Is that what I think it is... haven't seen 1 for so long...

I am rich!

I am respected!

I have purpose!

I. HAVE. A. JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YEHAEYHZEYAHEYAHEAJHEEYHAJJEYHAEYAKHDBAFRTYWEYEHEYEHAYEHA!

Much of last night was spent with me grinning & saying, “Its ok babe, we can now afford that! I’m now rich! I have a job!”

To his protests of “Well, actually, academia & your real research job doesn’t pay as well as this fantasy Getty Oil job you seem to mistakenly believe you have”.

To which I would ignore him and slip into dreaming about how I can now afford a 3rd beer on a Melburnian night out. Order a bottle of wine in a restaurant. Find myself in a restaurant where the tables are as stylish as being made out of REAL wood & not warped plastic. How I will no longer have intricate debates with an 8 year old about whether the hired help – me – actually has any intellectual capacity considering her (my) type of work (babysitting). Or be interrogated by the same kid & her sibling about how can I be wearing pink nail polish on my toes, they thought I was poor.

No more!

I will once more have a valid reason to stand up each morning & hit the clogged roads. Be entitled to complain about feeling like a rat in a cage when secretly I am so chuffed that my bank balance does not rest on a Third World country’s mood swings, but rather increases monthly. I might even make my own Australian friends! And learn the inner workings of the inner city!

It all looks sun shiny good today.

On that note, I am off to the bottle store’s cold room to lie on some slabs of beer….
As what I also have is an apartment that thinks it is an Easy-Bake Oven. 35 degrees outside. Roasting Chicken temperature inside.

Sweat sweat sweat.

But it’s ok. In 2 weeks I’ll be working in the sweet sweet airconditioned surrounds of a university office.

What Australia Day Involves

We woke up on Australia Day & thought “What a day for a holiday!! Yeeeeeeeesssss indeeeed. Austaaaalia Day!!! Yeah! Hmmm.... Dooby dooby dooo... ho hum.... Well, now what…”

I had been warned that there are only 2 rules on this day.

1. To do absolutely not a stitch or inch or moment of work.
CHECK!

2. To have your first beer in hand by midday.
Uh oh.


But what else!?

Aussies replied to our sms’d questions of “Now what??” with – it’s a family day, get yourself to a bbq.

Greeeeaaaaat. We don’t know any Aussie families. And it’s a bit late to charm our way into anything, ain’t it.

Now what?

So we headed into the city and were confronted by more Australian paraphernalia than a Baz Lurman movie. Everyone was wearing flags as cloaks, flags across their boobs, around their heads, as bag fillers & cap jewellery.

Flags flapped flaccidly about the city from every pole.

How patriotic! How… odd. All these Human-Flags were foreign. But VERY foreign. Not a stereotypical Aussie in sight.

See. All the Aussies have families nearby. And all the families are hosting barbies. So all the aussies clear out from their own celebrations and leave us orphaned immigrants to fly the flag high.

So we watched some tennis in Fed Square & wandered about taking in the festitivities and buskers and foreigners watching me watching them watching me, till I could take it no more & declared it Beer O’Clock.

To which 2 mates responded with “Let’s Barbie on the banks of the Yarra. We’ll bring the slab & the kanga sausages. You just rock up”

And a good afternoon, evening, night was had by all immigrants in the end!
Because all barbie'd meat ends up between 2 pieces of pre-sliced bread. Note the free public barbeque being used. And the 1st of the day's beers. Aussies spotted! Drunk & swimming in a river you shouldn't swim in.Initial view from our spot on the Yarra banksMiddle of the way view from our spot on the Yarra banksFinal view from our spot on the Yarra banks. Then we stood up to watch the fireworks...which is exactly when my camera decided it had had enough of the day & died on me.


It is interesting that not all Australians celebrate this day.

Some people believe that this day signifies in history the European invasion of Australia which led to the death of many Aboriginal people. Aboriginal people apparently mourn on this day, as does most of Queensland (Rumour from an acquaintance has it). I’m not yet sure why Queensland had its own special mention in her rendition – is it mainly made up of Aboriginal groups? Or are Queensland residents sympathisers of the Aboriginal history?

And some Aussie folk believe that the celebrations should rather be held in September when Australia fought with Turkey… in Turkey… I’m also not sure why that proves Australian Day, but I guess, if you are going to change things to make everyone happy (except the Turks), then why not that moment.

Why I Despise Australia Today #1

Disclaimer:
This is for those low travel days. When all you see is the shite and home could Only Ever Oh Definitely Offer Better (Ha!). It completely recognises that this is one-sided, unfair and probably a pack of misguided lies. Well. Not lies. But narrow-minded and not-really-revealing-the-whole-story. (Only some of it anyway). Because everyone is allowed narrowed-minded angry days where you just want to shout at your surroundings because they are so different to your comfort zone. And some days, your body, mind and soul just want comfort. Even citizens within their own countries have these days.... obviously, otherwise we wouldn’t have the extreme & despised form... The Expat.


#1. Aussie’s Free TV News

Aussie Free TV News is shite. It is shiter than shite. It is buried with its head so deep in the sand you would think the head had popped out somewhere else and might start reporting on the other side of the world.

BUT NO!

The free tv news is local, pedestrian, boxed-in and so lacking in intelligence it would make even SA tabloid journos cringe.

Example 1:

Monday night’s 6pm Prime Time News.

Item 3 is an “in-depth report” on how a handful of local Melburnians were charged $800 by a malfunctioning parking metre, instead of the usual $8. Interviews take place. Accusations that are not followed up on are made. Everyone shouts. And hysteria is created within minutes. About parking metres.

20 minutes later, somewhere near the end, within 30 seconds all done in a rush:

“An Ethiopian Plane Crashes & Kills About 90 People. But Next in International News. Are British Tabloids Right When They Report That Brangelina is On The Rocks. Stay Tuned For Our Award-Winning Current Affairs Show That Has a Special Segment On The Inside Story Of Hollywoods Hottest Couple”.

Sorry? What was that? Did I hear about a country other than Australia, Britain or the United States mentioned there?? Go back! Go back! Fkc it. Lose concentration for 20 whole seconds & there goes the world....!

It’s not that there is not news to report on this continent. There are boat loads of immigrants floating off the coast, the international world is funnily enough not that far off, Australians’ lives are being affected every day by global events. Rumours even have it there is some news-worthy stuff going on right here on this soil! But Sweep Away Sweep Away!

It’s not that this place is so “perfect” that a kangaroo’s death is all that can appear in the news (as happened yesterday!). This continent makes a conscious choice to not report on international political events... unless they take place in English-Speaking Western countries.

It makes life “Happier” that way.

Unless you are an International political scientists. Or just a broke global-minded person.

(I actually had a good Australia Day (sneaky b@stards like that!), so I’ll just make this list a regular segment and stop at #1 for now... Tongue In Cheek! It's Tongue In Cheek Ok!!!)

I thought we both spoke English

Champs Heathen: Thanks, and could I also get a packet for that…

Aussie Sales woman: A wha’??

CH: A packet.

ASW: A wha’??

CH: A pac. ket. A…uh…. Welll… A….bugger… A… [Blank Stare]

ASW: [Blank Stare]

CH: [Blank stare]

ASW: Oh, a bag!!??!

CH: YES! A BAG!!

Jetlagged love & resolve

If you don’t want to miss home, do not go home!

Simple.

Apparently.

The past month was too good. And it wasn’t just that it was home.

Weeelll.

Maybe it was.

But it is also because I love Africa. I love Southern Africa. I love all that is the chaos, the diversity, the contrasts, the personalities, the reality-in-your-face, the burst bubble and challenges and smiles and passion that goes with that.

To not drive my mind across the brink though, I have to forget about that for now. Now being for four years.

FOUR YEARS. What will I miss!?! Will my “Self” survive this bland safe bubble-ness. I keep asking, thinking, fearing that I will get sucked in, and lose myself. But I also need to not think it, to keep my sanity for this year.

I am back in Oz. Determined to beat this damn continent. Win it over & make it fall desperately in love me. Charm it with my all! ….after a quick stint recovering from jetlag on the couch watching the Oz Open.

So to 2010 and its consequential 10 resolutions:

1. Find a job
Who would’ve thought this one would appear. Here. Ha!

2. DO those art classes that I have been threatening to do for the past year
Even if the left side of my brain is rotting away with each rejected job application, at least I can steroid up the right side!

3. Write a book
This experience has to lead me to money in SOME way. Why not some cheesy chick lit book that promises to be the “Next Sex in The City meets Bridget Jones after one too many Devil Wears Prada’s”!

4. Carve my own space in this town
The only way to keep my form of sanity is to make it my own.

5. Sit up Straight
My spine just can’t cope with the C shape anymore. And my growing tummy definitely should not be allowed to cope with the C-shape anymore!

6. Walk 2 kilometres a day
When the fkc did I write this one!? What hellish concoction lead my brain to think this one up during the New Year’s Day Zone!?

7. Keep up better contact with wide range of friends
I am admitting recluse defeat. It was such a lovely few years of relative solitude though.

8. One crazy travel trip!
18 hours on no sleep in Singapore on Wednesday might almost count though! But if there is not a Scandinavian and/or some painful hungover flight where I consume all perishables on board, it does not count.

9. Less Facebook!!
With reclus’ism must go voyeurism. It is not real. It is silly. It is not reality.

10. Recover from jetlag with afternoon stints on the couch watching pro tennis

At least I know one will be achieved before today’s sunset!

Photographic Summarising

Because I have run out of verbal inspiration. Actually, I think I've just completed my final batch of words for 2009. And I don't need to think till some stage in 2010. Here is life by photos. Well, not all of life, cause I am forgetting to be a tourist. But. Here are some photos.

I would've put up some photos of The Diamond Hunter's Sheep Sheering experiences but he appears to have (wisely?) locked his camera from me lifting photos. Not sure how he did that.

....Bastard....

Now for the photos.

BAMMMMM!

Flinders Station. The station to upstage all stations. 100 years and counting. You haven't been to Melbourne if you haven't been to Flinders Station... well, don't I just sound like a 1950s Jazz Croooner...

Champs gets closer & closer to the Aussie outback. Blue Gums, 37 degrees, & dirty water! Now lets find me a croc....

Kookabura sitting in some old tree. La la laa ddee. Cookoboura. Kokakabura. Bugger it. Big fat Aussie bird. Parking off In a tree. That Aussie blokes with banjos like to sing about...

And Talking about singing... Busking. Anywhere anytime... The new plan is that I'm gonna be his back-up singer if this job thing still doesn't materialise... Dooopp Doooopp Peee Dooooo

4x4'ing. Bluddy fkcing hell. Have you been 4x4'ing. The mission IS to get stuck in the mud!

Then the 4x4'ing got scary. Spooky woods... with freaky things carved onto them...and blood (or tree gum, whatever) dripping from them.

Serene camping view one way....Aaaaaahhhhhhhh

Parking lot view the other way.....

Winnipago Conference 2009 hits the camping world, and we got to fall asleep under the stars to the whirling of someone's onboard toilet!

Can you see who this is!? Hey hey! Are you jealous yet! I'll give you a clue... "Can't find a better maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.........."

"Will you damn rock mob get the hell out of here already!!!!'

Etihad Stadium just could not get rid of us. 2 1/2 hours later. Ben Harper on one guitar, Eddie on the other... The lights came on but the boozed rockers kept singing.

Back to some Flinders shots... This time "with Tram" YEHAYEHAEH. Man, this shot would've been better in focus.

"Meet you under the clocks" or some other cheesiness. Clocks of departing train lines. Very important. Very bluddy stressful. You still have to get through the ticket things & a thousand people, across a station, down useless escalators and onto your platform.... Renaming this shot: "Champs' Fitness Regime"

Merry Merry Christmas from Melbourne!

Some other photo moments:

Picturing Melbourne

Why I've been so quiet

Quoting 2

“The Cold War was cold only for the rich and privileged places of the planet”

The Wasted Vigil, Nadeem Aslam



“…thanks to new research, we have learned that the international movement of educated people changes the incentives to acquire education, sends enormous quantities of money across borders, leads to movements back and forth, and can contribute to the spread of trade, investment, technology, and ideas. All of this fits very uncomfortably in a rhyming phrase like "brain drain," a caricature that would be best discarded in favor of a richer view of the links between human movement and development”

Think Again: Brain Drain, BY MICHAEL A. CLEMENS, DAVID MCKENZIE

Congress of The Unemployed

Employment continues to evade me.

My determination to get something signed by the time the sponsored holiday HOME (!!!!) came along has failed.

And I am slowly psychologically accepting defeat & become ready to accept any job. “Secretary Champs Two Thousand And Ten”.

It’s not that I think I am “too good” to be a secretary or some such snobbish bullshite. It’s just that I feel I have worked so hard at my tertiary studies and career movements to throw it all in indefinitely to a “job to get by”.

This will be a job. Not a career.

Yesterday was a particularly rude rejection that left me crying on a bus because of how stupid their email made me feel. It had come from the company that offered me hope of a job working with African charities, took it back abruptly, put me back on the short list, and took me off again with no word to me until I followed up, then came back pretty much declaring that I was an idiot to imagine I would make the interview round. Why are the gatekeepers to my industry so lacking in compassion!?

Yesterday I was the freak on your bus.

Last night The Diamond Hunter (I think it is about time he had a better term than “The Guy” and it was his original nickname from my brothers) received some mail about joining a union. This sparked a fascinating interest in me…

CH: That’s it! I am making my own union. Congress of The Unemployed!
DH: And what exactly are you guys going to do, Champs? Sit around and have a collective mope about not having jobs?
CH: YES! Damn straight! And then, when someone has received a particularly rude or unfair rejection we will go and protest outside that company’s offices. I will show these Aussie unemployed folk how to dance & disrupt in true protest style!

By this stage Diamond Hunter was ignoring me to do something employed-person related, while I day dreamed of sweet collective support, through the means of a socialist tool. Oh the worker-irony.

CH: Yes! Disruption and discord to the daily runnings of employing companies! That will be our focus! Though, this is not to say I, as Chairperson, will be against any forms of “gifts” from the richer companies, to keep us away from them. Not some petty $3.20 coffee, mind you, I am talking big sweet bucks here, of all the rainbow colours my unemployed eyes have yet to see.

I will then distribute these funds amongst the union members. We will find release from our stress by protest dancing, and find support & sustainability through “gifts”!

Surely it is not blackmail if you are unemployed?

ExPat vs. Immigrant

This appeared in last Friday's mX - the free daily newspaper that people read on Melbourne trains, trams and buses....

There MAY have been sms'd in, in response... I wouldn't know... I don't manage to see the mX too often out here in my neck of the woods.


"Expat (mX, Fri), yours words are shameful and counter-productive to the millions of people working so hard to make South Africa and 2010 successful. Visitors to South Africa, remain as vigilant as you would in any new big global city, but don't think twice about visiting! You'll fall in love with our energy & positivity and be part of our development - Safely South African"


My country might have a lot of nonsense, but that does not give you the right to tell unknowing people to not visit it and experience it for themselves! Every single time you do, and every time you bad mouth my country, you insult the people I love, the emotions I hold, the people who care for me, and the incredible work being done by so many people of every demographic. My country change daily, and unless you were there, in the centre of it all, not just passing through your parents' home five years ago, hold your tongue and MOVE ON politely.

Hell, the Aussie plumber even told me this week about two of his mates who moved over to South Africa, (not together, two incidents), because they went to visit & fell in love with SA and have no intentions of coming back here.

HA! Suck on that Expat! I am the irritation in the Negative Expats' side!

Ego Boost

Anytime I find myself in too much of a slump, feeling too sorry for unemployed defacto immigrant me, when I really need a lift and that Oprah-WALK-ON moment… I take public transport.

Why? Because if you ever are looking for an ego-boost, it is Public Transport that will put you into contact with the people who give you that in seconds.

It’s because mingling with such people floods you with thoughts of, “I might be in a fkced-up situation, with little forward-motivation. BUT AT LEAST! I am not as screwed up as that guy”!

Like the guy that stands at the shopping mall bus stop to take photos of the buses. My Guy once got caught in a convo with him, stuck in bizarre dialogue about what kind of bus do you think this is? A Honda? No no, maybe a Volvo? What about that one coming up? Ooooo excitement. CLICK. Then the odd guy jumped on the bus and started hounding the bus driver with questions about makes and models, before getting off the bus, and taking another photo.

When I saw this guy, he dashed behind the bus stop, and quickly only his camera snuck out to “CLICK”.

Or the man who declared his undying love to me as I was taking my seat on a bus.
CH: Ha. Thanks very much. Oh look. My book.
TrueLoveMan: Yes. You never know when love is going to arrive but suddenly it does and it could be anywhere here on a bus or somewhere else but here it is and we find it here on a bus because I love you yes you are the love of my life and now we all know in front of all these witnesses that there is such a thing as true love here on this bus because yes I have found it here on this bus with you on this bus here
CH: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I find it is weekends that really bring out the “Ego Boosting people”. I am not sure if they are diluted in the week, or if they just realise how much more impact they can make when the trains are less empty.

The heroin family taking up four aisles of seats with their stuff as they dash between bags, babies and sudoku puzzles. And you in the 5th aisle are thinking, surely they can’t move up anymore, before having some cruddy bag shaken onto you for her to retrieve sandwiches for the 5 year old kid that is busy trying to walk through the closing train doors onto a platform. And every other passenger, but these two OD’ing adults, has their eyes popping out of our heads thinking, please please please watch your kid! Ohgod, I actually hope that isn’t your kid and this is a bad choice of babysitter for the day!

There are bus moments when a delightfully sweet old lady climbs on and starts up a sugar-sweet convo with you, only for you to realise she is talking to her neighbour from 1957 and your being just happens to be in the way. You never are too sure if you are meant to respond to yes, how the youth of today are loitering about the milk bar a little too much lately.

Or you tram it through town and suddenly find yourself caught between some stylish Asian chicks and a druggie, with dirt under her nails and picked scabs all around her head. My Guy has retreated to the other side of the tram because he doesn’t want a tetanus shot. And the druggie is waving her rubbish bag of possessions around and tells me, a little too upclose, that these biatches don’t know what they are talking about, why are they are ignoring her, she’ll take them on, oh yeah, she’ll show them. While they try outstare some spot on the tram floor. And I am just doing my best to not laugh at the fkced-up-ness of the situation. Cause a hint of a smile could land one of those nails in my face.

It’s the “dolled-up teen chicks” though, that reaaally bring through that sense of superiority. With comments and conversations so dumb that there is a section of the free daily newspaper dedicated to what they might have said and you overheard; and I LOVE IT!

Chick 1: Like, what I don’t, like, get is why do the people in like France and Russia have to go and make up their own languages. Like why can’t they just stick with English?
Chick 2: Wait, what’s Russia?

And you slap your forehead in pain at what you are hearing, and every other passenger is just doing this slow shake of their head. Except Chick 3, who is thinking, like OhMyGod, why didn’t this quadruplet woman in the newspaper just stop letting them come out after two!

Or some ten year old, all clean-cut, pulled-up socks, pigtails in hair, pink-outfitted, backpack packed with sarmies and orange juice, leaning around her boozed gothic mother, who is just trying to get her alcohol-drenched muscles to keep her standing up, to tell the mom’s boyfriend that he is a “fkcing cunt”.
“Seriously Mom. Why does HEEEEE have to come along today. Can’t the bastard just have stayed on the mattress”.
And the mom slurs something incomprehensible.
And the “Fkcing Cunt” stands in his Doc Martens, faded tats, and straggly hair, just staring ahead.
And I wonder if I should get Child Welfare on speed dial for these delightful Sunday afternoon moments.

The joke is, in that sick unfunny way, that these guys all get free education and health care, welfare cheques and $9000 every time they pop out a baby, while us idiot immigrants babysit their kids, care for their elderly, pack their supermarket shelves, taxi & bus them about, and nurse them through their ODs.

Ah fkc. Now that I got me all depressed in that realisation, let me go and find a bus to travel on or something.

World AIDS Day 2009

"AIDS remains one of the leading causes of premature death globally", Ban Ki Moon, UN Secretary General.

World AIDS Day today.

A day to think about – highlight – bring awareness to – bring empathy to – everyone who is affected and infected by HIV.

And I guess, if you live in South Africa, there is an incredibly good chance that you are affected by HIV.

Are you?

Maybe you are even infected. When did you last check your HIV status?

But this day is not about “hugging an AIDS Orphan” or commiserating with people who can only access health care and health information through our Public Health system. It is about getting a dialogue going between you, yourself, your partner(s), your family, your friends, the people that share a household with you, people at work… Anyone in your daily life.

What do you know about HIV.

What do you THINK you know, but is actually a very dangerous myth and simply hearsay.

What do you do to keep yourself and your loved ones HIV-negative or living Positively, if you are infected.

Do you discriminate against people with HIV, thinking “oh, they deserve it, they had unsafe sex, it’s the children who are born positive that I feel sorry for”, or some such shocking discriminating narrow-minded justification. A justification you allow, to passively accept your fear of the disease, rather than taking on and working through your fear, and fighting back against the disease and the complexities around it.

Because ANY HUMAN can contract HIV. Anyone. And we need to face that first, before we can move forward in our fight. And we need to accept that AIDS is one of the world’s leading causes of premature death.

Does it matter how a person became infected. Are you only willing to face HIV and support a HIV-positive person if you approve of the way they contracted it.

So what if someone had unprotected sex. At the very biological root of it all, so what.

Have you?

This person is now sick. And this person deserves health care, love, correct information, guidance, advice on the future and the future options for their family.

Until there is this love, guidance, advice, emotional and medical support, the virus will rule us.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I left all my red ribbons in SA. I feel almost manic in wanting to find something to wear to recognise this day.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some Stats & Facts from the UNAIDS Epidemic Report 2009:

�� Latest data indicate that fewer than 40% of young people have basic information about HIV and less than 40% of people living with HIV know their status;
�� The number of new HIV infections continues to outstrip the numbers on treatment—for every two people starting treatment, a further five become infected with the virus;
�� Despite considerable progress in treatment, global coverage remains low: in 2008, only 42% of those in need of treatment had access (compared with 35% in 2007).

For other UNAIDS Fact Sheets, by region, and the Epidemic Update 2009 Report, click here.

Let me Introduce you

The first time I met him was when I was taking out the rubbish one evening. All I could think was “Yoh! But aren’t you obese!”

The next time was when we bumped into each other on the pavement. He turned and fled.

My Guy started to ask around about him. And that’s where it all became very amusing. To me, at least.

The prissy office mate at My Guy’s work informed him in her disdainful tone that this guy loves nothing more than to get drunk. And once he’s moved in, you’re not going to get rid of him. So Be Warned! Get rid of him now!

Be warned! If you are not relentless and call in some professionals, you are going to end up with a snoring slobbering drunk possum suffering from Sunday morning Losers in your ceiling!

And that is what we now have.

I have a possum. He looks like an obese cat. And is cute and cuddly in that rabid stray wild animal sort of way. But he has his charm. Who could not be charmed by an antisocial drunken basketball of dirty hissing fur, that sounds like a hefty man when he walks around the ceiling.

The story goes that he likes to eat the fermenting berries, these get him drunk, and then he lopes home, “slips” (crashes!) under a tile, and is supposed to pass out in a snoring slobbering obese stupor. With poor me lying in the room beneath.

What she did not warn us about, was that he is an agro drunk. This guy has hour-long sunrise hissy fits like I have never heard them.

4am Sunday mornings and there I lie, shouting at the ceiling that I deserve some sleep too, I too am suffering from cheap-ass wine! As he hurtles about the ceiling above me hissing in hysterics at some chancer bird that has come near his “ceiling domain”. Or at the broom-banging from our neighbour’s side who also doesn’t want the guy snoring above them.

I didn’t sign up to ever be kept awake by a lover’s snores, so I certainly did not agree to be woken up and kept awake by a possum’s snores!

But! My revenge is Nye! I recently found out where he sleeps during the day (for some reason he moves on from the ceiling at some stage. Oh. I’m sorry. Do I make too much noise for you in my room below!). And I now have every intention of scratching and banging up a babalassing headache cacophony with occasional flashes of bright sunlight into his bloodshot boozer eyes!

Ha!

How I love digsmates.

Aussie Positivity

And then it feels like the planets just realign. Or Karma finally says, “Ok, you’ve had enough negativity for now, lets add some positivity to this tale” and works her magic.

And the atmosphere around you changes.

Let alone several very sweet people, including some dear strangers, trying to work their magic to get me employed…

The woman from that Aussie company working for African charities has fought with her superiors to secure me back in the applicants list.

I want to just kiss her Aussie cheeks!

Which cheeks, I guess, depends on how well I get through the aptitude tests and interviews.

Maybe it was my spamming “But WHY don’t you want me” email campaign. Perhaps she found this blog & was reduced to tears of guilt. Or maybe she is just a good person like that.

Then, an out-of-the-blue random job I applied for – in that last minute reshuffle-a-cover-letter-&-email-in-the-CV- way - came back within a weekend and requested a meeting. The man found my cv “interesting”.

And this is a man to be reckoned with. Working for a company to be awed. A quick googling yesterday turned into hours of reading and feelings of intimidation.

So off I hobbled this morning at sun-break for a “coffee” meeting.

Fok.

It’s been a LONG while since these feet found themselves steering highheels on pavements. Only for me to walk straight past the office because I couldn’t really believe they are based in THAT company’s building. Seriously? Suits & finance people? And me???? And I can sit on a topper floor doing good??

I had to recheck my make-up in restaurant windows several times to ensure I did not look like a clown with badly applied make up. There amongst the rich folk.

He pretty much said that the job would not suit me. I’d be banging my head against the desk in boredom within a few months. Personal Assisting is not my place anymore. But he found my CV so interesting that he wanted to meet with me. And to fight for me to get a good job in the industry, because it needs impressive passionate people like me.

"Look. I know you can do this job. But I don't think you should be doing this job. But that doesn't mean it ends here & I leave you in the lurch".

Then I wanted to just kiss his Aussie cheeks.

He also told me that one of the companies that interviewed me ages ago & rejected me has a bad reputation anyway. (Funny how that works out. You tell yourself that at the time, but you don’t really believe it).

But now, that my feet are free from their arched straps, I best be getting back to job applying. Because as sugar sweet as this all is. I still have not signed on any dotted line and not secured anything. Other than 2 hours wages from today’s babysitting.

Don't Speak About The...

This town is hitting 28 degrees AT NIGHT. Do you KNOW what that means!

...well, mainly it just means I am sleeping naked and wake up with a headache. So The Guy is happy, until he tries anything. And then he gets the age-old overused line thrown at him from my grumpy puddle of sweat:

“Fuck off. I have a headache. And a fan with sharp blades”.

Apparently these temperatures are now breaking records as far back as the 1800s.

So last night we tried to escape by heading back to the Astor Theatre Palace. I am loving this place. Especially that it shows old and strange movies.

We watched “Samson & Delilah” and “Lucky Country”.

"Samson & Delilah" is about 2 Aboriginal kids, in the current times. That’s all I really want to say, because you should watch it. And I think I have seen FB signs that it is hitting SA screens currently. Watch it, and you’ll even identify your own social setting within it.

I reckon the dialogue must have made up a whole two pages of the script. It’s slow. If you don’t like arty “Noveau” movies, then maybe give it a skip. But its hectic. And thought-provoking.

After 4 months in this town, there still is not too much that I can say from an outsider’s perspective about the Aboriginal Aussies here. Cause there is NOTHING obvious about their culture or even their existence. Nothing in the news. Nothing in general media. Nothing in socialising talk or even socialising.

You don’t see, let alone, meet up with any Aboriginal folk here.

The Guy told me that it is all very different when you land in Adelaide, in South Australia. And we are both interested to see what his many months of work in the Outback next year are going to reveal.

I have tried to get some community development jobs around “Aboriginal issues”, but have definitely picked up that I am not welcome in this area. It’s a very protected area. But not necessarily protected in a healthy way.

There really is NO dialogue about the very bizarre situation going on here.

Which is why “Samson & Delilah” is so much more intense.

And, I guess, it makes me love my country, region and culture more. Because we TALK. We all complain that there are topics that are “off bounds”, but the very fact that someone spoke up about it and then half the commentators attack them...while the other half “RAAAAH!” and support them on it, just shows how talkative we are. Politically & Anthropologically.

I don’t know if this is all unique to Melbourne & Victoria... which really is Little Britain. Or the country round. And, as newbie, I am still scared to ask.

At the end of it all, it is tough to judge (well, no, it isn’t, considering how easy & narrow-sighted judgement is...) because I come from a screwed up country & city. Where the Sandton Stare was perfected to ignore the begging kid at a street cafe or Malawian Mom & babe at the robot. And just cause I don’t ignore it in SA, I would be ignorant to claim we all did acknowledge the fkced-up disparities of wealth & social luck.

But, I guess, in SA, we talk, it’s in our face, we have the media ensuring we don’t forget it, we acknowledge that folk of any other colour & economic-standing have as many rights to be upheld, we consider this in our daily talk. And, in what seems to be a swelling movement, nearly every second person I know in SA is starting to do some small or massive effort to correct social-economic madness.

But here. Here really is a colony. The Brits rule. And the British (And American) Way of Life is the way to live.

Socialism. Aussie style. ?