My Backpack

Yesterday, I finally bought the backpack that I shall live out of for the next six months. Jess gave me a gift certificate to the local camping store in town. I was shopping for a mid-sized pack, about 40-55 liters. Anything smaller just wouldn't be enough for me to comfortably live out of and anything lager would just be too inconvenient. Sadly, there was nothing in the range for which I was searching. They had 32 liter and smaller bags and 65 liter and above bags. So, I went for 65 liter pack with the best value.

It is a really nice pack, lots of room, front loading, has a zip off day-pack, and a flap to protect the straps when checking it in for flights. It was a much fancier pack than I really wanted though. Many of the online backpacker sites recommend that solo travelers should buy an adequate pack, but nothing too fancy. One does not want to give a derelict image, or you'll be shunned as a vagrant bum. At the same time, you should not have a really ritzy pack or you'll give the image of having lots of money and will thus become thief bait. I doubt that this pack will make me too much of a target, but I was hoping for something a little less nice. Overall, it is a great pack that I can bring home with me and use for a lifetime. Nothing is worse than camping out a suitcase, so having a good backpack will be helpful.

Aussie Slang: C**t

It is often hard to adjust to the slang of a different place. Most of the time, my difficulty has come from not knowing the meanings of certain words. If they seem amusing enough, they often end up here on this blog. Sometimes though, there are slang words that have very well known meanings, people just don't use them everywhere.

The first time I heard an Aussie drop the C-bomb, I windged, literally. It is one of those words I really don't like. I could not believe how casually it was uttered. Some Aussies really love the word, especially after a few beers. C**t this. That c**t! She's a c**t. If George Carlin was Aussie, the word might not have even made his seven dirty words.

In the states, there are really only two words that most people don't say, c**t and n!**er. Not to say that we don't have other curse words, but really, at least amongst the young crowd, people really don't care that much. Aussies still have the concept of curse words. If you said f**k around your grandma, ít would not be too respected. The Aussies however have successfully taken the power out of another word.

And really this is what curse words are about. They should not exist. I am not offended by swearing because I don't like to give that much power to a word. The more hung up and uptight people get with swearing, the more power the word gets. If we take the power away, stop caring, people would really stop using the words. Either that or start yelling Winnebago when they stub their toe.

And to those smartasses that want to point out that I just wrote the above paragraph, but still managed to censor the word c**t and n***er; my grandma might be reading this yo. You don't swear in front of your grandma, especially not a word like c**t!

Aussie Slang: Shocking

Aussies love to use the word "shocking". If something looks bad, it's shocking. If the gravy is lumpy, "Oh, mate, that's shocking." If your buddy gets a bad haircut, "Oh mate, that looks shocking." Apparently, in Australia, everything is so great and wonderful all the time, that anything that looks bad is shocking. Maybe they just get surprised here easily.

Boxing Day

Well, today is my first ever Boxing Day. A quick poll of the Aussies on what Boxing Day is about yielded some blank looks. Apparently here, it is just a day off with lots of sales.

Boxing Day is British holiday to recognize those servants who've given their time to you throughout the year. Well, most people don't have servants anymore, so that part gets a little lost. I believe the Brits like to give gifts to their mailman and others today. It is celebrated in Australia, New Zealand, England, and Canada. Maybe some other, less important countries recognize it, I'm not sure.

It started with something St. Stephen did before he got stoned. I'm sure googling it will tell more. I read it last night, but found I really didn't care. Today is just a day off with lots of sales anyway.

Christmas 2008!

I awoke Christmas morning to the site of the beating sun upon the green grass. This was definitely a different feel to the waking up in a warm bed on a cold winter morning. Looking outside to mayhaps see the snow falling. Well, different feel, but it had its own charm. To commemorate the summer Christmas, I grabbed an empty beer bottle and posed for a photo out in a lawn chair with my Santa hat and sunglasses, hence the below Christmas Card.

Everyone was working Christmas day. Les came home around noon, Jess was trapped at the restaurant until nearly four, and Jon and Em got stuck until as late with their other Christmas engagements. I was scheduled to work, but after a few cancellations, I was the first to get the axe. It makes sense though, Christmas is triple pay holiday here, and since I'm a casual employee, I get the premium $20 an hour. So, I missed out on three hours of work at $60 an hour! Oh well, nobody really wants work on Christmas anyway.

We had a large late lunch of Roast pork with crackling, roast beef, chicken, vegetables, oysters, cocktail prawns, and bread pudding with custard for dessert. I made some homemade eggnog which kept us all pretty jolly for the day.

After filling ourselves stupid with food, we opened our presents. The highlights included a Pandora bracelet for Sharon with an assortment of charms, a romantic getaway weekend with champagne and chocolate for Jon and Em, the two spite gifts of snore spray for Les's nose and seat covers for his beat-up ute (pickup), we all chipped in and bought Les a new cover for the back of his pickup, I got the first four seasons of the wire, a gift certificate to the local outfitters, an Aussie cookbook, and a couple of nice shirts (a great gift as I hate to shop for clothes). Every year, I like to give an obnoxious gift; this years recipient was Jess. We both love these snack cracker here called Shapes. So I bought five boxes of Shapes, printed off little message cards on each one, and wrapped them each up with a small gift. One in a box with a brick, others set up in weird, unguessable "shapes". Jess you could tell liked it, but I got called a "fool". I'm so glad I can amuse myself so easily.

Finally, we all hunkered down with our eggnog and chatted and lounged for the rest of the night. 'Twas a nice Christmas.

Merry Christmas from Australia

Children should not pump gas

I love this sign.

The Weather

Three days ago marked the three-month anniversary of my arriving Australia. I've survived thus far. Every single one of these three months has had perfect weather. Don't get me wrong, there has been a few rainy days, a couple dust storms, and even a few frigid, 55 degree nights. For the most part though, it has been sunny with a comfortable 70-97 degree temps, only a few days above 100. It has been all dry heat, so there has been no walls of humidity beating my soul. Every evening cools down to perfect beer and chatting temperature. In Minnesota, we get maybe two months a year of this kind of nice. This consecutive three-month stint is quite amazing. I have to say that I can see why someone would never want to leave.

There is a darker side to the Australian climates: the summer. Now, it has been technically "summer" for the past month (ok, it has been "technically" summer since yesterday, but please, all those "scientists" who want to point out the dates of the solstice and all that, just hold your guff). It just hasn't been too hot. Yesterday was 100. Today was 95. But again, with no humidity, it feels like an average day in the Minnesota summer. At some point though, usually around Christmas, it gets HOT. Like oppressive hot. Like the type of hot you only see in third world countries. I'm not exactly sure how hot it really gets, but there is a great game in Broken Hill called "Scare the Yank". To play, you kindly ask, "So, (Enter Yankee name here), how are you liking the weather so far?" No matter what your answer is, be it "Perfect!", "A bit hot", "Damn, I'm freezing." You follow up with such lines:

"I remember in 1973, it was so hot, my dog caught on fire. He was so well charred, we couldn't even eat him...back then, we didn't have meat, we had to eat dogs!...MATE!"

"Last year mate, the temperature went up to 65 degrees (Celsius) for 17 days straight! "

"It gets so hot, you can get heat stroke in 13 seconds. I've timed it mate. My buddy Boof walked out to pull the clothes of the line, last January, and he got third degree burns on his hands from touching his drying knickers...and he got heat stroke to boot."

"Sometimes matey, you just have to take a cold shower to cool down, but you can't cause the pipes have boiled!"

I'm not too sure about the validity of these claims, cause the newspaper storehouses mysteriously ignited last December, but I'm sure it does get hot. Some research has told me that I can expect 40-45 degree temperatures ( 104-113 Fahrenheit) for the next month or so, with some days in the high 30's (low 100's) to cool me off. Again, this is dry heat, so it isn't so bad. This is big test to see if Australia truly has the perfect weather. At this point, I'll take the 100's over the terrible winter they are having in states.

Fruit Picking

Well, after some extensive research into the seedy underbelly of the Australian fruit harvesting world, I learned a good number of things. There is plenty of work around Australia, but there are many people going for these jobs. Not that there is not enough work to go around, but you definitely have to look around a bit.

To get a job, you first have to show up someplace in Australia. Make sure there is some sort of harvest going on in that particular region. Call a government office number and say something along the lines of, "Hey dude, I'm in Midura and I'm looking for a harvest job. What's available?" They'll hook you up with farms that may have work available and you just do an interview and get a job.

There are various ways of finding accommodation for the work. You either sleep on a lumpy mattress in some hut on the property, sleep in a tent outside, or live at a hostel or hotel at the nearest town and commute out to the farm. If the area has lots of work, it can often be hard to find a place to sleep. That is why it is best to research ahead to the area you plan to visit and make sure there is accommodation.

The work is extremely strenuous and all is done outside in the direct sunlight at sometimes 100+degree temperatures. So, you put on your big brimmed hat w/fly netting, a litre of sunblock, long sleeve shirt and pants, heavy boots, and gloves. Be sure to tuck your pant legs into your sock. This makes you a walking oven and ensures the copious snakes, insects, and spiders won't kill you. You lug around giant baskets on your back that will weigh 50 or more pounds all day long. Most work is either up in trees and involves going up and down ladders or on the ground and involves lots of bending over. The first few days will be the worst few days of your entire life. You get up early and start picking at sunup and go until 2 in the afternoon when it gets too hot to work. After a few days, a part of your soul dies, or at least goes into hibernation until the picking season is done. Once your soul leaves, the work still sucks, but at least you don't wish you were dead anymore, that's already happened.

So everyday, you get up early, work your ass off, sweat gallons of perspiration, for $100 a day. You go home in the afternoon, open a six pack and embrace a soul-less stare into space until you are too tired to stay awake or it cools down enough to go to bed. Often you will do this blank stare with others and have soul-less conversations about your travels and whatever. Suddenly, it is one month later, the endless field of fruit is picked and packed, then you either move on to another farm for more work, or you wake your soul up, pick up your backpack, and start spending the money you were too tired to spend for the last month.

This is simply called character building, bank account padding, or "being whipped into shape". Whatever word you have for it, it sounds like something I'd do for a month. Why not?

Tomato Tomato

Here's a song I wrote about American vs. Aussie Pronunciation. It is based on another song of which I've had absolutely no part in creating:

You say Tomah-to, I say Tomay-to
Yet you say Potayto, I say Potayto.
Tomahto, Tomayto
Potayto, Potayto
Isn't this a little bit off?

You say Maroan, I say Maroon
Yet you say Balloon, I say Balloon.
Maroan, Maroon
Balloon, Balloon.
This is kinda pissing me off.

Sadly, my excessive cleverness only got me two verses. All I'm trying to say is words with the same spelling should have the same pronunciation! Tomato and Potato should both be pronounced the same way, one with a T, one with a P. Maroon should never be pronounced Maroan. That just doesn't make sense in any kind of way. Alas, Americans are just as bad, at least I know what to expect from them though.

Non-Alcoholic Beverages

After constant posts about consuming large amounts of beer, wine, and other intoxifying potables, I feel it is time to discuss the less-prevalent non-alcoholic beverages. The Americans will find this a bit confusing, fair warning.

Coke = Coke They have Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Sprite, Fanta. As well as the Pepsi family (Pepsi, Mountain Dew). These taste the same either way.

Sprite=Lemonade. That's right, to Aussies, if a person orders a lemonade, they are asking for a sprite. Giving Sprite instead of lemonade to an American would get you shot. I mean, who the hell sits down on the hot summer day and decides man, I sure could use an ice cold sprite. This is just wrong. Sprite doesn't even contain lemons! It doesn't even taste like lemons. It tastes like sugar. (please, any comments about country time lemonade at this point will be discouraged)

Lemonade=Lemon Cordial. If an American wants a lemonade in Australia, you have to order a lemon cordial. It is this thick syrup that comes in a jug, you mix it with water and it becomes a fruit juice-like substance. Similar to Kool-Aid, but more organic tasting.
or
Lemonade=Lemon Juice. This doesn't make sense because lemon juice is lemon juice here as well. And neither this nor lemon cordial even tastes like lemonade! LEMONADE DOESN'T EXIST HERE!!!! Shoot me now! (sorry, in Australia) Bash me now!

Squirt = Lemon Squash. Yes, I know squirt is grapefruit flavored, but this is a close as it gets. It is drink that made from mixing Lemon Cordial syrup and Lemonade (sprite). You get a sweet, more fruity type of sprite. Various brands of premixed Lemon Squash exist, such as Lift.

????=Lemon-Lime and bitters. This is a very popular and tasty non-alcoholic sparkling beverage (well actually it is alcoholic, but only from the little bit of bitters in it. It won't give you a buzz or anything unless you drink a bunch of them in short amount of time). You mix lemon-lime syrup (like the lemon cordial syrup, only a little more sour), a bit of bar bitters, and top it off with lemonade (sprite). This is my personal favorite N/A drink in Australia. I've never had anything similar to this is in the States.

Fruit Juices=Fruit Juices. Thank god, these don't change. A nice glass of OJ is a nice glass of OJ here.

Popular US beverages that are not common in Australia: Lemonade, Arnie Palmer, root beer, cream soda, 90% of our energy juice varieties, Dr. Pepper (thank god), 7UP, any soda on tap.

Fish out of Water

I was invited to party last night by a cool guy around town who's a reporter for the local newspaper. We were there for a couple hours, sitting around drinking, talking. Suddenly, the house was full of people. I was going around saying hello to people I knew, gearing myself up to meet the ones I didn't. First though, I had to take a leak. I went into the bathroom, did my thing, and suddenly, almost everyone had left.

In Broken Hill, the taxis are mostly minivans that can hold lots of people. To save money, everyone shares cabs, so it is not uncommon for large groups of people to come and go at a moments notice. I did find it odd that nobody made any mention that they were leaving or where they were going, including the people I came to the party with.

So the party dynamic had changed quite a bit. I looked around the room, beer in hand. Everyone else was sipping martinis and dancing. That's when I realized, I was the only straight guy there! Before I continue with this blog, let me just take a moment for debriefing. No, I'm not a label obsessed person. No, I hold no judgement towards the homosexual community. It is just weird in any situation to be the odd man out. Like those few parties where I was the only white guy...not bad, just a tiny bit weird.

Maybe it was that arms weren't fluid enough. I was dancing, having fun, enjoying myself, but my dancing didn't including clapping and fancy moves. "Az, whatever you are doing with your arms, you need to stop; you're going to hurt somebody." So, I just bobbed my head and swayed to the music a bit. I'm used to being at least an adequate dancer, but in comparison to the room of gay men, I felt like, well, a straight white guy dancing.

Maybe it was that I just don't like ABBA enough. They put on some song by those Swedes I've never heard. The room bustled with excitement and stomping. "Aza, do even know who this is?" "Um, ABBA?" I replied. "Good boy!" I enjoy the catchy smooth pop of ABBA now and then, I just don't get excited by it.

Maybe I just wasn't feminine enough. Everyone knows I'm not the most masculine of people, but last night made me feel incredibly macho. Yeah, I picked up on the Goody Proctor and Bette Midler references. Yeah I was dancing to ABBA, but I just lacked a certain zing...that undefinable thing that straight guys just don't have.

It was a really fun night and really enjoyed myself. It was just a little different. Oddly enough, I didn't find it that weird being the only yank at the party either. Maybe I'm just more used to that.

Favorite line of the night, "I love boobies! All gay guys love boobies. Their so soft and warm, so fun to grab. They just don't give me a stiffy."-Ryan

The Turning Point

It is sometimes amazing how quickly things can change. Three weeks ago, I was planning on working off and on in Broken Hill, taking a couple weeks here and there to see a city or two and visit Jess's relatives. Now, everything is completely different. It started as merely a thought and now it has snowballed into a full blown plan. Starting in either February or March, I shall go vagrant.


I am going to don a backpack and start seeing Australia by foot (but mostly by train pass). I will stay in hostels, pick fruits, and make random friends with like-minded young travelers. Armed with only a copy of the collected works of Jack London and Jack Keroac's On the Road to comfort me, I will take off on my own and see the world...and pick fruit. It will be a lot like First Blood, the first Rambo movie, minus the whole survivalist murder spree. The only problem is, can you imagine me, Aaron White, being able to leave so many variables to chance? Can anyone imagine me, becoming completely disconnected from the stability of an established home for any length of time? I can't either and that is beauty of this trip.


The main things worrying me are: money, which I have plenty of; being out and about alone, which is not true either, there are numerous forums for other people planning on touring Australia, often getting together for small chunks of time; safety, Australia is a very safe place for this type of travel; work, aforementioned fruit picking; transportation, 6 month unlimited rail pass, $500; safety net, Jess has family and friends all over Australia who would be there for me in case of emergency. Really, the only thing I have to fear is fear itself (thanks FDR). I will not be doing this rashly. I am going to read all I can and get memberships to hostel systems around the country. Someone will know where I am at all times. I have health insurance.


This is a direct tackling of my fear of loneliness. I love the security of friends and family and I find it hard to be on my own. No, this is not a quick fix to my problems, but instead a big challenge for me to help myself grow as a person. The plan is to do four months, Feb or March until May or June. Work a little, tour a little, live my life, and most of all have some fun seeing this gorgeous, massive country.


I just booked a one-week trip to Tasmania in May, so I've already doubly committed myself; I will be going to Tasmania from Sydney, so I have to be in Sydney on the departure date. If anyone has experiences, tips, high-fives, or cross-armed head shakes, don't be afraid to email me or post on this blog.

Australia shall truly now become an Adventure!

The Big Picture

I'm sure the title may conjure images of some long philosophical blog about the nature of life and my unending search for self-actualization...it is not. This is very odd, but considering that I've lived here in Broken Hill for the past three months, I've neglected to even talk about it in any direct way.

For a town of only 20,000 people, Broken Hill is the home to many artists in residence and has quite the flourishing art scene. The most famous Broken Hill artist is Pro Hart, who has died recently. On my first week here, Jess took me to one of the larger galleries of Broken Hill to see the one of the most popular tourist attractions of the whole town, the Big Picture.

The Big Picture is simply put, a big picture. To call it just a painting would not do it justice. It is a mixed media outback experience. After passing through a fake mine shaft, you walk out onto a little bridge with a pagoda. A giant painting stretches nearly 360 degrees, showing all the landmarks, rock formations, and sites of the outback near broken hill. On the ground surrounding the painting are sculptures of common animals, plants, and general objects found in the bush. Sounds of the wilderness is pumped through the PA. It is such a completely sensory experience, it feels as if you can walk off the bridge into the horizon of the painting.

It was painted by Peter Anderson, it is 100 meters long (yes, as long as a football field) and is 12 meters high. It is the single largest acrylic painting on canvas ever made by a single artist, for whatever that means for you. Despite the world record, it stands as an essential site if you ever visit this area of Australia. Here is a link to its website:

http://silvercitymint.com.au/store/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=53

Don't let the photo fool you, it is truly an awe inspiring experience.

Aussie Music: AC/DC

By far, the most popular band from Australia is AC/DC. They've had so many hits internationally, I doubt I even need to name a few. (but I will, "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap", "You Shook me All night long", "Back in Black", "Thunderstruck", "Hells Bells", "Highway to Hell", "TNT", "Big Balls", "She's got balls"). This band is pure Aussie. Rough, tough, singing about drinking and partying all the time. There is no filter, no questions or regrets about the subject matter. AC/DC is AC/DC and F' you to anybody who passes judgement. They were such extreme partiers, their lead singer, Bon Scott, drank himself to death. They never stopped the party. I've never much cared for their music myself. For the most part, I feel that every one of the their songs sounds exactly the same, but they are not too bad when I get in a bashing mood.

Impending Perth Trip

After three months of barely doing anything, it has become time for me take a real excursion. Now, before you judge, you need to realize how easy it is to become complacent. I have a job, a great place to live, and some good company, but now I hear the call...Western Australia is calling and I shall answer.

I embark of January 8th by train from Broken Hill to Perth. It is a two-day trip accross the Nalaboor , the sparce, yet beautiful wasteland of the western desert. I will be armed with only T.S. Eliot to console me. (Ha! As if I'd give that pretentious bastard will get anymore of my valuable time). It will be two days in a seat (sleepers were way too dear), but apparently the trip is well worth it.

Once in Perth, I shall spend the next ten days with our former exchange student, Erin Watt! Yes, you all the remember the wonderful times when my father answered the phone, "Do you wanna talk to Erin Watt or Aaron Whatt" (Whatt being an approximation of how my father says our last name). She shall show me the town, or at least put some dots on public transit map for me. I've never been oppossed to seeing cities alone. I fondly look upon the time at age ten when we were in Duisberg for an EF meeting. Knowing that I would be bored sitting in the hotel room, my father unleased my childhood self upon the world with 50DM and a...dotted public transit map. Or that time that I toured Boston at age 12 alone, with $20 and a...dotted public transit map. Actually, looking back at my past experiences, before the age of 18, I've been around the following cities either alone or with one other similarly age person armed with only a map of the bus system: Duisberg, Munich, Rotterdam, Heidelberg, Berlin, Hamburg, Boston, New Orleans, San Antonio, Washington DC, and finally Gary, Indiana. Maybe the last one is lie, you'll have to work that out yourself.

I will see the sites, enjoy some great company with old friends, and hopefully hit up some of the nightlife. Now that I'm single again, it is time to learn how to hit bars and clubs without the crutch of another friend. I'm a classic bar wallflower, sipping beer and playing trivia with the little handheld consoles, hoping that my next new friend is BrainMaster69, and also hoping that I will embarassingly destroy him/her with my terrible collection of random knowledge. These days need to be put to rest. Being out of college, meeting people is not as easy as it once was, and not being so shy is a lesson I need to learn. What better place to do it than Australia, where just opening my mouth starts a conversation about my accent?

After a lovely ten days in Perth (I'm using positive adjectives already. My optimism will make the trip a good one, it is called mind power.) I will take a ten-day safari tour up the coast of Western Australia. This is a small group excursion in 4WD vehicles. We'll hit state parks, coastal resorts, dolphin havens, and pretty outback communities on our way to Broome. It is all inclusive; we'll be staying in a four-star tents, hostels, and farmhouses. May be a bit of a rustic trip, but I've always loved sleeping under the stars. Hopefully, I won't be bitten, maimed, poisoned, head-hunted, or left-for-dead with no water and no civilization for 200Km.

The final two days will be spend in Broome, very close to where that new movie Australia takes place. It is said to be one of the most beautiful and isolated cities in the whole country. The I shall fly back to Broken Hill.

Western Australia is its own little world, separated by endless desert from everywhere else in the country. Many people on this side never even get the chance to see this area. Let's just say that people here are a little jealous of my trip.

RIP: Red Bike

On Friday on the way home from work, I rode the bike to the local pub for a beer. That beer became a couple and I ended up leaving with some people after last call. The bike was left behind, chained up, waiting for me to come get it later. The states and Australia both have strict rules against riding bikes after drinking. Drink biking is a dangerous activity. When you step behind the wheels of a bike after a couple of beers, you become a serious risk to stray cats and rabbits. You effectively are driving a semi-lethal weapon along the crowded public streets of Broken Hill. I was just being responsible.

My responsibility was well rewarded. When I returned by cab at six in the morning, I found the owner of the pub standing outside, looking at the trashed bike. A mere ten minutes before my return, a group of young hooligans, yes, hooligans had trashed the bike on their way to McDonald's after their after-prom party. The owner tried scaring them off, but the threatening group of seventeen year-olds would not listen. A police car drove by and he told them what happened and where to find the kids who did it, they didn't care. The owner kindly gave me a ride with the bike so I wouldn't have to carry it the kilometer home. We drove by the McDonald's and saw the culprits, lying in the grass, sipping lattes, basking in the rising sun. We nervously drove on by from the frightening children and headed home: I was too tired to make a big deal about it. I shouldn't have left the bike unattended overnight anyway. (Though the owner had to tell me about all the times bikes get chained up to the same place for days without any problems.)

This now makes bicycle number three to get trashed over the years. In fact, after the second trashed bike, I had all but given up on them. I've never had one stolen, because I always lock them up properly. This unthoughtful act is apparently very disrespectful to potential bike thieves and joy riders, therefore I deserve to have my bikes destroyed. I guess I'll have to learn to be a bit more charitable to the poor drunk teenagers who just wanna have some fun. I'm such a jerk.

Pupkin Stout

Long ago in an earlier blog, I was discussing my venture to find the perfect Australian beer for me. I will say this straight out, Australian beer as a whole is better than the beer in the US. Sadly though, I am not a huge fan of the typical tan, light lagers that are the most popular beer style in the world. I love my beer to have character, body, and most importantly, hops. This may be a Broken Hill thing, but specialty ales and other beers are hard to find. They only have the typical mass produced no-character beers that are also very popular in the states. Now, the mass produced beer in Australia have a billion times more character than any Budweiser. People have told me that specialty beers here are looked upon as, simply put, gay. Astonishingly enough, not only do gay men here drink beer, but they have good tastes in beer. And it is actually stigmatized to like a beer with taste. Weird.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. Given all the free time I seem to waste away, I've figured it would be no great loss to start brewing my own beer. I get to drink good beer in the privacy of my home without being labeled a poof, and I get a hobby at the same time. My first batch was drinkable. There was nothing too special about it, just a simple light, characterless lager. My second batch I've not tried yet, it is European style lager, still simple, but with a little more hop flavor. The third batch however is a hoppy summer ale that from my preliminary tasting is going to be delicious. Today, I am make beer 4. This is the moment of no return. This is a beer of my own crafting. I writing my own recipe for beer. It will be a dark pumpkin stout. Should come out like a lighter Guinness, with a piece of pumpkin pie dropped into it. I hope it turns out well. In a month I shall tell you all. To my Aussie readers, stop by and try one, I'm making the beer faster than I can drink it!

Boots and Bonnets

After a lifetime of living with a certain car anatomy, even a few months have not gotten me acquainted with certain aspects of the automotive world. Driving has become ok, since my first stressful excursion, I no have trouble driving here; though, I've yet to drive on any multi-lane roundabouts. I may just navigate myself around such a prospect. The big problem for me, is that I keep walking over to the passenger side to drive. I had Jess's car the other day. Her key only works in the drivers side. After leaving the store, I tried unlocking the door and it wouldn't work. I sat there trying to figure what was wrong, then I realized I wasn't even on the drivers side! I do this daily.

The other thing that I find hard to get used to is the boot and bonnet thing. We call it the trunk and the hood. Now, granted, hoods and bonnets are both worn of the head, so that isn't too silly. But boots are on the feet, trunks are pants. Now I think the Aussie's names are a bit more sensible than ours, but it is still weird. Every time I say trunk or hood, it just a further reminder that I'm not from here. It has been three months, but old habits and words die hard. When you have been used to something being only one way, a sudden reversal, is hard, especially when it all looks the same anyway. It is still a car. Adjustments take time, especially when you work on autopilot.

Void of Writing

Hello All! I just wanted to appologize for my lack of posts for the last week or so. I've been going though some big stuff over the last week. I won't post what is going on over this public forum, but if you are just dying to know, you can email me. Tomorrow, I plan to start real posts again. Sorry for the delay.

New Job

Due to the global economic crisis, (I dare not use the "d" word, for that will just make it all worse, or so I hear) the need for four-star cuisine and top-notch service, given for barely affordable prices, has drastically ebbed. As a result, so have my hours. I therefore have been forced to find a second job. Not more than five minutes after such a thought came to my head, I magically saw an ad for an open position at a local pub.

I gave the woman a call, dropped off my resume, and had a brutally honest conversation about the nature of my availability during my holiday in Australia. I may be 10,000 miles from home, but I'm not about to tarnish my name anywhere in the world by getting a job through lies. The explanation that I will be taking a couple weeks off every month or so resulted in the expected reaction, disappointment. I offered to work as an emergency fill-in staff if needed and left expecting to get just that. Well, a lack of quality applicants has worked in my favor and I now have a second job.

I went back to my root and am cooking diner food for a nearby pub. Today is my first official shift, although I've already had two try-outs, one good, one bad for the job. Thankfully, the bad one was expected and did not deter them too much from hiring me. Wish me luck, because I'm on my own; my non-training is complete.

Light Switches

A seemingly insignificant detail that I've neglected to mention here in the blog has finally reached my consciousness. All the light switches here are reversed. In the US, to turn the switch on, you flip it up, and conversely, one flips it down to turn off. Australia is the exact opposite. I typically never give any thought at all to which way the switches switch, but I find myself staring at them now, having to think about whether I will be turning a light on or off. (Note: for the simple, single isolated switches, if the light is off, I know that any change in the switch p0sition will result in illumination. It is the groups of switches that give me trouble.) People here must find me daft the way I hit each one until the desired effect happens. Such simple things should not confuse an adult.

Thanksgiving Australian Style

Today is the first big test for my homesickness. It is not to say that I don't miss my friends or family everyday, but missing the large, annual family reunion is definitely a test. I foresaw the potential emotionality of this day, so I decided to be proactive and plan a Thanksgiving for myself. Just because Australia doesn't celebrate it does not mean I can't.

So, I invited Jess' family over for an authentic Thanksgiving dinner. In all, we had eleven people, Jess, her parents, grandparents, brother, her brother's lady friend Emily, her sister Tay, her best friends Pennie and Mitch, and I. Things went well, but not without a couple of obstacles.

First off, I got sick on prep cooking day. That is never fun. Second, I've never been able to make a pie crust. I've tried many times, but it always ends up too dry or moist or tastes bad or doesn't stretch or..... Well, I decided to give it one more go. Crisco does not exist here. Or I should say, as a brand of oil it exists, but as a vegetable shortening, it does not. The "closest" thing they have is Cophra, which is not a substitution as I and many Aussies/Americans have learned when crossing the pacific. It is coconut oil shortening and it just doesn't break up right. So, after a couple hours of working with bad pie crust dough, I just bought frozen pie crust. I wanted to make green bean casserole with the famous Frenches French Fried Onions©. They don't exist here, so I had to make those from scratch. I had to use an internet recipe for the pumpkin pies; the family recipe came a mere hour too late. At the end of the day, I did end up with two pumpkin pies, lots of dried bread, a bowl of shelled green beans, and french friend onions. It wasn't a wasted day, but it sure felt like it.

Today went much better. Even though I ended up a making a few trips to the grocery store for forgotten ingredients, it all went well. The turkey cooked a little too quickly in the convection oven, but it didn't get too dry.

Our menu for the night was:

Turkey

Aaron White's Famous no-oyster Dressing (recipe stolen from other, more-famous family members)

Sweet potato casserole with a crunchy walnut topping

Garlic Mashed potatoes and gravy

Green Bean Casserole with Aaron's French Fried Onion© topping
Buttermilk Biscuits (American Style of course)

Cranberry Sauce (from a can sadly)

And of course pumpkin pie

All the food turned out very well. Everyone seemed to be pleased. The whipped cream for the pie was oddly sour and I added too much nutmeg to the pie. Besides that, it was all very tasty! The two straight days in the kitchen helped take my mind off of what I was missing. It was wonderful to have a Thanksgiving in a foreign country with my Aussie family, though it will still be hard tomorrow not seeing everyone. Hello to all!

To the Missouri crew: I will be calling the house phone in the late afternoon around four or five. This is right when I wake up, so I may be a bit groggy. I hope I can catch a decent chunk of you this late. If not, I love you all and I wish I was there.

Aussie Slang: _______ As...

There is a certain Aussie slang phenomenon that bothers me a little bit. Not a lot, but just enough to make secretly mock people in my head. Well, it has boiled over and now the mockery must be unleashed.

If Aussies, especially young ones, want to give a little bit of extra emphasis on an adjective, they will say _____ As... And stop. It is as if they mean to say a clever simile, but just can't think of a way to finish it. At least, that is how I think it started. Aussies like to communicate very quickly, with their fast vowels, speed, chopping off ending of words, but this is too much! This laziness in simile has devolved so far that people say this without even an implied finish to the sentence. It just hangs there, begging to be completed.

That's great as.

AHHHH!!!!

Sometimes, the as is given extra emphasis, taking the weight off the adjective itself. It then sounds like as is the primary descriptive word of the sentence. People say these things and I just want to add something to it. Or just follow such a statement with an "as?" Then give them a look like what was said was incomprehensible and incomplete. Not to mention that people here call me "Az", so I'm not sure if they are saying something to me explicitly or taking this seeming brevity too far. So, just to get this all out of my system, so I don't explode.

That's sweet As! ...cramming 17 sugar packets into your mouth and trying to whistle!

Sick as...drinking cod liver oil and riding the tilt-o-whirl!

Cool as...Kanye West!

These aren't good similes, but at least I finished a thought.

Big Ted

About 20km from Cockburn, South Australia, along the side of the barrier highway in middle of the outback, sits a giant teddy bear in a recliner. He has his own television, remote, end table, assortments of beer and cigarettes, a tent, christmas tree, and much much more. His name is Big Ted and he is proving to be an inspiration for those who otherwise would never embark into the art of sculpture.

He apparently made his first appearance around Mother's Day. Nobody knows who set him on the side of the road or why, but now he is a legend. People drive miles to offer sacrifices to the shrine of the Big Ted. Call it voodoo, Buddhism, or just fun if you must. His collection had grown significantly in the week while we were in Melbourne.

I would like everyone reading this blog to become a part of the phenomenon. Ted already has a postcard from Hawaii; I think he needs more, to show that the Big Ted has an international appeal. If you read this blog, go to some sort of store, buy a local postcard and send Ted some love. The postage should not be too much more than a $1.50 or so. Say hello, tell Ted what you think of him. Let's have a little fun with this. Send your postcard to:

Big Ted

On the Side of the Barrier Highway

Cockburn, SA

Australia 5607

Last Day in Melbourne

My last day in Melbourne was a bit subdued. We woke up, greeted by 45 degree temps with a strong wind and rain. We were both quite tired from our day walking around Melbourne and seeing Wicked the day before. Also, on Tuesday, we spent the afternoon at an indoor climbing gym downtown (which was awesome!). Jess decided to stay in, not wanting to brave the weather. I was not about to let my last day in Melbourne go unused, rain or not!

I headed out around noon and took the tram to St. Kilda, the touristy beach area of Melbourne. Before heading out, I looked up the address of an Indian place in the area that was supposed to be good. St. Kilda greeted me with a downpour of rain. I walked, wet, alone, lost around the area, searching for my restaurant, occasionally stopping into a random book store to warm up. There comes a time when a man just needs a cup of coffee, so I stopped into McDonald's, bought a cup, then analyzed my map to try to find my way to food. Turns out I was only a block away, that was the good news.

The restaurant was a bust though. It was being ran by a group of Chinese ladies and that made me feel a little skeptical about the food. Not to say that a person from China could be any less or more competent at a curry as a native Indian, but it typically makes me feel a bit odd to see incongruous ethnicities running an ethnic food joint. It was that, and the half Thai, half Indian menu. I instead had a Malaysian curry at another place across the street.

My little excursion to the beach was not turning out how I wanted, so I started back for the city. On my way, I saw a sign for Rare Records. The name and the rain compelled me to enter. I walked in, hoping to find a few CD's from a Klezmer/Jazz hybrid series by John Zorn. Going through the staff picks, I saw a whole bunch of his albums, but not the ones for which I was searching. Finding this artist in the states can be a hassle, so I knew the shop keeper must have had great tastes. I asked if he had the other CD's I wanted, but he didn't. We then started talking about all sorts of bands that I would never guess would reach Australia; they aren't even popular in the states. He put in a bunch of different albums that I had to hear. Turns out the guy and I have nearly identical tastes. Looking at the wall, I noticed photos of him with various bands I likes. "Is that you with the Mars Volta?"

"Yeah, this is Omar's favorite record store in the whole world, he stops in here every time he comes to Australia."

"Is that Johnny Knoxville and John Frusciante?"

"No, that's me and Johnny Knoxville." He looked a lot like John Frusciante (guitarist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers).

After an hour or so of listening to music, I finally had to pull myself away to see the rest of the city. It was hard to leave. In the end I purchased a couple of albums by local bands that I was assured were awesome.

Leaving the store, I looked to sky to see the rain had stopped, though it was still cold and windy. I took a tram north to downtown and walked around a bit more, then headed back.

That night we went out with Jess's cousins Joel and Sabeena for Italian food at the famous Lygon street, home of much of Australia's seedy underworld and fine cuisine.

We went to bed only to wake up again at 3:30 to catch a cab and then a bus to the airport so we could catch our 6AM flight.

Overall, I enjoyed Melbourne a lot. It was a beautiful city, large, but very manageable. Sadly, finding that the highlight of my vacation was a record shop really shows how much of a nerd I am.

Wicked

Jess and I saw Melbourne's production of Wicked last night. For the few unfamiliar with this musical phenomenon (Were talking hype levels to Cats and Rent standards), it is the untold story of the Wizard of Oz.

It was playing at the Regent Theater, which was a pretty average venue for the most part, not old enough or contemporary enough to be of any note. At concessions, they were serving "Ozmopolitans", which were green slushy vodka drinks in a glowing green glass. It was the hip drink to have that night. It is not too often that women, hipsters, and old men all choose to drink a green mixed drink from a martini glass. $10 seemed a little rich for my tastes, but you did get to keep the glowing martini glass.

The show was very entertaining. Of everything, it was probably the story that was the standout. It was neccessarily great, but I always find it fun when stories insert themselves into other famous works, much like Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are Dead. The lead actress playing the wicked witch did a great job. None of the acting was bad, but she was the main standout. Actually, a guy playing a goat did a very good job as well. None of the songs really stood out for me. Musicals usually have really catchy songs and none of them were bad, there was no great standout song like "My Favorite Things" from Sound of Music, "Do Re Me" from the Sound of Music, or even "I am 16 going on 17" from the Sound of Music. The singing though was topnotch. The set was fantastic and spectacular, obviously expensive. The main object was a giant moving dragon above the stage.

For those who love musicals, I'd recommend checking out Wicked if it comes to a theater near you. For those who don't love musicals (like me), it was entertaining enough to enjoy with friends and loved ones.

Melbourne Zoo

Today, Jess and I visited the Melbourne Zoo. Not too much to say about it really. It was a great zoo. There were quite a few really neat exhibits. Besides the typical zoo fare such as Giraffes, Zebras, Lions, Ostriches, and Elephants, there were some not some common additions to their managarie. For one, they had a platypus. This is a creature I've never seen in real life, so that was quite cool. They had an Aussie exhibit that I found neat. It was a walk out in the open with no cages, so I got to stand right next to some roos and koalas. In fact, the koala was so close, it didn't register as even being exotic. There were wombats, which I must say are a lot bigger than I expected (they were medium dog sized) and an echidna (I got a photo manda, don't worry).

Sadly, Aussies don't find too many North American animals to be exotic. I couldn't wait to see a white tailed dear or a squirell in its natural habitat. Nope. The best they had was a diamondback and a cougar.

Fun day. Lots of walking. Lots of learning. I love the zoo.

Victoria Markets

I just returned from my first excursion in Melbourne. We headed to the very famous, very touristy Victoria Markets. There was definitely no shortage of things to see and buy there. I left with nothing of course. There was a farmer's market, meat market, flea market, and various food stands that held my attention.

I was a little disappointed by the farmer's market. It wasn't bad by any means; there was quite a selection of very nice looking agricultural products. The big problem is I built myself up too much to see exotic things, those fruits and vegetables I've never imagined could exist and I wouldn't be able to find in the US. Unfortunately (of fortunately really), I've been living in the city too long to have not come across most of what there is to offer at these things. Everything there I could buy at the markets in Minneapolis. Though, they did have passion fruits, which are hard to find in the Midwest and are very expensive. I did not buy any though, silly me.

The meat market left with the same feel of unfullfillment. I wanted to buy kangaroo steaks, koala nuggets, or maybe some good snake, much like the one Croc. Dundee cooked for his lovely American princess. Alas, pork, beef, chicken, lamb was all I could find. I almost bought some choizo; no stores here have chorizo.

I was hoping to find some nice gifts for people at the flea market. There were a few interesting things and many of it was quite cheap. I just can't bring myself to buy the carbon copy souvenirs they sell at places like those. If I am going to buy something for someone, I want it to be a bit more unique. In the end, I typically settle for such things, but I always feel defeated once that happens.

Overall, I did find it be a pretty cool place. There were so many different things to buy in such small area. We ate some "American Style Jelly Doughnuts". They must have done a good job with the authenticity, because they tasted like normal, delicious doughnuts to me. In the square, a mariachi band was playing; this ranked highly on my list of things I'd least expect at an Australian flea market. Then again, maybe the whole mariachi/flea market combo is an international marriage. They were quite good. Instead of trumpets, they had Indian flutes, which I found to be a pleasant touch. They had more of a Spanish flamenco sound, but they were playing all the classic mariachi songs (Jess was quite horrified that I could even identify mariachi songs. I'm John's son, what can I say.). Overall, it has been a fun day. In a little bit, we shall go to eat at a Korean BBQ. Ah, how I've missed the multiculturalism of the city.

Safe in Melbourne

Jess and I have safely arrived in Melbourne. Our trip started with a early morning drive to Adelaide (5 hours away). We hung out and went to beach for a little. The weather has been quite hot and even though we did not swim, very few things beat a barefooted walk along the shore...Aw!

After a dinner with her uncle Steven and aunt Valmie. We hit the sack and 9:30. The cab was set to arrive at 4:30. Jess shares my love for the thriftiness, therefore she booked us the early morning flight. The touched down at 8:00 and we got our first glimpse of Melbourne. Unfortunately, it was a rainy glimpse. The dreary overcast mixed with the early rise drove us to bed at noon once we arrived at her cousin's place.

We woke up after they got home from work and we went out for a nice dinner. Today we plan to hit up the farmer's market. This is eliciting much excitement for me. I wonder what strange fruits and vegetables I will find? You and I will have to wait to find out!

Aussie Slang: A Do

Today I got to hear a brand new silly Aussie slang word. Unlike many Australian slang words, here is one that doesn't make any sense at all. No etymology is evident for this at all.

What would you think "a do" could be? My best guess would be it is a euphamism for sex. Alas, it is nothing so obvious. A do is a party.

This said, lets us all look upon our silly words for party:

Par-tay!
Shindig
Hoedown
Hootenany
Bender
Blender
Mixer

Well that is about all I could come with after thirty seconds of brainstorming. My brain is still mushy from a do I attended last night. Quick tip, don't try to keep up with Aussies, hangovers ensue.

Aussie Music: Yothu Yindi

Weeks ago, Jess, Pennie, her beau Mitch, and I were all watching the Aussie equivalent of MTV. Suddenly a music video popped on that instantly grabbed my attention. Of course I was the only one who had never seen it: apparently it was quite the Aussie phenomenon in the early 90's. It was a video for the remixed "Treaty" a highly political song by the Aboriginal band, Yothu Yindi. I felt this may be the greatest thing I had ever seen.

I won't lie, a large part of that was pure amusement. The antics of those crazy Native Australians is something completely novel for me, outside of didgeridoos, boomerangs, and those spinny string things that make that weird whooping noise. It is quite funny (in the good way!).

The band got its start from Midnight Oil, another band that I will have to write about later due the extremely contrasting levels of popularity between the two countries. Always very political, they were taken under the wings of Midnight Oil to help bring awareness to the plight of the Aboriginals.

The song is a mix of the late 80's rock of Midnight Oil and traditional aboriginal music, it was then remixed to fit with the contemporary dance music of 1992. (Imagine, Marky Mark and the not-so Funky face painted bunch....Again, the good funny.) Really, just watch the video, I can't describe the Awesome that is this song.

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=BPYHVFvMiNY&feature=related

Aussie Foods: Meat Pies

For a whole year, I heard Jess complain of unfulfilled cravings for meat pies. Upon arrival to Australia, a woman's first words to her family were, "We need to get a meat pie right now!" This instilled a like need for me to try a so called meat pie. I pondered to myself. Is it like a mince meat pie? Is it like a pastie or a samosa? It took two weeks for me to finally try these "meat pies" and it is very simply a meat pie.

Just take a small pie crust, fill it with seasoned ground beef and you get a meat pie. Nothing too fancy, but boy are they delicious. A perfect cheap lunch, a meat pie is filling and costs a mere two or three dollars. I find it surprising that meat pies are not in the States. They definitely have an international appeal.

Someday, I shall have to start an import/export company that trades popular, marketable Australian foods for likewise popular, marketable American foods. Vegemite will not be one of these.

Obama: The Death of Racism?

This is a great day for the States. Let's hear it for the voters of the United States and how they did two great things; one, they found a way to not let George Bush into office this year; and two, they managed to not just allow, but choose to have a half-black man in office. Sadly, this is not time for major celebration. I do not mean to say that this is a bad event or it means nothing, but much like the appointment of Sandra Day O'Connor to the Supreme Court, this does not show true progress. We all care too much about it right now. At the moment, by pointing out that Obama is black, not Obama (D, Illinois) or even Barak Obama, great American, it shows that we are still too hung up on race. It won't be until the black Ruth Bader Ginsberg (if you don't know who this is, then it proves my point) becomes president that the true progress shows. Now that this has happened, let's never ever ever ever mention Obama's race in any serious way. Until we do that, we are still racist.

Just a quick addition to this post, new ways of phrasing the media coverage that are explicitly racist:

"Obama was elected president of the United States, this is a great achievement, for a black man."

"After over 200 years of slavery, followed by over 100 years of oppression, African Americans finally have found someone good enough to be our president."

"Through thick and thin, this shows true progress for Americans, they have finally decided elect into the presidency a black man."

I voted for Obama because I thought he was the better candidate. His race played no part (at least consciously) in my voting for him. One thing I can say that makes me happy is how few people I know did vote for him based on race. (I bet there were a good chunk that didn't vote for him based on race though.) To be elected president as a non-white candidate, this shows true greatness of character. It is just a fact that white people don't have to work as hard. To sum up, I think people need to focus on these great qualities, not on his race.

(Sorry for the rambling blog, I just want to make sure I'm getting my point across without downplaying how amazing this event truly is.)

Melbourne Cup

Today is one of the most important days for this entire country. And no, I'm not talking about the US presidential race; I am talking about the Melbourne Cup.

The Melbourne Cup may just be the craziest holiday ever. Every year on the second Tuesday of November, the entire nation of Australia stops, completely shuts down for an afternoon. What could be so important to allow everybody to play hooky? A horse race, of course.

It all started in 1861 with simply a horse race. Then in 1877 after the growing popularity, it was made a public holiday in the state of Victoria...why? Because everyone wanted to watch the horse race. Now over 100 years later, people are still watching this horse race. This is definitely a cultural phenomenon that fascinates. I asked around, "Why is this horse race such a big deal?"

The best answer I've received is "I reckon, cause it's the Melbourne cup."

So, it will remain a mystery. Despite the unknown origins of this national fascination with a single horse race (nobody talks about horses at all the rest of the year), it remains a large part of Australia's national identity. Those who never gamble typically put a decent chunk of money down. I picked two horses at random to win; both lost. (Profound Beauty and Honolulu, why did you let me down?).

The greatest part of this whole holiday is how something so trivial (never utter a word to the Aussies that used the "t" word to describe the Melbourne Cup, never) can bring everyone together for three minutes, despite their picks, to stare at the TV, bet tickets squeezed in hand; an entire nation, whose collective heart stops as the equine mass crosses the white line. Here, races encourage fraternity, not polarity. Beautiful.

Aussie Slang: "I reckon"

Every language and culture has its own filler words or jump in words. This statement is, of course, based only on English speaking places. If a person wants to speak, but needs second to catch up with his or her thoughts, he or she may toss in little words or short phrases. Such classic American filler words/phrases are "like", "you see", "you know", "um", "uh", "ur", the list goes on. My most used is "like I said", even if it is the first time I've ever said it.

Australians love "I reckon". No matter the context, "I reckon" is thrown on the start of 73% of all sentences (based on a random sample of four people).

For the most part, this does not bother me. If stating an opinion, I reckon is a great introduction. "I reckon that hat is quite stupid." Great. Perfect usage of reckon. Sometimes, it is tossed in to ask a question, yet still maintain some sort of dignity. "I reckon Churchill said that originally?" (Actually, it was JFK, but really who's really keeping track.) It can be used to negate a statement, but implies you are not taking a definite stance: "Well I reckon it was JFK who said that." It can be used to give up on an argument, but leave the door open for future 'I told you so's' : "I reckon you could be right."

It can also be tossed onto the end when you've said something wrong and need some damage control, "Mussolini did make the planes land on time...I reckon." These are all ok. Opinions. Unsure statements. I just can't handle when people buffer blatantly obvious statements with it. "I reckon that car is on fire." You don't reckon it, it is actually on fire!!!

Like I said, it is a perfectly functional filler word, but only when used in the right situation, you know?

Bodies in the Barrels: More Serial Killers of Australia

I just finished the second book of my extensive research into the famous serial killers of Australia. Don't worry, there are not too many more out there.

In the mid-90's a psychopath named John Bunting convinced two of his friends and eventually his heroin addicted step-son to join him on a twelve body killing spree. Nearly all of the killers were victims of childhood sexual abuse, so they had a particular hatred against pedophiles. Unfortunately, they were so crazy that nearly everyone was given such a label, including drug addicts, homosexual, fat wives, and anybody else they didn't like. John Bunting had a giant hit list that he'd compiled for years and they just went out and whittled the list down.

These weren't random people either. They killed stepsons, friends of the family, wives, lovers, and neighbors. This is particularly scary, because such relationships should give protection from murder.

At first, they buried the bodies in the back yard and poured concrete over them. Sadly, this wasn't disgusting enough for them. So they started torturing their victims to death, then mutilated the corpses, and in some cases ate them. The left-overs were tossed in giant metal barrels for maximum putrefaction. John Bunting had no sense of smell, so he wasn't really bothered by the rotting corpses piling up. They transferred the barrels to an empty bank vault in Snowtown, South Australia. (Spawning such favorite jokes as "Q: Why is it so hard to get a loan in Snowtown? A:It costs an arm and a leg!" Knee slaps, fake chortles, walking away ensues).

These were low-income people mostly, living on welfare. So after the murders, they would stage fake falling outs and abrupt moves for the victims, then cash the government checks (or cheques as they spell it here). This led the police to them. Sadly, due to some muck ups, they were still able to knock a couple more people off while under surveillance.

Finally, the police followed a car to Snowtown where the found the bodies. Now they are all in jail forever.

For those who would like to learn more about the Bodies in the Barrels murders, check out the book, Killing for Pleasure. It is a very difficult book to read, not for the squemish, but I was hooked for most of it. http://www.amazon.com/Killing-Pleasure-Debi-Marshall/dp/1740512480/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1225582787&sr=8-1

Election

With the election only days away, the prospects for the future are getting exciting. George Bush isn't going to win it this year (although, he's pulled off long shots in the past, so who knows). I've still been keeping track of the race, despite being on the otherside of the world. For once it is nice to spend an election year without having to watch all the negative political ads. One very shocking this is how much coverage the election gets down here.

The first day I was here, a car in the airport parking lot was adorned with McCain/Palin sticker. Almost everyone I've met asks me if I like Obama or McCain. They don't show the advertisements, but no news broadcast or newspaper is complete without some sort of election coverage. People here seem genuinely concerned with how the election is going to pan out this year.

One guy at the pub put it perfectly, "I'm really interested in what goes on in states. I read the American news everyday, cause if you guys sneeze, Australia gets a cold."

Already, the economic problems in the states have started stock crashes here. The Australian dollar is plummeting, even though the American dollar is staying steady. Just the fear of the US doing poorly causes major problems here.

Everyone here hates George Bush. For years, the Prime Minister here was Jon Howard, who apparently sided with Dubya on most things. Australia was one of the few other countries to send troops into Iraq. The two countries are curiously linked despite the distance.

As far as the perceptions of the candidates here, most people seem to really like Obama. They find him to be very intelligent and great speaker. Everyone thinks that he will be assassinated during his term. Nobody here seems to bothered by his race, but they are definitely concerned by how the American people will deal with it. Not many people here have much of an opinion or know anything about McCain, but they know he is close with Bush, so they are wary of him. Sarah Palin of course, is joke.

Aussie Slang: Stuffed

In the United States, after a large meal, most people lean back in their chairs, loosen the belt, pat their gut, and remark, "Boy, I am stuffed!" This communicates a slightly different thing in Australia. Making such an utterance can still apply to the situation, but the implication is that eating all the food took a lot of work.

After a long day of work, Aussies become "stuffed" or exhausted. This is extremely common slang. I searched for the etymology in a dictionary, but it does not seem to be in there. My belief is that it comes from the other use of this word.

When a machine is broken, it is "stuffed" or "stuffed up". I am not an etymologist, so do not take my analysis as fact. Given the dustiness of Australia's soil, windy days puts a lot of the dust into the air. Eventually this dust settles in the machinery, stuffing it up full of dust. Anybody who has neglected to clean their computer for a long time knows how dust can stop the fan from functioning. Thus, machines "stuffed up" with dust don't work anymore. Eventually this was shortened to merely "stuffed". People soon developed the ability to get stuffed themselves, cause a tired worker is a broken worker. Or the machine had to work so hard with all the dust, it got "stuffed".

Again, I'm not a linguist or etymologist, so this is merely a theory. I'm still going to input this into my brain as fact, cause it sounds right to me.

Ivan Milat

Australia is considered one of the most friendliest places in the world. A big draw for young travellers, many come here because of the great hospitality and the general "mateship" of the people. Like everywhere else though, Australia has a dark side.

Sharon and I share a love for true crime serial killer stories, so I've been attacking the two she had about Australia's two most notorious. The first was about Ivan Milat, the "backpacker killer". Ivan was one of nearly 20 children growing up in a poor suburb of Sydney. Him and most of his brothers fell into crime heavily during their younger years. Eventually, due to a few prison sentences and general maturity, most of the siblings gave up on crime. Ivan was considered by most to be a good guy, but every time he went through a break up, he took it really hard. The first resulted in an armed robbery, the second in a rape, in the late 80's his divorce set him on a five year, seven body killing spree.

He would pick up foreign hitchhikers, tie them up, then take them to Bengalo forest and practice shooting. A few coincidences, a lot of stupid bragging, and one escaped victim eventually led the police to him. Despite knowing that he was being watched, he still didn't get rid of all of his trophies from the killings. Then he plead "not guilty". Of course he lost the case.

They only confirmed the killing of seven people, but many believe there are more. His older brother Boris said that "if" Ivan is a serial killer, then he would be able to link him to more than 28 bodies! Most people didn't believe that he could possibly have it in him. The scariest part about it is that his brother Richard, who is still free, is thought to have assisted Ivan in a few of the killings. I think the police are keeping an eye on him though.

This is only an outline of the story, but I suggest fans of the genre read Sins of the Brother. Not amazing, but definitely interesting.
http://www.amazon.com/Sins-brother-definitive-backpacker-murders/dp/0732909686/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1225148586&sr=8-2

Melbourne

Tickets have been booked. Accommodations have been secured. My first Australia excursion is going to happen. From November 14 until November 21, I will be heading with Jess to Melbourne. She already has the whole trip planned, I need to do some research and get at least one day planned myself.

Originally, we were planning on going to Fiji with the whole family. Unfortunately, it proved to be a little too expensive for our budget. I fret about costs, so when the trip came up, I was quite stressed out. Then over the next twelve hours, I rationalized the whole thing and decided it was good move. A Fiji vacation from the states would cost maybe $5000+. From Australia though, the whole trip would have been $3000. I woke up, ready to make the financial commitment to the trip; I was even getting a bit excited. Alas, it was called off.

Next, we thought of going to Cairns, a beautiful coastal town in Northeastern Australia. This was shot down as well. Apparently the jellyfish and crocs will kill you this time of year. Also that trip would have been $2000. Everyone backed out of even taking a holiday.

So now just Jess and I are going to Melbourne which is cool. $500 shall be the total cost. Plus, Melbourne is considered an essential trip for any Australian vacation, despite how much Jess may loathe it. She actually seems quite excited. As much as it is weird for me to let somebody else plan things for me, it makes her happy, so I'm glad to sit back and not let my type A-ness get the best of me. Melbourne here we come!

Nicknames

Aussies love to shorten things. Nicknames are rampant. Not to say that they aren't in the states, but here, they've found ways to shorten names that don't even need it.

The usual suspects are here: John/Jack, Richard/Dick, William/Bill, etc. But they've added a new nicknaming convention that doesn't exist in the states.

Take a name, preferably one with an 'a' vowel sound. Chop off everything after the 'a' then add a z. For example:

Sharon=Shaz
Garry=Gaz
Mabel=Maz

This is quite common. If people are in the mood, an 'a', 'm', or 'o' is added to the end (Gaza, Shazo, Mazm).

I don't know how I feel about it. My name for years has stood against all attempts for truncation. My last name has given me such nicknames are "Whitey", "Whiteman", "White Stuff", "The White Oppressor", and my personal favorite, "Cracker Ass". Aaron was "Airhead" in grade school. Now though, people call me "Aza", "Azor", "Azm", and some people at work have taken to calling me Aragorn. I like that one, cause of my blond crew cut and invisible facial hair. It makes me feel rugged and excessively masculine.

So, impress your friends, talk like an Aussie. Using these tricks, you too can give brevity of names a new dimension.

-Az

Aussie Slang: Dear

Dear - expensive

This isn't necessarily slang. The Brits and some older Americans have this usage for the word as well. I just have not heard it too much in the past. Aussies seem to use it as the main word for expensive. This makes some sense. There is nothing as justifying for the spending of money than deciding that something is precious. It shows a true commitment to the purchasing of an item, cognitive dissonance at its finest.

More on Eating Out: Concerning Portions

In the United States, one of the most important things that many look for in a restaurant is portion size. We have all heard people say, when critiquing a new eatery, "It was a good place, they had excellent portions." This is typically uttered by people over the age of sixty. (Mary, dad, don't even start!) This need for a good "portion" has led to much of the obesity in the nation. Restaurants have run amok with this idea and have therefore bulked up the amount of french fries, noodles, or some other inexpensive starch to bulk up the size as well as the price. If there is enough food on the plate, a lot of places can get away with serving terrible food for outrageous prices.

Most American restaurants seem to serve two meals on one plate. To control waist lines, many have taken the habit of filling up on salads and bread, then taking the remainder home in a doggie bag. Two meals for the price of one. Thus justifying the price of eating out. Imagine a world where doggie bags don't exist.

In Australia, this devotion to the portion has not caught on. A dinner at an average restaurant seems to have just enough food to fill the belly comfortably; just skip the bread and salad. The drawback to this is that eating out is about $5 a plate more expensive on average (after conversion change, minus tip). More food for less money.

Growing up in the portion happy world of the United States, it is very easy to look at the plate and ask if that is all I get. Then I think of Europe. They serve even less food for even more money.

Basically, it all comes down to what a person values when they go out to eat. One can eat at the OCB for eight dollars and eat as much mashed potatoes and jello he/she can stomach. Each bite shoveled in for the sole purpose of getting to the next plate. Or one can go to a nice place, pay $35 dollars for four meat medallions over a thimbleful of angel hair pasta. Each bite savored, thinking it may be the last.

I tend to enjoy Indian food the best. The portions are just enough to get me pleasantly full, but the flavors are so rich that I am forced to admire each bite. The prices are typically reasonable. If I can resist licking the plate, I have just enough left over for a midnight snack.

Australia almost has it perfect. Just give me a doggie bag.

Doggie Bags aka In the face of oppression

They say that America is the home of the free. For the most part though, most freedoms we have are shared by all western nations. In fact, compared to some nations like Holland, the US isn't even the most free of all nations. I now realize that I had taken my freedom for granted, for I have now been faced with my first taste of oppression.

We had all gone out to eat for Jess's birthday. I ordered a steak, that being the most recommended item on the menu. Dinner was offered with a salad bar and a choice of vegetables. Like any American, I loaded up on some soup, dinner rolls, a small salad and some fruit. Next came my steak, prepared just to my liking. After half the steak, I was quite stated. I set aside the remaining steak and munched on a few chips. Then Jess's grandmother turned to me and said, "Aaron, aren't you going to finish your steak?" I told her no, I'm quite satisfied with my food intake for the evening and would concede to having the rest on a sandwich the next day for lunch. Suddenly, half the table was staring at me in disbelief.

"That's illegal." Jess said.

I chuckled a little to my self. Illegal. Those Aussies are so full of bullshit. I waited for that "I got ya" smile, but after staring her down for a minute with a dopey grin, not such smile emerged. She was serious; it was illegal to take home the remainder of the meal.

"Why is it illegal?"

Diseases she explained. The food has been cooked and if I don't get it refrigerated soon, it could be a breeding ground for foodbourne illness. Aussies are paranoid of foodbourne illness? I asked. Aussies seemed so laid back about this stuff. I work at a restaurant here, yet I've not seen one rubber glove. Not one wash your hands sign. Few hand washing sinks. No fingernail brushes. No thermometers with clipboards for taking temperatures of everything two times a day. This is OK, because doggie bags are the real hazard.

I blew my top. "That is most idiotic thing I've ever heard."

"Well, you don't know where those containers have been."

"YES I DO, THE SAME PLACE AS EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE KITCHEN!" I replied. I went on a ten minute diatribe about how the containers are cleaner than the plates and how this food was purchased by me (actually, Les picked up the tab) and therefore it belongs to me. Renting food. Pah! I contemplated a sit-in, but I figured that would get me deported. Instead, I finished my steak.

I left the restaurant that night, filled with the feeling of a stuffed belly, but most of all, I was filled with a feeling that few young, white, American men ever experience: a lack of freedom, petty, yet still hurtful.

Drink Driving

Aussies love to drink; this we all know. Thankfully, Australia is very strict on drunk driving. The only thing is, they call it drink driving. I am not sure how I feel about this phrase; it works because it does imply the present...you are currently driving while under the influence of a drink. If a person consumes a certain number of drinks, then they become drunk, not drink.

This phrase may come from the awesome fact that you can drink in a moving vehicle, if you are not driving of course. Therefore, if you are tagging along with someone at a bar and decide to visit another pub or head home, there is no need to chug the stubby down, you just take it with you. So potentially, drink driving is showing a strong prejudice against driving with a drink.

It may also derive from the legal limit, a strict .05. That is about a sip of beer for me. Just a drink for some. This is basically a big do not drink and drive warning. The police here are big on the random checks. They indiscriminately pull people over at all times of the day and give breathe tests. For a normal licence the penalties are about the same as in the states. For those with their provisional licences even a drop of alcohol will take away driving privileges for one year.

So, overall, despite the silly name, this is a big deal. Good for you Australia.