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.