ass out of the house and find a part time job. After all it was what the other kids were doing. Realistically though, I was 14. I had just gotten my first glimpse of  boobies and all I wanted to do was skateboard and play skateboarding games on my Playstation.

Eventually, after a couple hundred arguments I succumbed to the pressure and applied for a clearly, prosperous career at the KFC down the road.

Satan’s lair

What followed next was a lengthy interview with a woman who obviously cared too much about her job. I’m not sure if she was just looking for young blood or my boyish charm had taken over but I was invited back for a ‘practice hour’ which was supposed to test my skills in mopping floors, frying chicken and other fast food tasks (i.e. juggling molten-hot potatoes). Once the deadly grilling was over I was told that I got the job and celebratory cheers ensued from the rest of the staff. I had become a man.

The catch was that I would be called within the week and informed of my starting time and hours.

It’s 5 years later and I’m still waiting for that call…

The DMV/RTA

The ungodly waiting times and stupid tellers aside my grudge isn’t with one specific RTA/DMV but the system as a whole, at least in Australia.  You see, getting my driving license has been one belated process after another. At this point, I’m about 3 years overdue. Coming from the UK, my English license was not accepted in Sydney because of the short length of time it was held and getting a straight answer from somebody thus far has proven difficult.

To cut a long story short, after a couple weeks worth of inquiries I was told I needed to retake both my theory test and driving test. Lame, but fine I thought I’ll get this over with and buy a sports car (which isn’t permitted in the UK for young drivers due to insurance). It would have been worth it. I passed the theory test without much trouble, and went ahead with the driving test. Admittedly, it was a little sloppy but still well above what is required of a driving test. Little did I know, the rules are a little different here (though nobody follows them) for indicating out of roundabouts.

Apparently, and I still dispute this today, when crossing a roundabout/rotary you need to indicate left.  I’ve seen maybe five cars do this in the last month, and it’s by no means enforced by traffic police etc.

I did that twice in the test, and bang bang bang it was game over. No big deal you say? Just retake the test and indicate. The rules state I need to wait another year and go through the entire learning process again with loser plates on (L plates).

So if you see me hiking through the rain don’t be afraid to give me a ride!

Hillside (Local club)

There isn’t much to do where I currently reside, so people flock to the nearest club every Friday and Saturday. About a month ago I decided to see what all the buzz was about, drink my troubles away and whatnot. Needless to say, they weren’t letting anybody in by the time I got there (around 11pm), so instead I wandered around the nearby shops and went to Mcdonalds to enjoy a succulent quarter pounder.

Having devoured the burger at superhuman speeds, I went back to get a status report, still a no – go. So I go to the bus bay to see what’s happening there (nothing is happening). There is one girl sitting at the bus stop, after a couple of minutes I decide to engage in conversation with some bullshit bus question. She seems nice enough, we chat, I tell a few jokes and then her friends pick her up by car. Didn’t bother drawing for a number…

Finally, at about 12:30am I went back and spoke to a few friends who were coming out (the club, not the closet).

It’s Fort Knox, with alcohol!

At about 12:45am I was finally let in, bought two beers and wanted to go onto the balcony overlooking the city to chill for a bit and reminisce, which was the plan all along. Of course by this point, the security guard doesn’t let me passed because it’s closed. I position myself in the middle of the dance floor, suck on my beer and quietly laugh at my bad luck.

That’s fair, just a stroke of bad luck right? Try again another day. Well out of the ten times that I have attempted to get in, I’ve been let in about twice. Now it’s personal, assholes.

Be the first to know when shit hits the fan by following me on Twitter

Ever since my three year hiatus in London finished and I arrived back to Sydney, my mood has been rather apathetic. Apart from a few new construction sites everything is essentially the same down here. The public transport system still sucks, it is still ridiculously hot and there is still a collection of ungodly creatures just waiting to bite you in the ass.

Same ol’ Same ol’. I can live with that.

What I can’t live with however is the general boredom, because with a population of only five million, Sydney has almost three times less people than London, which is fine.. for some but I enjoy the metropolitan lifestyle. I enjoy the sound of horns and sirens blaring down the street and I enjoy the hustle and bustle of city life.

In any case, what adds to the feeling of senselessness is the fact that everyone my age is either at university, or working full time which really limits the amount of ‘social’ time available. Fortunately (or unfortunately), since I work from home and only start university in March of 2012 I have about another six months to blow. And seeing as blow isn’t readily available I’m left with trying to find things to fill my time.

Having formed a rather fucked up sleeping pattern (it’s 3am right now) I end waking up at noon, responding to a couple dozen morning emails, processing sales and then making my way to Castle Towers for a 3pm brunch and coffee (why coffee is great). If you are not familiar with the suburb of Castle Hill (which unless you know me personally, will be all of you) it is your typical middle class suburb with a mall, a couple of bars and a library all placed on a big hill. Castle Towers was the local shopping center where I essentially spent the majority of my prepubescent years, skating and causing a general ruckus with buddies. T’was great, back in the day when I had nothing to compare it to.

But, I digress… this isn’t supposed to be a tale of woe.

Instead, I find myself killing time by mingling with strangers in town, using basic approaches ranging from, “Hello, do you have the time?” to ones with a more questionable back story, “I am running a fundraiser for my broken set of golf clubs, they fell out of my boot and I want to buy some new ones. Be a champ and spare me $1200, in exchange I’ll give you this semi-nude photo of Anne Hathaway to stick on your wall.

Deal?”

Needless to say, the conversation doesn’t really extend further than that.

But yesterday, after seeing a set of girls in deep discussion about the economy (really, the amount of money they spent on cosmetics) I found myself wanting to try something a little bit different.  Below is a transcript of the events that followed:

*Approaching their table*

“Hi girls, my name is Enrique and err.. I need your help”

“Um. OK. With what?”

*Shifting to sit down*

“Here’s the thing. I’m looking to get something special for my girlfriend.  You know make her feel like a queen and smother her with gooey emotions.”

“Did you say… smother?”

“Well you know, smother, suffocate it’s all the same.  A general reflection of compassion is what I mean.”

(Disclaimer: The author has no desire to smother and/or suffocate any woman, be it a girlfriend, ex-wife or that bitch Nicole..)

“Oh, that’s nice. What’s the occasion, is it her birthday or something?”

“Err… she might tell it differently but after ’accidentally‘ hitting her dog with my car, she’s been distant to me ever since.”

*Girls nervously laugh, unsure as to whether I am kidding or not*

“No no, I’m serious and I need your womanly expertise. I’m dying here! You seem like the types who have had gifts bought for them more than once.”

*They blush*

“What would be most suited (in your opinion) to dealing with a dead canine? Some jewelery, designer sunglasses? Or wait, how about some good, straight up lovin’? Will that do the trick?

*The girls glance at one another, clearly visualizing the possibilities*

“That depends on how good the loving is, hehe. Diamonds?”

“It’s a lot like drag race. Quick, loud and usually leaves the driver sore afterwards.”

“Stick with diamonds.”

“Gotcha, well thanks. See you l-”

“Ooh, Vicky. Remember that scene from 10 Things I Hate About You, with the song and Heath Ledger, and the dancing and.. like when he sings in front of the entire school. That was adorable!”

“Oh my god, I was JUST thinking the exact same thing! Isn’t it crazy how we are totally in sync? He was like so cute in that film!”

*Mindless bickering pursues for what seems like 20 minutes* 

“Do that, Enrique!”

“Yeah, do that!”

“Gotcha, so like serenade her with a Mariachi band? I’ll see if Antonio Banderas is offering private performances.”

“Heh.  Oh my GOD, Becky! He was soooo good in that film. What was it called? The one with the guitar.”

“Oh, um. Hm.. the guitar man?” replies Becky.

“No no, that wasn’t it, was it? He was playing like the guy, you know, the guy who kills the bad guy with the tattoo…”

Find out more info by following me on Twitter. Otherwise, I will find you and smother you with love until you do.