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.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, October 27, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
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
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
Thursday, October 16, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
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.
Attack!
After three weeks in Australia, one of the most deadly places in all the world, the inevitable happened: I was attacked by an animal. First off, I am fine, I was neither maimed, killed, or wounded, merely flustered.
I was merrily riding my bike to work. It was a beautiful day, the temperature was a cool 25C (77 Fahrenheit to those not in the know), there was a slight breeze and birds were chirping. Little did I know that this was the harbinger of the horror soon to come...
The chirping was too loud, too persistent. It was getting into my head, as if it were right next to my ear. Then I saw the ominous shadow...
A bird was swooping down upon my head. I could only see the shadow diving in, turning around then coming back for more. Australian law requires bike riders to wear helmets, but I didn't know it was to protect unsuspecting bike riders from bird attacks. I really didn't fear the bird itself, the helmet was doing effective work; I feared that the bird would make me lose control and swerve into to traffic. (This apparently killed a guy in Adelaide this year.). I expected the bird to tire of this game, but it was filled with an ungodly tenacity. It attacked me continuously for over a kilometer before finally leaving me alone.
This is apparently a common occurrence for bikers and pedestrians in the spring. The attacker was a magpie, who unlike our friendly varieties in the states, are quite vicious during mating season. Most of the magpies I've seen just poof up and dance in a humorous manner that is supposed to be frightening to rodents. Jess and Sharon apparently pull over when they see such attacks because they start laughing too hard to drive. I don't think it is very funny.
Les gave me a tip on how to deal with this problem. He told me to turn my sunglasses to the back of head so it appears that I am looking to my rear. Magpies only attack from behind where they can't be seen. I've yet to see it, but mailmen often have an extra pair for this very reason. This evening on my way to work, about a block from the nest, I turned the sunglasses backwards and rode by, poofing up like a cock myself in birdish mockery. It didn't work; I was attacked a second time.
I was merrily riding my bike to work. It was a beautiful day, the temperature was a cool 25C (77 Fahrenheit to those not in the know), there was a slight breeze and birds were chirping. Little did I know that this was the harbinger of the horror soon to come...
The chirping was too loud, too persistent. It was getting into my head, as if it were right next to my ear. Then I saw the ominous shadow...
A bird was swooping down upon my head. I could only see the shadow diving in, turning around then coming back for more. Australian law requires bike riders to wear helmets, but I didn't know it was to protect unsuspecting bike riders from bird attacks. I really didn't fear the bird itself, the helmet was doing effective work; I feared that the bird would make me lose control and swerve into to traffic. (This apparently killed a guy in Adelaide this year.). I expected the bird to tire of this game, but it was filled with an ungodly tenacity. It attacked me continuously for over a kilometer before finally leaving me alone.
This is apparently a common occurrence for bikers and pedestrians in the spring. The attacker was a magpie, who unlike our friendly varieties in the states, are quite vicious during mating season. Most of the magpies I've seen just poof up and dance in a humorous manner that is supposed to be frightening to rodents. Jess and Sharon apparently pull over when they see such attacks because they start laughing too hard to drive. I don't think it is very funny.
Les gave me a tip on how to deal with this problem. He told me to turn my sunglasses to the back of head so it appears that I am looking to my rear. Magpies only attack from behind where they can't be seen. I've yet to see it, but mailmen often have an extra pair for this very reason. This evening on my way to work, about a block from the nest, I turned the sunglasses backwards and rode by, poofing up like a cock myself in birdish mockery. It didn't work; I was attacked a second time.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Creedence Clearwater Revival and Stereotyping
So far, I have been fascinated by how Australian culture is stereotyped in America. Just seeing how these have been proven/refuted has been truly entertaining. One of the easiest ways to stereotype a large nation is assume that there is a unified culture with only one set of traits throughout. Australia is not like this, from what I've heard, people are very different from region to region. Finally though, I began to see this type of stereotyping reversed.
I was partying with a group of local boys, chugging stubbies (that is definitely something that sounds dirty, but isn't) and they put on some Creedence Clearwater Revival. I love CCR; this was a quick bonding point for us, singing along, yelling phrases like "I love this f'ing song, mate." Then suddenly, something scary and unexpected happened: they locked arms and started line dancing.
Line dancing and Creedence, do not, can not, and should not go together. CCR is definitely a country twinged rock, but it is way to rockin', way to bluesy for line dancing. I wanted to explain the subtleties of the various regions of the United States, the differences between country and western, and which types of music necessitate, and most importantly, allow line dancing. I started explaining the history of CCR, how they are a bunch of boys from San Francisco, who, tiring of the hippy culture, pined for a simpler life of busking and sipping bootleg whiskey in the subtropical swamps and bayous of Louisiana. I think I was boring them though (as often happens when I get philosophical after a few beers). Instead, I just had to accept that they probably get the same muddled views of American culture as we do of Australian culture.
You just take a list of traits, lump them together into a prototypical example of something. I could spend much more time going over this psychological process and how it works, but I'll probably just bore you though (as often happens when I get philosophical after a few college courses). Instead I'll just leave you with the image of what I think the prototypical American is here.
Monday, October 6, 2008
My Stubby
Aussies love their grog. This is going to be big theme of a few of my blogs in general. Alcohol plays such an important role in the culture here that it warrants a bit of analysis.
Beer may as well be Australia's national beverage. When walking into anybody's house, women are asked if they'd like some tea and men are asked if they'd like a beer. This is definitely something about the culture that I love. Beer, ever since my palate accepted it, has been one of my favorite beverages. I'm not too picky about which beers I drink; I love pale ales, dark ales, amber ales, pilsners, drafts, hefeweissen, and even beers with an assaulting hop punch. One thing I've noticed here is that everyone has their own beer brand.
I've always been one of those non-brand loyalty guys. I walk into the liquor store and buy a six pack of whatever microbrew or import is on sale that week. It is a good way to sample around and often the on sale stuff is as cheap as Budweiser. This is just not an option in Australia, because despite how much beer people here seem to drink, the price are outrageous!
A six pack of stubbies is $17.00, when on sale. There goes any chance of sampling small amounts of beer. Most people here pick a brand and stock up their fridge when beer goes on sale. Nobody ever seems to buy less than a case. A normal case of beer can run from $40-50 easy. This isn't premium microbrews I am talking about either. This is for the cheap beer. About once a month of so, when the right stars align, that specific brand of beer you like might dip below $35...this is the time to buy six cases or so. These aren't conditions that are positive for seeing what a certain beer tastes like.
Therefore, I need a brand of beer. This is going be a new thing for me, I'm afraid of commitment to a beer. Thankfully, despite these high beer prices, a stubby at the pub only costs $4.oo. In comparison to the rest, this really isn't too bad. I shall try a different beer each time I go to the pub and after a sufficient number of beers, I will make my choice, then wait two months until it goes on sale.
Beer may as well be Australia's national beverage. When walking into anybody's house, women are asked if they'd like some tea and men are asked if they'd like a beer. This is definitely something about the culture that I love. Beer, ever since my palate accepted it, has been one of my favorite beverages. I'm not too picky about which beers I drink; I love pale ales, dark ales, amber ales, pilsners, drafts, hefeweissen, and even beers with an assaulting hop punch. One thing I've noticed here is that everyone has their own beer brand.
I've always been one of those non-brand loyalty guys. I walk into the liquor store and buy a six pack of whatever microbrew or import is on sale that week. It is a good way to sample around and often the on sale stuff is as cheap as Budweiser. This is just not an option in Australia, because despite how much beer people here seem to drink, the price are outrageous!
A six pack of stubbies is $17.00, when on sale. There goes any chance of sampling small amounts of beer. Most people here pick a brand and stock up their fridge when beer goes on sale. Nobody ever seems to buy less than a case. A normal case of beer can run from $40-50 easy. This isn't premium microbrews I am talking about either. This is for the cheap beer. About once a month of so, when the right stars align, that specific brand of beer you like might dip below $35...this is the time to buy six cases or so. These aren't conditions that are positive for seeing what a certain beer tastes like.
Therefore, I need a brand of beer. This is going be a new thing for me, I'm afraid of commitment to a beer. Thankfully, despite these high beer prices, a stubby at the pub only costs $4.oo. In comparison to the rest, this really isn't too bad. I shall try a different beer each time I go to the pub and after a sufficient number of beers, I will make my choice, then wait two months until it goes on sale.
Friday, October 3, 2008
The Sighting
As one would expect to happen, the very day I write a rant about how I've never seen a live kangaroo, I see one just three blocks from where I am living.
Jess and I were heading to a barbie at her grandparents place, but she wanted to show me where here father works first. We drove a block out of town and out in the distance was a short sillouette. We looked at each other and both knew what it may be. As we drove closer, it became evident that it was in face the outline of a kangaroo in the distance. We went a little further to get a good look before it hopped away. It was quite exciting! Unfortuneately, I didn't have my camera with me. My first live kangaroo will have to go photographically undocumented.
Sadness.
After it hopped away, Jess whipped a quick U-turn. "Let's get out of here quick; if you see one, there are always more." Apparently, you don't even have to hit the kangaroo with your car, they'll hop into you. Les had a car totaled from such an incident.
It is good to know that even the cute Aussie animals can and will hurt/kill you.
Jess and I were heading to a barbie at her grandparents place, but she wanted to show me where here father works first. We drove a block out of town and out in the distance was a short sillouette. We looked at each other and both knew what it may be. As we drove closer, it became evident that it was in face the outline of a kangaroo in the distance. We went a little further to get a good look before it hopped away. It was quite exciting! Unfortuneately, I didn't have my camera with me. My first live kangaroo will have to go photographically undocumented.
Sadness.
After it hopped away, Jess whipped a quick U-turn. "Let's get out of here quick; if you see one, there are always more." Apparently, you don't even have to hit the kangaroo with your car, they'll hop into you. Les had a car totaled from such an incident.
It is good to know that even the cute Aussie animals can and will hurt/kill you.
My Accent
Last night, I started my first day of work as a waiter at the "posh" restaurant of Broken Hill. I had a blast; it was great to start working again after a five week holiday. The big downfall to my night was that I was finally made cognisant of an ugly truth: I have an accent.
Having spent most of my first two weeks here with people I've know for over a year and had met in the United States, I was living with the natural thought that the people surrounding me were the ones with accents. Now that I've been out and about with complete strangers, it is painfully obvious that I'm the one who talks funny, not the other way around!
Nearly every table upon meeting me offered up such lines as, "Wow, you sure are a long way from home, mate!", "So, which state are you from, mate.", "what brings you to Australia, yank?"and "Canadian or American?". Canadian? People can confuse me with a Canadian? I think I now know how the Kiwis feel, always being confused with Aussies. Either way, there was no question that I'm an outsider here.
How thick is my "accent"? Well, children can't understand me. I asked two children if they had finished with their meals and was answered with blank stares. Their parents had to translate. And by translate, I mean they took my exact words and said them back with funny vowel pronounciation...only it wasn't funny, it was correct. I was the one talking funny!
A outback hick came up to bar and asked, "So mate, wher'ould a stubby of Veebs 'et me back?" The other woman responded quickly with, "about seven dollars." The hick responded, "Oi, 'at's bit dear."
"What the heck did that guy just say?" I asked my coworker after the man left.
"I'm sorry, what did you say mate?" She asked.
I repeated the same thing and after a moment of looking at me blankly, she finally comprehended my question. Apparently, he just wanted to know how much a beer costs.
Having spent most of my first two weeks here with people I've know for over a year and had met in the United States, I was living with the natural thought that the people surrounding me were the ones with accents. Now that I've been out and about with complete strangers, it is painfully obvious that I'm the one who talks funny, not the other way around!
Nearly every table upon meeting me offered up such lines as, "Wow, you sure are a long way from home, mate!", "So, which state are you from, mate.", "what brings you to Australia, yank?"and "Canadian or American?". Canadian? People can confuse me with a Canadian? I think I now know how the Kiwis feel, always being confused with Aussies. Either way, there was no question that I'm an outsider here.
How thick is my "accent"? Well, children can't understand me. I asked two children if they had finished with their meals and was answered with blank stares. Their parents had to translate. And by translate, I mean they took my exact words and said them back with funny vowel pronounciation...only it wasn't funny, it was correct. I was the one talking funny!
A outback hick came up to bar and asked, "So mate, wher'ould a stubby of Veebs 'et me back?" The other woman responded quickly with, "about seven dollars." The hick responded, "Oi, 'at's bit dear."
"What the heck did that guy just say?" I asked my coworker after the man left.
"I'm sorry, what did you say mate?" She asked.
I repeated the same thing and after a moment of looking at me blankly, she finally comprehended my question. Apparently, he just wanted to know how much a beer costs.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Death of the Kangaroo
It is impossible to conjure any images of Australia without the kangaroo. It adorns their national seal, occupies all their post cards, and is generally talked about a lot. Countless Aussies have told stories of how kangaroos are worse than deer, causing countless deaths and thousands of dollars worth of damage to cars and shrubbery around the nation. Apparently, there is an unspoken agreement of who gets to take the head and who gets to take feet in case of a collision. So, given how married Australia and Kangaroo are, why is it after two weeks here, I have yet to see a single one?
Don't get me wrong, I accept that the kangaroo may have, at one time, existed. Their carcasses are scattered across the highways with a milemarker-like regularity, but live ones are nowhere to be found. On my third day here, I had the great fortune to see their national sealmate the emu. I've been assured that they only come out at night, just go to the local golf course at dawn or dusk and I'll see plenty. As much as I would love to see a kangaroo, I don't believe my brain handle the image of a nocturnal kangaroo fraternally drinking beer and putting balls. It is much easier for me to accept that fact that the kangaroo is now extinct; once every spring, on most likely a Wednesday, schoolchildren are taken on fossil hunting field trips along the major highways to learn how mankind's infrastructure has destroyed yet another of nature's wonders.
Don't get me wrong, I accept that the kangaroo may have, at one time, existed. Their carcasses are scattered across the highways with a milemarker-like regularity, but live ones are nowhere to be found. On my third day here, I had the great fortune to see their national sealmate the emu. I've been assured that they only come out at night, just go to the local golf course at dawn or dusk and I'll see plenty. As much as I would love to see a kangaroo, I don't believe my brain handle the image of a nocturnal kangaroo fraternally drinking beer and putting balls. It is much easier for me to accept that fact that the kangaroo is now extinct; once every spring, on most likely a Wednesday, schoolchildren are taken on fossil hunting field trips along the major highways to learn how mankind's infrastructure has destroyed yet another of nature's wonders.
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