March 5th
Day 2 at Gasworks: Allison asks is anyone feels like a more creative job. Oh, for the love of everything, yes please!
I spend the morning drawing out 25 letters on cardboard, each a meter high, that are to be made 3-dimensional with the help of gaffer tape. [Isn’t that a better name than “duct tape”?]
Upon finishing, Allison informs me that I’m a legend.
In all fairness, “You’re a legend” gets tossed around a lot here, but it’s such a fantastic expression. I feel immense pride for my Sesame-Street-grade letters.
The process of turning them into solid, standing 3D letters, however, is not as easily accomplished: Allison and I only finished several after a couple hours of concerted effort and by then, it’s quitting time for me. And I can’t say I’m sad not to be back tomorrow to finish the job.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ali vs Google Maps
March 4th
I didn't lug all my stuff to Adelaide, since I'm heading back to Melbourne in less than two weeks; for some reason, however, my map of Adelaide didn't make the cut and I've been making due with a relatively shabby (but free) one from the tourist information booth.
***
Wednesday morning. I leave the house a little after 9am, heading beyond the border of North Adelaide to volunteer at The Gasworks Theatre for the fringe. With Google's directions carefully recorded in my book, there's no reason I shouldn't get there by 10am.
Except that Barton Terrace West doesn't connect to War Memorial. And when I do find War Memorial, there's not really a "right" to turn onto, so I go sort-of-left-ish.
And walk for ages, looking for Park Terrace.
War Memorial circles the golf course and there's not much around. Finally, I approach a bigger cross street. This must be it. Except that it's King William.
Which means that after an hour and a half of walking, I'm about 5 minutes away from where I started. Not even kidding. A full circle around North Adelaide.
The same route, except turning right at War Memorial and I arrive at Gasworks 3 hours after leaving the house, tired and cantankerous. One of my tasks is to spray paint bean bag chairs in the wind. Ugh.
The next day, Erik and Bec offer to give me a drive, I'm sure to save me from having a repeat adventure. They must think I am ridiculously incompetent.
Google maps, may I never doubt you again!
I didn't lug all my stuff to Adelaide, since I'm heading back to Melbourne in less than two weeks; for some reason, however, my map of Adelaide didn't make the cut and I've been making due with a relatively shabby (but free) one from the tourist information booth.
***
Wednesday morning. I leave the house a little after 9am, heading beyond the border of North Adelaide to volunteer at The Gasworks Theatre for the fringe. With Google's directions carefully recorded in my book, there's no reason I shouldn't get there by 10am.
Except that Barton Terrace West doesn't connect to War Memorial. And when I do find War Memorial, there's not really a "right" to turn onto, so I go sort-of-left-ish.
And walk for ages, looking for Park Terrace.
War Memorial circles the golf course and there's not much around. Finally, I approach a bigger cross street. This must be it. Except that it's King William.
Which means that after an hour and a half of walking, I'm about 5 minutes away from where I started. Not even kidding. A full circle around North Adelaide.
The same route, except turning right at War Memorial and I arrive at Gasworks 3 hours after leaving the house, tired and cantankerous. One of my tasks is to spray paint bean bag chairs in the wind. Ugh.
The next day, Erik and Bec offer to give me a drive, I'm sure to save me from having a repeat adventure. They must think I am ridiculously incompetent.
Google maps, may I never doubt you again!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Navigating Adelaide
March 2nd
Time after time, people keep telling me the same thing: Adelaide is easy to navigate because the CBD is laid out on a grid.
And in principle, it should be easy. Except that there’s no way to orient N, S, E, W – particularly since it’s been epically overcast.
There have been several instances of walking in the opposite direction of my intended destination for blocks before stopping to ask someone, only to be told, “Remember, it’s a grid.”
I didn’t forget; I just have no idea where I am.
[Making it completely irrelevant that North Terrace borders the north edge of the city, South Terrace, the south...]
Time after time, people keep telling me the same thing: Adelaide is easy to navigate because the CBD is laid out on a grid.
And in principle, it should be easy. Except that there’s no way to orient N, S, E, W – particularly since it’s been epically overcast.
There have been several instances of walking in the opposite direction of my intended destination for blocks before stopping to ask someone, only to be told, “Remember, it’s a grid.”
I didn’t forget; I just have no idea where I am.
[Making it completely irrelevant that North Terrace borders the north edge of the city, South Terrace, the south...]
Triple J
Some of you were privy to the agonizing 349-song challenge caused by my admittedly-sorry 2GB iPod. So far, I’ve been immensely pleased with my selections, but ultimately, the strife was somewhat undue. Because Australia is home to Triple J, Champion of all Radio Stations.
Triple J is publicly-funded, nationally broadcast, and basically what my iPod dreams of being. The closest Canadian comparison would be CBC3. Plenty of music, no commercials, Triple J is everything good.
And they love – love! – Canadian music here. (I feel slightly guilty that I’ve never heard of the vast majority of Australian bands).
I also appreciate that they don’t censor any of the songs; it does, however, crack me up that they provide a “This song contains coarse language” warning. Especially before Lily Allen’s new and very catchy single, which if you’ve heard censored is simply ridiculous.
[She’s huuuge here. I’d heard of her before, but is this something I missed?]
***
Triple J also presents a concert/gig series, which they broadcast live. A few weeks ago, I was listening to a re-broadcast of The Fleet Foxes, when it suddenly occurred to me why “Triple J” had been so familiar a name when I first arrived.
About 4 or 5 years ago, a friend gave me a copy of a live recording of Belle & Sebastian... done by Triple J.
As I pictured the CD in my mind, I realized it was “Live at The Espy,” which at the time had meant nothing, but is this amazing bar/music venue in St. Kilda that I went to my 2nd day in Melbourne and have been to a few times since.
Kind of a surreal thing, as I’d listened to that CD so many times driving back and forth to Halifax, only to be standing there a few years later on the other side of the world.
Triple J is publicly-funded, nationally broadcast, and basically what my iPod dreams of being. The closest Canadian comparison would be CBC3. Plenty of music, no commercials, Triple J is everything good.
And they love – love! – Canadian music here. (I feel slightly guilty that I’ve never heard of the vast majority of Australian bands).
I also appreciate that they don’t censor any of the songs; it does, however, crack me up that they provide a “This song contains coarse language” warning. Especially before Lily Allen’s new and very catchy single, which if you’ve heard censored is simply ridiculous.
[She’s huuuge here. I’d heard of her before, but is this something I missed?]
***
Triple J also presents a concert/gig series, which they broadcast live. A few weeks ago, I was listening to a re-broadcast of The Fleet Foxes, when it suddenly occurred to me why “Triple J” had been so familiar a name when I first arrived.
About 4 or 5 years ago, a friend gave me a copy of a live recording of Belle & Sebastian... done by Triple J.
As I pictured the CD in my mind, I realized it was “Live at The Espy,” which at the time had meant nothing, but is this amazing bar/music venue in St. Kilda that I went to my 2nd day in Melbourne and have been to a few times since.
Kind of a surreal thing, as I’d listened to that CD so many times driving back and forth to Halifax, only to be standing there a few years later on the other side of the world.
Speaking Australian
Although I have yet to come up with a personally satisfying response to, “How ya going?” (I know, it’s only one word, but the “ya” throws me off everything), I’m doing pretty well, overall: I use petrol, pots, and primary school seamlessly, although I refuse to say mate, reckon, heaps, or uni – believe me, they sound hideous in a Canadian accent.
Favorite term: Bogen, Bogan
Meaning: A hick, down to the standard dress/hair/numerous half-functioning cars. Equivalent, but delightfully superior, to Banger.
Favorite expression: Rock up
Meaning: To arrive.
Example: “I rocked up to the pub at half-ten and the place was rammed.”
Favorite term: Bogen, Bogan
Meaning: A hick, down to the standard dress/hair/numerous half-functioning cars. Equivalent, but delightfully superior, to Banger.
Favorite expression: Rock up
Meaning: To arrive.
Example: “I rocked up to the pub at half-ten and the place was rammed.”
Sunsets in Radelaide
Feb. 27th
Jezza is playing around on his laptop. I’m in the kitchen making tea. We’re waiting for Tristan at the house on the beach and then heading into Adelaide for their gig. The upstairs is very open with the west side entirely of windows facing the ocean.
I stop mid-pour as the sun – a perfect glowing circle – begins to lower toward the water.
“Oh man, Jez, check the sunset!”
“Yeah, Adelaide does sunsets pretty well.”
He looks out the window and, barely audibly, “Go, Adelaide.”
It’s maybe 10 minutes from the moment the sun came into the range of the windows until it was quite literally swallowed by the ocean, like a cartoon. Awe-struck, I didn’t move until a minutes after it disappeared.
Go, Adelaide.
Jezza is playing around on his laptop. I’m in the kitchen making tea. We’re waiting for Tristan at the house on the beach and then heading into Adelaide for their gig. The upstairs is very open with the west side entirely of windows facing the ocean.
I stop mid-pour as the sun – a perfect glowing circle – begins to lower toward the water.
“Oh man, Jez, check the sunset!”
“Yeah, Adelaide does sunsets pretty well.”
He looks out the window and, barely audibly, “Go, Adelaide.”
It’s maybe 10 minutes from the moment the sun came into the range of the windows until it was quite literally swallowed by the ocean, like a cartoon. Awe-struck, I didn’t move until a minutes after it disappeared.
Go, Adelaide.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Surfing
February 22nd
I came across Alba's Surf Club on a general Melbourne web forum. With about 80 members, typically 10 people go surfing Saturday and Sunday, every weekend. Open to all levels, there are a few instructors who offer lessons to the beginners. You can rent boards and wetsuits through the club, and carpool to the day's destination. And I was desperate to go surfing.
***
Sunday morning, bright and early, I pack everything up -- sunscreen, hat, towel, lunch, bathing suit -- and head to the meeting point. But when I get to where 523 should be, it's not there: 519 and then 527. The only thing in between is a little parking area.
Maybe this is where we're supposed to meet. (At this point, I don't have a phone and, for some reason, neglected to write down anyone in the club's contact info).
5 minutes before we're meant to leave and still no one else is there. Definitely at the wrong spot.
Maybe it's 532. So I start walking, quite disappointed that I may not be going surfing, after all.
A few blocks up, there are a bunch of people lashing boards to roof racks. Suddenly, I am horribly shy, and make a slow approach. Before I can say anything, one of the guys asks if I'm with the club. Yes, yes I am.
Introductions, final preparations, car arrangements, and we're off around 9am, only half an hour behind schedule (not bad, considering there are 24 people).
***
We're headed to Phillip Island, a 2-hour drive outside of the city. Maybe an hour in, we pass some roadkill. I give a somewhat dejected, "Oh..."
"What's up?" asks Tom, the driver and my soon-to-be surfing instructor.
"I was hoping the first kangaroo I saw would be alive..."
"Hmm, you’ll see more dead than alive, to be sure. Besides, I think that was only a wallaby."
***
There were four of us who had never surfed before. The conditions in the morning were pretty good for beginners, too. I stayed in the water until my legs were jelly and my arms didn’t have enough strength left to get me onto the board. (And I had my wetsuit on inside out for easily two hours before I could bring myself to stop long enough to change it).
The afternoon brought rougher surf and it took a while to get far enough out for a good crack at it. But I got my feet on the board and my hands off several times by the end of the day, which I’m told qualifies as standing up, despite being far from vertical.
***
One of the other beginners, a very tall Dutch girl, got whacked in the head – she would have been right behind me at the time, but I didn’t notice. One minute she was there; the next, gone. She gets to go to orientation at university tomorrow with a bunch of stitches, poor thing.
Everyone met up at a pub and waited for them to finish at the hospital, which amazingly only took a few hours on a sunny Sunday.
***
The group of guys play around like a bunch of bear cubs; it’s really quite funny. Alba tells me it’s something about being in the water together; you bond pretty quickly.
The sunset on the way home is brilliant: vibrant pink in a shimmering sky. Beautiful, but unsettling: the radiance due to the still-burning bush fires.
I came across Alba's Surf Club on a general Melbourne web forum. With about 80 members, typically 10 people go surfing Saturday and Sunday, every weekend. Open to all levels, there are a few instructors who offer lessons to the beginners. You can rent boards and wetsuits through the club, and carpool to the day's destination. And I was desperate to go surfing.
***
Sunday morning, bright and early, I pack everything up -- sunscreen, hat, towel, lunch, bathing suit -- and head to the meeting point. But when I get to where 523 should be, it's not there: 519 and then 527. The only thing in between is a little parking area.
Maybe this is where we're supposed to meet. (At this point, I don't have a phone and, for some reason, neglected to write down anyone in the club's contact info).
5 minutes before we're meant to leave and still no one else is there. Definitely at the wrong spot.
Maybe it's 532. So I start walking, quite disappointed that I may not be going surfing, after all.
A few blocks up, there are a bunch of people lashing boards to roof racks. Suddenly, I am horribly shy, and make a slow approach. Before I can say anything, one of the guys asks if I'm with the club. Yes, yes I am.
Introductions, final preparations, car arrangements, and we're off around 9am, only half an hour behind schedule (not bad, considering there are 24 people).
***
We're headed to Phillip Island, a 2-hour drive outside of the city. Maybe an hour in, we pass some roadkill. I give a somewhat dejected, "Oh..."
"What's up?" asks Tom, the driver and my soon-to-be surfing instructor.
"I was hoping the first kangaroo I saw would be alive..."
"Hmm, you’ll see more dead than alive, to be sure. Besides, I think that was only a wallaby."
***
There were four of us who had never surfed before. The conditions in the morning were pretty good for beginners, too. I stayed in the water until my legs were jelly and my arms didn’t have enough strength left to get me onto the board. (And I had my wetsuit on inside out for easily two hours before I could bring myself to stop long enough to change it).
The afternoon brought rougher surf and it took a while to get far enough out for a good crack at it. But I got my feet on the board and my hands off several times by the end of the day, which I’m told qualifies as standing up, despite being far from vertical.
***
One of the other beginners, a very tall Dutch girl, got whacked in the head – she would have been right behind me at the time, but I didn’t notice. One minute she was there; the next, gone. She gets to go to orientation at university tomorrow with a bunch of stitches, poor thing.
Everyone met up at a pub and waited for them to finish at the hospital, which amazingly only took a few hours on a sunny Sunday.
***
The group of guys play around like a bunch of bear cubs; it’s really quite funny. Alba tells me it’s something about being in the water together; you bond pretty quickly.
The sunset on the way home is brilliant: vibrant pink in a shimmering sky. Beautiful, but unsettling: the radiance due to the still-burning bush fires.
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