Australia Day

On Wednesday I had the day off from work in honour of Australia Day.  While none of my Australian colleagues could tell me what the significance of Australia Day is, apart from beer and barbies, I learned from Wikipedia that it’s the official national day of Australia.  The date, January 26^th, celebrates the arrival of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove in 1788 and the subsequent proclamation of British sovereignty over the eastern seaboard of Australia.  The First Fleet refers to the 11 ships that departed from Great Britain in 1787 to establish the first European colony in Australia; approximately 52% of the passengers were convicts.

There is some controversy around the celebration of Australia Day on January 26^th.  Some people, particularly Indigenous Australians, refer to Australia Day as Invasion Day or Survival Day, and stage protests at annual Australia Day celebrations.  Others view the date as strengthening the connection with Australia’s convict past, commemorating, “Britain's driving ashore of Australia's first white citizens in chains.”  Due to these reasons as well as a myriad of other arguments, including the fact that January 26^th falls during school holidays, proposals have been made to change the date that Australia Day is celebrated.  To date this has been unsuccessful, so on Wednesday I was able to partake in my very first Australia Day, full of barbies, flags, beach trips, beer and fireworks.

In order to cut down on antisocial behaviour, alcohol could only be consumed within designated zones during the Perth Australia Day fireworks extravaganza.  Additionally, alcohol consumption within these zones was restricted to a two hour period between 6:30 – 8:30 PM.  Adults over the age of 18 were permitted one bottle of wine, one six pack of beer, or one six pack of premixed drinks (per person).  Yes, you did read that correctly.  It was considered perfectly legal to consume one beer every twenty minutes for two hours, in a public, outdoor space.  And please don’t forget that the first barbie I spotted was at 7:00 AM so some people had been drinking for many hours before 6:30 PM rolled around.  Maybe H and I are getting old, but while we could see how one can easily drink three beers in an hour, maintaining that pace to consume an additional three beers within the next hour seemed a bit extreme to us.  We haven’t yet taken to heart the Aussie mantra I learned from a very drunk middle aged man during a free (and copious) tasting of very nice wine at a boutique vineyard in the Margaret River: “Work is for work and alcohol is to get pissed.”

How Was Your Weekend?

After almost a year in Perth, I’m starting to notice a trend in typical responses to the recurring Monday morning question of “how was your weekend?”  Please tell me if there is anywhere else in the world (apart from college campuses) where the responses would be as aligned towards over imbibing and hangovers as today’s responses were to my polite queries about my colleagues’ weekends.  Keep in mind that the average age of my colleagues is closer to 40 than 30…

• “Well, I had a few too many beers on Friday so I spent the rest of the weekend recovering, but you know, it was all in good fun.”

• “I got totally pissed on Saturday and boy was Sunday tough.  It was worth it though, Saturday was great!”

• “Saturday afternoon we had a barbi in the park and you know, after a few beers, I really couldn’t be bothered watching the kids for the rest of the weekend.  You know it’s tough keeping up with them all day when you’ve had a few too many.”

• “I hit the Coronas a bit too hard but what else are you going to do on a hot day?”

• “I was planning on going to Rotto (a local island) for the weekend but after Friday night’s happy hour, I couldn’t make the Saturday morning ferry.”

One of the few exceptions to the above was the head of my group who declared that she had, “found an amazing sounding diet pill from an infomercial over the weekend but then felt a bit like a drug dealer when she went out and bought mass amounts of it to share with all of her friends.”

Oh Anonymous Colleagues, I could overlook your fondness for carrying and using pocket breathalysers, your penchant for wearing heavy wool coats and thick scarves in 20 degree Celsius winters, your love of abbreviating words and adding “o” and “y” endings, and perhaps even your love of meat pies at morning tea, but I’m starting to think that you all have a few roos loose in the top paddock.

And on a sidenote, how can my one other Anonymous American Colleague think I’m Canadian, especially almost a year of working with me?  Perhaps she needs to lay off the alcohol as well, eht?

Three Strikes, You're Out. It's a Sports Metaphor

H and I were flipping through TV channels last night after dinner and came across The Big Bang Theory’s Panty Piñata Polarization episode.  As I am generally entertained by Sheldon’s antics, I wasn’t surprised to find myself laughing hysterically about Sheldon’s three strikes of friendship.  Sheldon gives his friends a strike each time they fail to comply with his strict rules and regulations for comradeship and if one accrues three strikes within one year, one is required to take Sheldon’s class (in person or online) in order to restore one’s friendship with him.

In Panty Piñata Polarization, Penny gets banished by Sheldon after receiving her third strike, her second one of the evening:

• Strike One: Forwarding e-mail humor on March 18^th.

• Strike Two: Touching Sheldon’s food.

• Strike Three: Sitting in Sheldon’s spot on the couch.

While I think that the three strike system may be a bit harsh for use with friends, I feel that it may actually serve a good purpose for use with colleagues.  Wouldn’t it be nice if you could banish colleagues from your vicinity if they accrued three strikes?  If I could banish my officemate after three strikes, I would have sent him packing this morning.

• Strike One: Engaging in a loud, two hour phone conversation with his brother about a new wrestling video game after showing up at the office an hour later than the rest of our group.  You’re 37, grow-up or shut-up, at least while I’m on a conference call and actually working.

• Strike Two: Eating a can of tuna fish in our office.  To those who don’t know me, this may not seem so bad, but the scent of canned tuna fish is my number one olfactory pet peeve.  College dorm mates were forced to empty their tuna fish cans at alternative trash receptacles than the one outside my door and poor H can probably count on one hand the number of times he has consumed tuna fish since meeting me.  On Anonymous Officemate’s first day, while eating my lunch of chicken teriyaki at my desk, I asked if the smell bothered him and said that if he found that or any other future lunch smell offensive, he should tell me and I would endeavour to eat elsewhere.  I also politely informed him that he should feel free to eat whatever he wished in our office, except for tuna fish. 

• Strike Three: Leaving aforementioned not fully finished can of tuna fish in the trashcan in our office overnight, with the door locked and windows closed so the cleaning crew couldn’t empty the garbage.  Let’s just say that was not a pleasant smell to encounter at 8 o’clock this morning, even if I was a fan of chicken of the sea.

Farewell, goodbye, auf wiedersehen, adieu, Anonymous Officemate, I have hereby banished you, imaginarily at least.

I overlooked your incessant weight conscious chatter (which fruits have the lowest calories, your need to purchase new bathroom scales (yes, plural and yes, for one bathroom), how you burn more calories running than swimming, your preference for cheap low carb beer, and your girlfriend’s need to lose weight (told to her over the phone)).  I refrained from giving you a strike for your visible nipples and chest hair due to not wearing an undershirt.  I listened politely during your many hour monologues extolling the top restaurants in WA while you sat and ate your salads and drank your Diet Cokes.  I tried not to compare you to my former officemate with whom I shared enjoyable conversations and numerous high fat deserts, while extolling the theory of regular exercise but not the practice of it.  But now Anonymous Officemate, you’re banished.  Since I can’t actually throw you out of our shared office, I think I’ll bake up a storm this weekend, and enjoy eating my way through an abundance of deserts in our office next week.  Perhaps that will frighten you enough into leaving on your own accord.   

Buddha's Head, Lost and Found

H and I had a wonderful guide to show us around Angkor Watt during our vacation.  He gave us a great overview of Cambodian history and the modern day country and provided a wealth of information on the histories of the temples we visited.  We learned all about the kings who built each complex, how the temples were constructed and adorned, the temple sculptures, the scenes depicted in the temple carvings, Hinduism and Buddhism, looting, and conservation works. 

While inside the main Angkor Watt complex, we passed by one of the many headless Buddha statues.  Our guide solemnly explained how many looters cut the heads off of statues they found in Angkor Watt as the heads were much easier to transport than the full statue while still retaining a lot of the detail of the sculpture.  But he went on to say, this head had recently been found in Australia.  What?  H and I looked at him in surprise while he caught H’s eye and nodded his head towards the statue.  A little slow on the uptake, he prompted us once again by saying, “go on, give Buddha a new head,” and encouraged H to stand behind the statue while he prodded me to take photos of the newly restored Buddha.

Ha!  Maybe he thought we were starting to get distracted and wanted to make sure we were still paying attention.  I’d love to see an album of photographs of tourists who were prompted to do the same thing.  While this Buddha temporarily had a new head, later on in the trip, we found a courtier who had acquired a new hat.

I’m happy to see that people find their own way to interact with and enjoy history.

Excited [Insert Word(s) Here] Game

On vacation, H and I were introduced to the Excited Roller Coaster Game.  We had read about it for months prior to departing for our trip and spent an insane amount of time trying to guess what it could be.  All we knew was the name and that it was at a waterfall.  My best guess was that perhaps it was some kind of marginally safe barrel ride down the waterfall à la Pippi Longstocking.  Finally the big day arrived and we saw that it was this:

It was a kind of alpine slide ride down to the base of a waterfall and incredibly fun partially for the surprise factor, partially for the awesome name and partially because I haven’t been on any kind of roller coaster type ride in years.  And the fun didn’t stop on the way down; after we finished touring the waterfall, we climbed back into our cars to get towed up the mountain.  My lazy legs rejoiced!

H and I couldn’t let the Excited Roller Coaster Game end there so we decided to carry the theme through the rest of our vacation.  We had:

• Excited Street Crossing Game
• In some cities, street crossing is quite a risky business.  We were advised by our local guide to walk, never run, at a slow, even pace across the street and motorists would steer around us.  H and I quickly learned that while that is true for motorbikes, engaging in Exciting Street Crossing Game against cars and buses is quite a different story.  While we gradually progressed from level one tuk-tuks and cyclos to level fifteen buses, it wasn’t without some nervous moments.  One of our favorite Excited Street Crossing moments was following another pair of tourists (who raised their hands and took baby steps) across a very busy intersection.  Score: 150 points and a bonus life.

• Excited Dinner Table Conversation Game
•  H and I sat down to lunch one day at a table a few inches away from another English speaking, American couple.  Overhearing their conversation we deduced that they were on an outing from their cruise ship and locked eyes, determined to enjoy lunch and conversation between the two of us.  Unsurprisingly, as soon as English left our lips, they pounced and asked us where we were from.  Australia we replied, and that they believed it despite our very non-Australian accents made us even more pleased that we were able to end the conversation almost as quickly as it had begun.  Seeing that they were continuing to eavesdrop on our conversation, H and I quickly began talking about unusual topics in abbreviated language.  We were rewarded in our endeavours when our $3Bn train conversation got a barely muffled, “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?!” exclamation exchanged between the couple at the neighboring table.  LNG, obviously!
• Excited Dinner Table Conversation Game can be played two ways: you can either initiate bizarre conversation to confuse unwitting eavesdroppers or eavesdrop on bizarre conversations from your neighbors.  A few nights later, H and I were witnesses to excited domestic conflict game when a seemingly benign dinner table conversation between our neighbors resulted in one asking the other why she even married him and storming off for twenty minutes.  Pretty awkward considering we were confined to a 55m long boat together for the next 24 hours.

• Excited Missing Dragon Fruit Game
• The next morning, before departing from the aforementioned boat, we were asked to leave our cabin doors open starting from about 45 minutes prior to docking so that our luggage could be removed and our rooms could be checked over.  H and I came back to our room after spending some time on the balcony to find a strange woman sitting in our chair.  After trying in multiple languages to tell her it was our room and requesting politely that she leave, H engaged her in a staring contest that finally resulted in her departure.  A few minutes later we realized that along with her, the dragon fruit on our table had disappeared.  Would anybody else like to play Excited Missing Dragon Fruit Game?

• Excited Avoid the Squat Toilet Game
• Admittedly, I played this more than H did, but let’s just say that managing your liquid intake is essential in some parts of the world…

On that note, it’s time to play Excited What’s For Dinner Game.  If H gets home soon, we could move to a bonus level as his kitchen skills are vastly better than mine.

Happy 2011!

Happy 2011 everybody!  Sorry for the long absence, H and I have been enjoying some days off away from the land down under.  We decided to skip stockings full of high visibility socks, roo jerky and stubby holders for a trip to someplace a bit more exotic.  2,700 pictures, many ruins, beaches, boats, mountains, sculptures, temples, pagodas, rice paddies, historic sites, bizarre sites, excited street crossing games, overly abundant and delicious meals and an elephant ride later, we’re back to business in Perth.  I am however refusing to take our Christmas tree down; Wally the Wombat will be hanging in our living room until February.  One of the few perks of having a fake tree is that it enables me to pretend that holidays and vacation aren’t over.  At least we didn’t come back to massive sand drifts in our house like we used to with each return to Qatar courtesy of our poorly sealed windows and doors.  So cheers to starting a wondrous new year, appreciating the small things and not letting the little things get to us…