So its coming down to the time when I leave Victoria, the Australian state which has been my home for the past five months. We've had some good times and some bad, so without further ado I present: Things I Will and Won't Miss About Victoria
Things I Won't Miss:
The birds: I would like to take this moment to say a big FUCK YOU to every Australian bird and their vocal chords (or whatever it is that birds have that allows them to make AWFUL noises approximately ALL THE TIME). But perhaps I'm being too harsh. They are very pretty and it certainly is a unique opportunity to get to see parrots and cockatoos on the daily. As a matter of fact, at this exact moment I am looking out my window at two pink and grey parrots canoodling around in the tree near my room. They are sidestepping around in a cute way, and kind of like knocking their beaks together (I won't deign to anthropomorphize them enough to call it kissing) and its generally very picturesque. Or it would be if I had earplugs. Worst. Sounds. Ever. Penetrating my closed window, drowning out my itunes, and making me want to stab my ears with a pencil. So no, birds, I will not miss you.
Bundoora: Sorry, but I have to say it. Bundoora, the suburb I have been living in about an hour outside Melbourne SUCKS. It reminds me a bit of Detroit (think boarded up storefronts and graffiti) but with less culture and things to do. The nearest grocery store is like a twenty minute walk or three stops by tram away, and the nearest bar (not counting the campus bar, the size of a small warehouse and to whose upkeep I imagine a fair percentage of our tuition dollars are designated) is 15 tram stops away. Did I mention probably 70% of the students commute to and from campus? Yeah, a tad isolating. So no, Bundoora, I will not miss you.
The Tram: Sorry Dad, I know the Melbourne tram system was the highlight of your trip to Australia, but I just can't feel the same fervent passion. Apparently the Victorian Transit Department hires only sadistic drivers who enjoy braking and accelerating with all the fervor their black little hearts can muster in what can only be viewed as attempts to actively throw passengers to the ground. Just last weekend, I accidentally punched a woman in the face as I stood up in the two seconds between leaving my seat and grabbing the railing. I felt terrible, but was quickly redeemed when, at the next stop, a man was thrown off balance and grabbed not only the railing but a sizable chunk of my hair. Owww. Also, remember how I mentioned that the closest bar is 15 tram stops away? Yeah, bar. As in drinking. As in alcohol + carsickness, as in MISERY. So no trams, I will not miss you, and your soul-stealing, cartilage-weakening, stranger-punching nausea.
The Bus: See tram, but with more active aggression from the driver, who you have to interact with to buy a ticket. Though, be warned, if you give him over a 20, you WILL be screamed at. On the bright side you may not have to pay. Money, that is. You will pay in future psychiatric bills, as you scurry down the aisle away from the driver yelling at your retreating back, hoping to make it to a seat before he punches the gas and you hurtle into outer space.
But that's enough of that.
Things I Will Miss:
Melbourne: Melbourne is WONDERFUL. Beautiful, clean, full of culture and life. I. Love. Melbourne. So. Much. The wonderful, sprawling Queen Victoria outdoor market reminds me of the night markets in the Thailand, practically thrumming with energy. Not to mention, Queen Vic will always hold a special place in my heart due to a DELICIOUS and heaping plate of fresh, homemade donuts, topped with ice cream and melted chocolate that I enjoyed there, and which I suspect is still haunting my thighs. But well worth it. Open, outdoor Federation Square on the banks of the Yarra River. So much exciting stuff happens in Fed Square. I have seen numerous street performers with varying levels of talents. African Drum Shows, Caribbean dancers, and some strange exhibition which involved elderly people doing something that looked a lot like square dancing. It is a cultural mecca, surrounded by the Australian Centre for the Moving Image, where I attended screenings during Melbourne's Queer Film Festival, and copious museums. But some of Melbourne's greatest treasures are slightly more hidden. Laneways are prevalent in Melbourne, tiny alleyways that weave labyrinth-like through the major city streets. These blink-and-you-miss-them treasures house shops and restaurants a bit more off the beaten path. My favorite is Shanghai Dumping, where you can by 20 dumplings for 6 dollars and merrily gorge yourself until you are thoroughly ill. So yes, Melbourne, I will miss you IMMENSELY, and hope to return to you someday.
Botanical Gardens: I have discovered an affinity for lots of new things whilst in Australia: baking, taking long walks, AustraliKiwi carpenters, geology (PSYCH), and most importantly Botanical Gardens. The one in Melbourne is GORGEOUS. Absolutely beautiful, sprawling, verdant, all kinds of adjectives. It is a perfect oasis in a bustling city, full of lakes upon which black swans float peacefully, when not being harassed by John Lathrop, and all kinds of other peaceful things. There are plentiful benches upon which I like to perch and do absolutely nothing but stare at the greenery around me and feel completely lucky to be alive.
The People: There are some pretty amazing people over here, American, Canadian, Australian, South African and more. I have lived with, taken classes with, traveled with some of the most fascinating people I have ever met, and watching them begin to pack up and leave over the last few days has been harder than expected.
Well there you have it. I realize at this point my con list outweighs my pros, but in my defense, I'm just trying to soften the blow of leaving one of the most gorgeous cities I've had the privilege of spending time in (no, not you Bundoora, jesus).
On Thursday I head up to sunny Queensland to begin a life of what can hopefully be described as Australian suburban bliss for the next six weeks. Jamie and I are planning on watching copious movies, reading lots of books, and trying to celebrate a year's worth of holidays in 6 weeks (getting pumped for the 4th of July). I am very excited at what the near future holds, and as long as Jamie can avoid breaking a hip or having a stroke (worries for men of his distinguished age), he, I and the possum who lives in our backyard should be very happy together for the next 6 weeks.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
In which I prove that you don't need a plentiful bank account to be x-treme
When I decided to come to Australia, I decided it would be a new chapter of adventure in my life. I wanted to skydive, bungee jump, and all sorts of other extreme (henceforth referred to as x-treme to seem cooler and, you guessed it, more x-treme) endeavors. I soon realized, however, that being x-treme is a bit pricey, and as anyone who has ever watched me gleefully steal pens from banks/anywhere they are stupid enough to leave them on the counter without that annoying tether or rejoice that bread is on sale at the grocery store knows, extravagance is not normally my jam. So when I realized skydiving and bungee jumping cost hundreds of dollars, and that bargain hunting for the cheapest company with whom to entrust my life and supervise me throwing my body from great heights was probably unwise, I knew I would have to look elsewhere for adventure.
Which is how I found myself sitting on a busy street corner in downtown Melbourne with my guitar and my good friend Kara, going to town on our rendition of "You Belong With Me" by our girl T-Swizzle. Yup, busking, or for the uninformed, street performance.
Our road from mild-mannered American students to sidewalk troubadours has been a long one. We first discussed the idea of busking while inspired by incredible talent at Bluesfest, coupled with copious amounts of boxed wine and a couple inebriated renditions of various Boyz II Men songs. We had brief pipe dreams of busking our way around Australia, making enough money to keep us in campsites and bus tickets, but alas scheduling conflicts got in the way (as they do with most great duos) and with less than a week remaining in Melbourne we decided it was now or never.
I met up with Kara outside her dorm at Uni Melbourne. We had discussed doing a quick runthrough of the songs we were thinking about, having never previously performed together, but quickly decided that rehearsal was for pussies. We hit the road and soon found a suitable location for our talent (read: a bench by a tram stop on Bourke St). I feel that I should preface with some background of our musical talents: Kara has a beautiful singing voice and performs regularly with her a cappella group in Chicago. I have been dicking around with a guitar for about four years now, never progressing past the stage of "novice," and have never performed in front of anyone besides my parents (who were supportive. Thanks Mom and Dad).
Needless to say, I was spooked, and trembling hands do not make for smooth chord progressions. Eventually I began to overcome my sheer terror and get into the groove a bit more, yet by ten minutes into our "performance" our guitar case remained woefully empty, the $1.80 Kara deposited into it as seed money glinting forlornly in the fading afternoon light. However, a few more minutes into our patented acoustic version of "Paparazzi" and an older man dropped a two dollar coin into the case. We both immediately dropped all pretenses of professionalism and effusively thanked him, Lady Gaga all but forgotten as we giggled like maniacs over our newfound success. After this initial donation, the funds were practically rolling in. We managed to play it cool after our first outburst, mainly because I realized I can do one thing at a time: play guitar or thank people like an idiot, albeit a grateful one. Surprisingly, only one of these is conducive to successful busking. The rest of the performance went relatively unremarkably, aside from the fact that we were performing on the side of a freaking road in a major city and no one was booing us or actively trying to shoo us away. We did face our fare share of struggles as we battled the sounds of clanging tram bells and an overzealous street sweeper (really sir, the streets are clean enough. Take your loud machine away from us, can't you see we're trying to make an honest dollar?) but our most tenacious foe came in the form of a rather aggressive fellow who attempted to join in our spontaneous performance. This man trundled up to us, looking slightly disheveled, with a guitar slung under his arm. Initially we thought maybe we had taken this man's territory, and perhaps we were in for a busking turf war, but this man had more peaceable intentions. He was merely a fellow musicians, and drawn by our melodious strains, had come to add his tunes to the mix. Only a couple problems: he was terrifying, and it didn't work. We soon realized the reason I wasn't able to figure out what chords he was playing was because his guitar only had 4 strings and the reason he wasn't able to join in with us was because he was insane. Eventually he stuck to drumming on his guitar as we played and bopping his head to the beat. Oh well, everyone needs a Ringo.
Our overall take was 12.60 for about an hours worth of performance. Not too bad, and more importantly, enough to treat us to a split lentil burger for dinner. Guess I'll see you guys on "Behind the Music."
Which is how I found myself sitting on a busy street corner in downtown Melbourne with my guitar and my good friend Kara, going to town on our rendition of "You Belong With Me" by our girl T-Swizzle. Yup, busking, or for the uninformed, street performance.
Our road from mild-mannered American students to sidewalk troubadours has been a long one. We first discussed the idea of busking while inspired by incredible talent at Bluesfest, coupled with copious amounts of boxed wine and a couple inebriated renditions of various Boyz II Men songs. We had brief pipe dreams of busking our way around Australia, making enough money to keep us in campsites and bus tickets, but alas scheduling conflicts got in the way (as they do with most great duos) and with less than a week remaining in Melbourne we decided it was now or never.
I met up with Kara outside her dorm at Uni Melbourne. We had discussed doing a quick runthrough of the songs we were thinking about, having never previously performed together, but quickly decided that rehearsal was for pussies. We hit the road and soon found a suitable location for our talent (read: a bench by a tram stop on Bourke St). I feel that I should preface with some background of our musical talents: Kara has a beautiful singing voice and performs regularly with her a cappella group in Chicago. I have been dicking around with a guitar for about four years now, never progressing past the stage of "novice," and have never performed in front of anyone besides my parents (who were supportive. Thanks Mom and Dad).
Needless to say, I was spooked, and trembling hands do not make for smooth chord progressions. Eventually I began to overcome my sheer terror and get into the groove a bit more, yet by ten minutes into our "performance" our guitar case remained woefully empty, the $1.80 Kara deposited into it as seed money glinting forlornly in the fading afternoon light. However, a few more minutes into our patented acoustic version of "Paparazzi" and an older man dropped a two dollar coin into the case. We both immediately dropped all pretenses of professionalism and effusively thanked him, Lady Gaga all but forgotten as we giggled like maniacs over our newfound success. After this initial donation, the funds were practically rolling in. We managed to play it cool after our first outburst, mainly because I realized I can do one thing at a time: play guitar or thank people like an idiot, albeit a grateful one. Surprisingly, only one of these is conducive to successful busking. The rest of the performance went relatively unremarkably, aside from the fact that we were performing on the side of a freaking road in a major city and no one was booing us or actively trying to shoo us away. We did face our fare share of struggles as we battled the sounds of clanging tram bells and an overzealous street sweeper (really sir, the streets are clean enough. Take your loud machine away from us, can't you see we're trying to make an honest dollar?) but our most tenacious foe came in the form of a rather aggressive fellow who attempted to join in our spontaneous performance. This man trundled up to us, looking slightly disheveled, with a guitar slung under his arm. Initially we thought maybe we had taken this man's territory, and perhaps we were in for a busking turf war, but this man had more peaceable intentions. He was merely a fellow musicians, and drawn by our melodious strains, had come to add his tunes to the mix. Only a couple problems: he was terrifying, and it didn't work. We soon realized the reason I wasn't able to figure out what chords he was playing was because his guitar only had 4 strings and the reason he wasn't able to join in with us was because he was insane. Eventually he stuck to drumming on his guitar as we played and bopping his head to the beat. Oh well, everyone needs a Ringo.
Our overall take was 12.60 for about an hours worth of performance. Not too bad, and more importantly, enough to treat us to a split lentil burger for dinner. Guess I'll see you guys on "Behind the Music."
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