It’s eighties, Seattle. Before Nirvana, there used to be jazz. Two guys struggling to earn a living by playing piano tunes and a call girl who moves their act into the spotlight. The rest is parsley, okey?

Gabriel

I was a teenager when I first watched it. It left me with that funny sentimental feeling you get after losing a girl. When I finally managed to see it again, more than a decade later (thanks Martin), I realized it hadn't lost its charm for me at all. It must have been the soundtrack I was listening to during all those years (thanks Dave Grusin).

Martin

A smooth jazzy flick with a memorable scene of Michelle Pfeiffer singing on top of a piano. Jeff is supercool. Worth seeing. Once. And then again.

I’ve been living in Sydney (on and off) for about six a half years and I’ve never made it to any sporting event. I mean one in which I would actively participate. Until today when I joined the crowd and enjoyed unparalleled experience of Sydney’s own City to Surf.

Honestly, I didn’t feel like talking about it until this morning as I wasn’t quite sure if I would run. One reason was my world-famous laziness, however, there was also an official one (in case somebody pretended to be interested) — my sore right foot. The second obstacle was healed by my wonderful therapist just in time so I only had to fight my reluctance. I won. Shite. Now I’m sore all over.

So for the first time this millennium, lucky Sydneysiders and even luckier visitors could see me running. And what a picture it was! I saw some Japanese tourists taking photos of me off Vaucluse, obviously trying to capture arrival of foot-and-mouth disease to Australia.

Nevertheless, I have to admit I wasn’t by far the funniest of the family-reunion-styled bunch of 65.000 workout-hungry earthlings.

I noticed at least two Borats in mankini, champs pushing supermarket trolley with slabs of beer (that got gradually emptied as the race progressed), a fellow pushing his mum in a wheelchair (this member was actually faster than me, bugger!), and even guys carrying their laziest mate on a stretcher. Where were my friends? Where were my brothers when I needed them most? I could have enjoyed a free ride trough Australia’s poshest suburbs without a drop of sweat!

Instead, I was left to jog through 14k route. And yes, it does hurt. Especially if it’s the only 14k one has done ever since leaving high school. Chasing chicks cannot count, as it rarely involves actual act of running.

Sun was spitefully beaming at me, vile volunteers were throwing cups of Gatorade at me, bored millionaires at front gardens of their luxury mansions were recklessly watering me with hoses, leisurely smoking cigars, big bands along the route were torturing me with jazz tunes, yet nothing could stop me from finishing victoriously in my new track record.

Looking forward to your congratulations.