State Bird of Indiana

This bird is not found in Australia - except on napkins, I guess.

Dental - Optometry

Just had my first eye exam in Sydney. In the States I had been going to UC Berkeley School of Optometry. Here, I went to a shopping mall office for a major chain (OPSM). Everyone gets a free annual eye exam courtesy Australia's Medicare. You have to pay for your own contact lens fitting and contacts or eyeglasses. However, a percentage of mine is covered through private insurance that my wife pays for through work. The insurance pays a specific dollar amount for glasses or contacts each year. There seemed to be much less pleading with the customer for fee-generating upgrades to service, however, I haven't actually purchased glasses yet, and I did overhear the guy suggestive-selling someone else anti-glare lens coating.

The equipment in the optometrist's office was a bit more advanced than used at UCB. Instead of manually turning the dials that change lenses, the machine was hooked to a computer, and the optometrist clicked something on the screen to change the lens setting. Then the settings are automatically in the patient record. They also had a different type of machine for contact lens fitting - you stared into a pattern on a screen while it took measurements. The optometrist said they only dilate your pupils if there seems to be a good reason - diabetes; whatever. I suppose they do it routinely in the States since people may not go see a doctor; so it's a way to catch problems?

Per the optometrist's advice, I switched to a single-use contact lens, since I was really only wearing them occasionally. I wear them for the beach, swimming, sailing, whatever outdoor activities. He said there is more of a problem with fungus in Australia with the warmth and humidity of Sydney, so better just to wear them and throw them away instead of dealing with fluids to sterilize.

At the dentist, some things were higher-tech; others surprisingly lower. My dentist in the States had an old-school x-ray machine - you cover your adenoids with a lead apron. The dentist here said the new x-ray machine emits such a small, focussed amount it's not necessary to have the lead covering. Also, while the x-ray film was the same (you bite down on the holder), the film was scanned by the computer and appeared on the computer monitor. There was a crack along the x-ray - the dentist said because of a wrinkle in the x-ray film (buying factory seconds?). The other thing that seemed a bit odd - my stateside dentist had his tools individually sterile-packed (he didn't have an assistant in the office I normally visited). The dentist here (independent, small practice), had all the tools in a drawer, like a silverware drawer. OK... hope they were all clean!

Voting in Australia

Each ballot, lovingly counted by hand. (I'm not eligible to vote, this is a notice someone else received.)

Vanuatu volunteer spot

There's an Australian Red Cross "volunteer" position to help develop the blood bank capacity and expertise in Vanuatu. Vanuatu - oh yeah - where bungee jumping was invented! Of course, I'm not eligible because I'm not a permanent resident yet (volunteer position comes with lodging and a living stipend). National Geographic video of Vanuatu vine jumping

Thanksgiving in Australia

Personally,  I always loved Thanksgiving,  because it's not an explicitly religious holiday,  yet it is the celebration of gratitude for Americans.  I'm really really annoyed that some Australians are adopting it like Halloween.  WTF?!  Halloween is universal,  and because the giant fruit bats return,  it sorta goes,  even though it's springtime.  But Thanksgiving? No.  NO!  People should not be fattening themselves on the harvest in the springtime. Maybe eat the moldy pieces left in the root cellar,  but gorging?  NO!  Besides,  the aboriginals here were skeptical,  territorial,  and attempted to repulse the invaders right off the bat.  One was captured and taken back to England.  He was seen as a traitor by his people. There was no Thanksgiving here. The crops were eaten by ants and other insects and the locals laughed.

Maternity leave - government employees

My wife has thoroughly explained the maternity leave benefits for public hospital employees. This became an issue because, like many HR issues, if paperwork isn't filed properly it can cause problems! Note - this is only government employees and larger "good" employers. Smaller businesses cannot provide this level of generosity, not only because of the expense, but because they don't have the personnel resources to make it work.

After working for at least 40 weeks, women are entitled to 14 weeks maternity leave at full pay. They can extend their time off for up to 2 years, however, they will not be paid beyond 14 weeks unless they have accumulated other time (vacation time or long service leave). After up to two years off work, they can return to their old position. If their position is no longer available, they must be offered a position with similar pay. Until the child starts school they can work part time, and then once the child starts school, they can return to the number of hours they worked before the maternity leave. If they decided to work full time before the child goes to school, they give up the option to reduce hours and reclaim them later under the maternity benefit.

Men can also take maternity leave. (she wasn't sure of duration - 2 weeks?)

While this seems extremely generous, it also has a side benefit to people looking for work and the employer. People can be hired on a temporary basis while someone is out on maternity leave. Most temporary hires become permanent employees, unless there are problems. This allows the employer to get rid of a new employee with no hassle, since they were originally hired as "temporary."

Rainbow Warrior

Today an Australian was saying their first visit to France did not go well because it was just after the sinking of Greenpeace's Rainbow Warrior in New Zealand.  A restaurant refused to serve them because at that point they were blaming the bombing of Rainbow Warrier on Australia.

Wikipedia - Rainbow Warrior sinking.

Ta kill ya

What's wrong with this picture? The fine print on this bottle says this tequila is a product of Mexico,  bottled in Germany,  imported by an Australian company in Sydney.  Global trade is one strange octopus.

Grocery store queue etiquette part deux...

Grocery store queue etiquette part deux... Don't know if people recall my grocery store check-out story? Since then, I've decided that it must be considered unspoken, common courtesy here that if someone only has a couple of items, and you have a lot, you let them go first. I mean, it's sort of a thing in the US, *however* I'm so used to not having many items that it doesn't really register with me. So... a few weeks ago, I'm checking out and a woman behind me is just STARING at me. I'm thinking wtf, am I wearing something weird; no? I don't even see that she has anything, and I think I was already checking out when she got behind me (or at least had my stuff, fewer than 10 items? on the belt). Anyway, as I'm paying, she puts... a box of bandaids on the belt. That's it. And she's sort of staring at me as she does it. Wait - was I supposed to *notice* she had only a box of bandaids? Who knows. Maybe she was just psycho.

But TODAY'S weirdness... I go to the store JUST to get cash back from debit card. Of course, I buy some stuff. I'm at check-out and some guy decides he's going to pile all his crap flush with mine, with no divider between them. He actually apologizes or something, as he runs to get another item. I didn't really hear what he said -I'm listening to a podcast with my earbuds. Anyway, I get the divider; no big deal, but when he comes back he's STANDING waay too close - personal space. wtf dude? And I've got my card out, because I want to get cash back. He asks how much something I have costs? I dunno - she scans it, there ya go - but his DISTRACTION of asking me that, and I've got my card out where he can see it - I FORGET to say cash back (I'm thinking the swipe machine automatically pops up the option, but it doesn't - you have to tell them first). Shit. I had gone to the store to get some cash, and all I got was some weird guy, now I'm paranoid he really was after my PIN number or something.

Yeah - I need to get out of the house more - but this smoke in the air from the bush fires makes you not feel like doing much.

Slow boat to China

Dear N -

I sent a package to your office.

The postal outlets here are franchises - it's a little odd because if you have a letter, they sell you a stamp and then you have to walk up the block and put it in the mailbox. But if you have a package, they send it from there. I have no idea why they just don't take the letters as well; maybe different guys come and get the letters in a bag, vs packages the guy probably has to come with a dolly and truck.

Anyway, the guy who runs our local postal outlet in Dulwich Hill is a cranky old Greek guy. He's never friendly, and whenever you step up to the counter, he acts like you're interrupting him from whatever he was doing.

I had to sort out how to send this package, which was not an easy process dealing with this guy, and basically I finally just gave up and said fine - send it first class. I thought that would make it easy (and the price wasn't *too* much different) - but no, there was still another stupid option - he had two forms - one let you track the package online; the other sent you a notice when the package was delivered. Aie. Let me track it online. Of course, he acted like that was the option that was more trouble for him.

The MAIN two options are first class and "slow boat to China". Almost literally. I sent M something "slow boat". It took TWO MONTHS to get to New York. I thought the guy had said up to a month, but this time the postman said 30-90 days; three months potentially. I didn't really care about M's package - or about yours - if it took three months, the big question is is it still en route or has it dropped into the ocean off of the slow boat??

So I asked the old Greek guy if I could get *tracking* on the slow boat option. Yes, but the tracking bumped the price almost up to first class - so if you're paying that much money, why not just go a little more and make it 3-10 days instead of 30-90 days?! Oh, and there was some part in there I didn't understand about insurance. Apparently, the basic slow boat option provides no insurance that your package won't go in the drink, but if you want to know where your package is during that 90 days, you have to buy insurance that someone won't throw it in the drink. Seems like extortion.

Of course, the way the old Greek guy is explaining everything makes it twice as complicated. Every time I asked a question, he would have to think, and stare at his computer; *maybe* tap the keyboard once or twice, but mostly stare with a painful look on his face, as if I had asked to borrow one of his kidneys for just a few seconds, and he would actually consider loaning it to me.

So you will get this package in 3-10 days, via airplane, which hopefully makes it less likely to fall in the water. What's in the package? Of course, that has to be a surprise, but think of the old Greek postman when you open it. "How much is it worth?" he asks.

"It's handmade - priceless," I replied.

He was not amused.

Everything is backwards

So I'm driving to the local mall, which is maybe 2 kilometers away. It's been about 15 months, but I've only *driven* to the mall once; I've walked once. I'm scanning through bad radio stations and settle on one in Spanish (I only took one semester of Spanish, but was immersed in San Francisco - MEXICAN Spanish). Wait. Maybe this isn't Spanish, maybe it's Portugese. There are more Portugese in my neighborhood than Spanish. I haven't heard enough Portugese, and my Spanish isn't good enough to know which it is. There are lots of Spanish words.

I go the way I *know* I can get to the mall, but as I turn left, I think the road going straight might be more direct. I'll look at the map and try it later.

After I leave the mall, it seems the radio station is now in Chinese. Because I've gone around in a circle in the mall, I'm no longer sure of my directions, and I don't really know the street names surrounding the mall, but there are exits in two different directions. I end up taking a different exit than I came in, and guessing at which way I need to go on the road. It seems like I've only driven a couple of blocks, but nothing looks familiar, so I feel like I need to head back the other direction. It's not convenient to pull over and start up my phone navigation. For some reason, it is starting to dawn on me that the radio isn't in Chinese, it's in Korean. I don't know Korean, Mandarin, nor Cantonese, but I hung out with a Korean friend in high school, and my co-workers used to speak (do I have this right?) Mandarin?

I spot a familiar business sign and realize I'm way off track on my way home. I try to cut back, but end up in a maze of one-lane streets with cars parked tightly on either side. Finally, I'm at a dead-end alley with only one direction to go. I turn on the phone navigation, and see that I'm about 3 kilometers out of my way, meaning I'm 5 kilometers from home, when the mall is only 2 kilometers from my house. The phone directs me in a very unfamiliar route, and I drive for 3 kilometers wondering (it's happened before) if my phone really knows where I am.

Finally, I see a familiar business sign and realize I'm headed in the right direction. I am not in Sydney - I am in the convoluted suburbs of Sydney. Even the main roads are laid out like the winding streets of a new housing development in the US (but not as wide). You end up in cul-de-sacs and can't figure out how the hell you got in there, because the houses all look the same (in the US, but the neighborhoods in the Innerwest also look similar). The street names aren't marked well, and streets end and change their name, or dead end, requiring work-arounds to get from point A to point B.

When I get in my car again, the radio announcer is speaking in some Eastern European language. It's amusing, but sometimes you'd just like to hear English, or decent music. I wonder if it's not just the streets, but the fact that the sun is in the north, not the south. It seems I've been here long enough, and that's consistent enough, that I would have adapted to it.

Why I ride recumbent

Santa Barbara lies on a rare portion of the California coast that runs east-west rather than north-south. This geographical feature allows daylong sunshine to warm a backdrop of hills which nestle the town. Offshore, a string of islands define the large cove, giving the entire area a feel that, while quintessentially Californian, is also a gentler Mediterranean climate than most of the state.

It is a place wealthy executives go to retire, and for movie stars not living around the corner in Malibu, a short drive to escape Los Angeles. Just up the road was Ronald Reagan’s ranch, and over the hill was Michael Jackson’s Neverland.

Santa Barbara is also unusual in that it is a place where multi-million-dollar mansions happen to overlook oil drilling rigs just off the coast. The local beaches have occasional globs of sticky tar; an entirely natural seepage that the Native Americans used to seal their canoes. For better or worse, in 1969 the third largest oil spill in the history of the United States occurred in just this spot. You can imagine the residents of Santa Barbara did not take their beach despoilment lightly. The first Earth Day and a fresh environmental movement started the following year.

By random chance, I ended up temporarily in Santa Barbara in 1994. I had been traveling the country with my partner, who had signed on with a traveling nurse company. While she had a guaranteed apartment and position at the local hospital, I looked for odd jobs. I found a position downtown with a medical laboratory, sorting specimens on the evening shift. In such a beautiful location with lovely weather, it was only natural that I ride my bicycle to work, both for exercise and to soak up the atmosphere of Santa Barbara.

The most direct route to work was along U.S. Route 101, a very busy freeway. Although a bicycle path was separated from the road by a concrete barricade and chain-link cage, the freeway noise was disconcerting. That route also involved another stretch of road with lots traffic and businesses with car park entrances - a great hazard of being hit by cars swerving into or out of the entrances to the busy road. Exploring, I found another route that crossed the freeway and ran along the edge of Hope Ranch, a coastal development with its own golf course, homes on large lots, and its own beach.

Since I worked the evening shift, I rode home in the dark, around midnight. The Hope Ranch neighborhood, in order to enjoy the starry nights, save money, and also being a very safe place, did not have street lights. The ride home was always quiet, pleasantly relaxing. At one spot I discovered, by their hooting, owls nesting in a tree. My most hair-raising encounter was a night when there was a skunk on the the bike trail that ran alongside a creek. I had come up on it so suddenly that it was running along very close to my front wheel. The skunk and I were equally frightened. I was afraid if I slowed down, the skunk might have enough pause to gather its wits and spray me; if I sped up, it could possibly turn and bite my ankle. After a few tense moments with the skunk’s tail waving madly as a stink-bomb warning, it dashed off the side of the path and I rolled by, thankfully remaining skunk-scent free.

It was on another night an accident occurred that would affect my life for years. The night of the accident started off like any other, with one exception; there was a beautiful full moon. Although I had lights for my bicycle, the moon was so bright that I turned them off to save batteries. There was a large hill on the road along Hope Ranch, and I was enjoying the warm breeze as I gained speed down it. Probably up to about 30 kph, I passed into the moonshadow of a tree. In the dark shadow, my peripheral vision noticed a piece of firewood in the bike lane. I swerved, and believe I missed it with my front tire, but something caught.

In the next moment, I was standing on my feet in the street looking for my bicycle. I spotted my bicycle about six metres away. As I started towards my bicycle, I suddenly felt woozy, as if I would pass out if I didn’t lie down. So I laid down on the sidewalk. The sidewalk was cold, hard, and as I lie there feeling woozy and sick, I tried to move my arm, but it only jiggled slightly; there was something very wrong.

The nearest house was about 100 metres away, but I was feeling too sick to stand up again. Fortunately, I had a whistle, and remembered the distress signal - three long, three short, repeat. These were the days when cell phones were the size of bricks, and only in cars or golf carts. Finally, a couple of guys came out of the house and down the hill towards me. My first request, call an ambulance. Then, thinking about not having any health insurance, “Wait - Call my girlfriend.”

My partner arrived slightly before or about the same time as the ambulance (my memories are a bit vague). As I thought about sliding into the bucket seats of her low car, I realized it would be awfully painful on my shoulder, and might do more damage. I reluctantly went with the ambulance, knowing it would be a very expensive ride the short distance to the hospital. I think I was placed on a board and in a neck brace, in case there were spinal injuries, but I can’t really remember - what I do recall is that it seemed like an incredibly long, painful ride considering how close we were to the hospital.

Because I was in shock and cold from lying on the sidewalk, the nurse had trouble placing an intravenous line. My shoulder was in horrible, dull, aching pain, and after being needled several times for the IV, the sheriff walks in. She started interrogating me as if I had broken into a house or something. “What were you doing in this neighborhood on a bicycle at midnight??” She seemed unconvinced by my answers.

It turns out I had fractured my shoulder blade, a difficult and impressive feat. When I later examined my bicycle, the top of the frame was bent. Seemingly, it could only have been bent that way by hitting the pavement from the top. Apparently, the bicycle and I had flipped completely upside down from the forward momentum, where we parted ways. I continued the somersault, landing back up on my feet. My surgeon speculates that I hit the top edge of my scapula on the pavement so hard that the force split off the side and cracked it across the middle. The muscles could no longer pull properly on the bone, which is why when I tried to move my arm, it only quivered. Fortunately, I was wearing a helmet, and my shoulder took most of the force rather than my brain. One of my hips was also banged, and although it was quite a bruise, it was minor in comparison.

I left the emergency room with a bottle of pain pills and my arm immobilized by being taped to my body. I was to wait a few days for the swelling to subside, then consult a physician for the next step.

A few days later, my partner and I visited an orthopaedic surgeon’s office. He described an elaborate repair operation. Coming in, we had told the office that I didn’t have insurance, and would be paying cash. When the physician finished his description of the elaborate repair process, we asked how much it would cost, since we (or realistically, my partner) would be paying cash. The doctor stopped. “Oh. If you don’t have insurance, I wouldn’t do it.” The treatment in that case would be to keep my arm in a sling until the bones healed and locked into their new position, giving me about a 20% loss of range of motion (meaning I wouldn’t be able to swivel my arm out to the side, nor lift it over my head).

“We’ll pay you cash?”

“No, I won’t do it.” We suspect it wasn’t just the matter of payment, it was also the fear of a lawsuit, in case anything went wrong with the surgery. Patients without insurance covering the bills would be more likely to sue to get out of paying the bill. Such is the state of medicine in the United States.

Informing my employer that I wouldn’t be able to work, I was greeted with wondrous news. I had worked long enough to get health care coverage, but hadn’t applied, since my partner was in a temporary position and we were planning to move in a few weeks. The laboratory was going to provide insurance, even though I hadn’t filled out the paperwork. I attribute this to some wonderful people rather than corporate policy - it was likely I would not be returning to work after I healed, since we would be moving to my partner’s next assignment.

I signed up for the least expensive policy, an HMO (Health Maintenance Organization). This type of plan is generally known more for bureaucracy and low cost than top-notch care, but their tight management allows many people who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford coverage to have it. I visited their orthopedic surgeon, thinking he’d probably opt to keep my arm in a sling, like the previous doctor.

Dr. Jeffrey Holman was a young doctor. He enjoyed rock climbing in the hills around Santa Barbara, and had gone to work for the HMO so that he could get lots of experience - a high volume of patients - before settling into a quieter and more lucrative private practice. My shoulder was a challenge he couldn’t pass up.

The surgery involved disconnecting the muscle from the bone, repairing the bone with three screws and a metal plate, reconnecting the muscle and inserting metal pins above, to be removed once the bone healed sufficiently. It was an extraordinary piece of work, with the goal of restoring full mobility. Full mobility though, would take a year of physical therapy on pain medication; first to pull apart the layers of tissue that adhered together from being immobilized while the bone healed. Then, the muscles that had been cut had to be built up and retrained. Raising one’s arms above one’s head involves a complicated coordination of muscles - first the muscles hold the shoulder blade in place, then when a certain angle is reached, those muscles release as others complete the motion.

I was leery of being on pain medication for such an extended time, but the physical therapy office assured me it was necessary. Otherwise, the required exercises to pull the adhered tissues apart would be too painful to perform properly. For me, being incapacitated was a strong motivator for doing the exercises in a bid to return to normal. Slowly, over the course of months I was able to lift my bad arm, using a pulley and my good arm. Since I wouldn’t be able to help load our belongings in our cars to get to my partner’s next assignment, they allowed her to extend until I was in better shape. After nine months, my shoulder still made popping noises when I moved it, but it was strong enough to help load the cars (minus one bent bicycle) and travel to my partner’s next assignment (and continued physical therapy for me, under the existing insurance coverage). I had stopped the pain medications cold turkey, though from later surgeries, I learned the best way is to taper off gradually. The shoulder surgery was so extensive that when Dr. Holman was getting his board certification, the panel pulled this case to be discussed. Dr. Holman told the panel that the patient needed full recovery and use of his arm.

In our next location, the San Francisco Bay Area, I bought a used mountain bike from a friend who lived in the area. I had vowed to get back on a bike after I healed, but I couldn’t fully enjoy racing down a hill anymore. I used that mountain bike to commute for a couple of years, but the handlebar position put pressure on my wrists and shoulder, and irritated my shoulder a bit. I had heard about recumbent bicycles because a school I had attended entered into human powered vehicle contests. Bicycle speed records had been set on faired recumbents, but I was interested more in the comfortable riding position.

In the San Francisco Bay Area, I worked a series of low-paying jobs, and it took ten years to get into a position that matched the high cost of living. At that point, I finally started investigating recumbent bicycles, and had enough money to buy a new one.

Unlike traditional bikes, most recumbent bikes are still made in small shops at small volume - which makes them more expensive. Since they use the large leg muscles more efficiently than traditional frame bikes, they are not allowed in traditional bike races. The most popular competitions involving recumbent bikes use faired (aerodynamically enclosed) bikes, and they are also used to set human-powered speed records.

Recumbent bikes are seen as bizarre or highly specialized machines - word of their comfort hasn’t reached the average person on the street. The cost of one-off production can be daunting (though less than a carbon-fiber traditional racer). There are two and three-wheel models, though in cycling, weight is everything, and it’s easier to make two wheels lighter than three. Even without fairing, recumbents are more aerodynamic, which is most obvious in a headwind.

I’ve reinvigorated my joy of speeding down hills - where the recumbent also has an aerodynamic advantage. The big question is always “what about uphill?” Recumbents usually carry a broad gearing range. But a more surprising feature is how much power can be generated by the large leg muscles - the rider now has a seat back to brace and push against. Riding recumbent uses a slightly different set of muscles than a traditional bike, and this is more obvious going up hills. The manufacturer of my bike claims it’s just as fast as a traditional bike going uphill. I’m a lazy rider - I go slower than most even on flat ground, so it’s hard for me to validate any notion of going fast up hills. But I do know I was able to get up the steepest hills of San Francisco (after getting in shape!).

People also question the visibility of recumbents in traffic. Many of the lower three-wheel recumbent riders use flags when riding in traffic. My recumbent sits a bit higher, with my line of sight about the same height as a car’s rear-view mirror. Of course, due to their relative rarity, people are always surprised to see a recumbent. I’ve had no more problem being seen in traffic than I did on a standard bike. The other big safety factor of a recumbent bicycle is the lower center of gravity and having your legs, feet, and a chainring out front instead of your head. If there is an accident, you are not going over the handlebars to land on your head and shoulders.

Although it is difficult to find a shop that sells recumbents, there are manufacturers in Australia and several other countries. Many traditional shops can order a recumbent, though I went directly to a manufacturer who happens to be just up the coast from Santa Barbara.

About the author: James Lamb is from the midwestern United States. He met an Australian who convinced him to get married and move to Sydney. He is still looking for work here.

Titstare app

Australians made a name for themselves at TechCrunch Disrupt 2013, and not in a good way. I'd like to point out a passage from wikipedia:

In Australia, the proportion of students from independent schools attending single-sex schools, dropped from 31% in 1985 to 24% in 1995. In secondary schools, 55% of boys and 54% of girls went to single-sex schools, in 1985. However by 1995 the proportion attending single-sex secondary schools had dropped to 41% of boys and 45% of girls.[11] In 2001,the Australian Council for Educational Research after six years of study of more 270,000 students, in 53 academic subjects, showed that boys and girls from single-sex classrooms "scored on average 15 to 22 percentile ranks higher than did boys and girls in coeducational settings. The report also documented that boys and girls in single-sex schools were more likely to be better behaved and to find learning more enjoyable and the curriculum more relevant.'"

So yeah. The boys thought they were being clever. But then, it's quite possible they haven't had enough exposure to females. Sexist Presentations

Welcome to Australia

Things have changed a little since this poster was created.

I should reference the source: Immigration Heritage Centre

Australia - love/hate - United States

I made a concise, overarching statement yesterday, and someone just looked at me, and somewhat articulated: "Well, DUH!" The statement: Australians have a love/hate relationship with America.

Most Australians who have been to the United States have visited New York City. Nearly all have been in Los Angeles, because that's usually where the plane lands. Third top destination: Las Vegas. For a subset of the Australian population, shopping in NYC is de rigueur (I don't normally use that phrase, but it defines the protocol of these people), and there are those who alternate between Sydney and L.A.

I have heard expressed that Australians think Americans are loud and obnoxious. Never mind that a friend from the States just reported that the Australian tourists in Bali are loud and obnoxious. However, when Australians report their experiences of visiting the United States (except for the ones that get mugged or have relatives killed), they report surprise that Americans are "really friendly".

Nationalism. I'll chalk up these misperceptions and negative characterizations to the vagaries of nationalism. Because "we" have to be better than "them" and "they" are mongrels. But also, there's another factor at play in this love/hate thing. That is - America is like the rich kid with all the toys. It's a strange thing, because overall, the typical Australian is probably better off than the typical American - full-blown Western lifestyle, but the Australian is probably less in debt. They didn't have a housing boom and meltdown, so not so many underwater. There are fewer homeless people in Australia. There are crackheads, but they have healthcare, and in general, they're not stealing the metal infrastructure of the nation just to get a buck at the local scrap yard. (update - between when this was written and published, a bronze plaque was stolen from a park, presumably for the scrap value)

Australia has more of a "we're in this together" attitude than does the U.S., even though Australia has its own share of billionaires and obnoxious spoiled children. But Australia's inferiority complex comes from its colonial status and resulting dependence upon export of raw materials and import of finished goods. Australia *still* illogically imports many goods from England and didn't really get concerned about this dependency until WWII, when they realized England had its hands full, Japan was headed their way. The truth is that Australia rose to the challenges of both world wars and ramped up production for the war machine. Both the US and Australia benefited economically by rebuilding the world after the war, but while the US revelled in its new post-war status, Australia, it seems, settled back into its comfortable relationship with England. "Thanks, US, for helping out, now if you could kindly leave us alone."

Immersed in the familiar

I have read that Americans who move to India do not do well,  because the daily tasks of living there just seem like a lot of work.  Here I am in Australia,  which,  outside of Canada, is probably more like the United States than any other country,  yet finding myself not wanting to leave the house. Sure,  part of it may be introversion,  maybe some level of depression because it's winter. But there also could be an element of navigation through the convoluted streets of the Sydney suburbs just being too much work.  Like a rat stuck in a maze,  the little bit of corn at the entrance just doesn't seem worth the hassle of navigation.  It's not just the traffic on the other side of the street -  it is truly the annoying suburban maze,  and maybe that,  after stumbling around I finally am able to locate my clothes and other necessities in this house -  the little patch of familiarity. Downtown Sydney is very nice.  The countryside is like California.  But the suburbs of Sydney are dark claustrophobic alleyways suddenly illuminated by a bright Southern Hemisphere sun.  The mold,  rot,  and decay of London prisoners slowly shaking off their shackles. Industrial buildings from the 1800s slowly being ripped down for cheap apartments. City planners who demand conformity,  yet bend when a developer wants to make an extra buck on a cheap abomination of a building,  spilling ever more traffic onto narrow streets cluttered with parked vehicles and trailers.

Election season

Election season has been declared and even something as benign as the newspaper weather report displays a photo of Kevin Rudd's windswept hair to report atmosperic conditions.  Australian political campaigning is every bit as information devoid as is American campaigning; entirely useless accusations and half-truths.  Useless,  that is,  unless you're the type to vote based on these fragments of rhetoric.

In this environment,  I duck into a bookstore in search of some semblance of intelligence. I had heard something about intellectual magazines.  Scanning the selections,  I purchase one for a seemingly outrageous $20. Inside the cover says the publication is financially supported by the Australian Council for the Arts,  Arts Victoria,  and the Victoria University College of Arts.  All of that and I'm still paying $20??  Still hoping for something,  I read the first essay.  It's not bad. But it's written by an American.

Rat race (or... life in suburbia)

I flip up the lid of our rubbish bin, and inside see a flat-screen television or computer monitor that someone has dumped in. Electronic waste is supposed to be processed separately, and our council is quite generous in providing opportunities for free drop-off (electronics, paint, toxics). Yet someone still has decided to take a short-cut; hoping their act will go undiscovered since trash pick-up has not yet occurred.

As I stand there grumbling, I hear a horn honking up the street. I look up to see a sports car containing a stocky athletic-looking guy tailgating another car. Both of them are cutting through the neighborhood street because it's morning rush hour and the main road is backed up as usual. The car in front is doing the right thing - driving slowly because there's a school right around the corner, and children are on the streets. The guy behind tailgates aggressively, and a few houses away guns the gas loudly passing the other car - racing towards the speed bump and stop sign at the other end of the street.

I call the council for advice on the electronic waste, since a) I don't want them to think I know nothing about recycling and have thrown a television in our regular trash - some councils do track these matters and b) I really don't want to deal with someone else's garbage. The woman advises me to remove the television from the bin and (since it's before hours) she will have someone call me regarding its disposal. Later, I see that the bin has been emptied, and an instructional brochure for recycling electronic waste left on our sidewalk. The television is still there on the grass. But I don't want to haul someone else's garbage! The trash collector likely thought the television was ours.

A couple of hours later, as I start writing this, I hear a large truck beep beep beeping backup noise out front. I go out and see a man with no shirt displaying large tattoos driving away in a truck with a large waste bin on the back. The television is gone. I feel some sense of relief that the council is actually working to make life in the suburbs better - and if that guy actually works for the council, that he can wear whatever he damn well pleases (or nothing, if it suits him).

I think about these things more because of the differences I see between the US and Australia, both good and bad. I *do* feel like Australia is somewhat "suffering" from having an attitude of being a colony - there are still a lot of businesses here that are based in England, and things get imported from England when it really makes no sense to do so (except that the people here have that connection; people are still immigrating here from England). I'm guessing there are more UK businesses here than US businesses. Businesses here reach a certain size and they seem to either get sold off or move somewhere else - in part because the relatively smaller population here can only support so much, and there's this trajectory of "growing" that reaches limits here (Rupert Murdoch and Australia's actors head to the US). However, I see that Australia doesn't have a small population because it's mostly desert - after all - Australia *exports food* and that in itself implies it could feed more people. But the economy here seems to have an inferiority complex, and globalization forces mean that rather than the extreme abundance of minerals and energy here getting converted into infrastructure for more population, what's happening is it's getting sold off to other countries. Of course, this is nothing new - the square-rigged Balclutha, sitting in San Francisco Bay at the Maritime Museum ran wheat and timber from California to Australia. The timber went to build mines. The Balclutha returned across the Pacific bringing coal to California, or went on around the world to take it to England. While the US saw itself as a "new nation" in 1776, Australia kept its fortune strongly linked to England until WWII, when the Japanese forced it to stand on its own, as England had its hands full with Hitler. WWII also brought the US and Australia closer, as Australia had an even stronger interest in preventing the Japanese from encroaching. It seems the Vietnam war soured the relationship a bit, as Australians were disgusted with carpet bombing as a strategy.

U.S. Accounts

Today marks the first time I've been unable to establish an account for something in the U.S.
Required: U.S. driver's license (mine just expired) AND utility bill showing your name. Supposedly another document (passport) would suffice for the driver's license, but there is the element of proving you're a resident - which could also be faked by paying someone else's utility bill, if you were determined. Would they actually check the passport to see if you were inside the country? Probably not, but just in case, you could get a US driver's license and use that instead - which brings up why the federal government wants uniform standards on the issuance of driver's licenses (and the states have resisted, in part maybe because the feds aren't funding it?)

Otherwise, dealing with existing accounts has been a hassle (my tax forms said Austria, not Australia), but resolvable. Oddly, Australia is not on the list of countries from which an international account can be opened, in spite of the fact that Australia has a treaty to report bank deposits of all US citizens.

Bacon Rashers

Had to look this up, per Wikipedia. Rashers simply means thin slices. American bacon is actually pork belly slices. In Australia, pork bellies are sold as... pork belly. Pancetta is also pork belly, but smoked and dried. Back bacon is more expensive and meaty - the round part to the left is what's sold as bacon in Canada and Australia. In the States this is called Canadian bacon. In Australia (per Wikipedia) the belly is called American bacon, but frankly, I haven't seen much of it in stores. I have seen large hunks (not sliced) sold as pork belly. I overcooked this to bring out the crispy carcinogens and it tasted like home!

Easter. Again.

This week (I'm still not clear on what day) is EASTER for the Greek Orthodox Church. This brings up an aspect of Australia that I actually feel like protesting. OK, I don't really care that the Greek Orthodox may have a different calendar or way of calculating the exact date of this historical event that may or may not have happened and been misinterpreted. Their Greek interpretation may be closer than any English one, certainly.

No, what I feel like protesting in Australia is the alignment that happened between the Christian event calendar and the pagan event calendar, so that more pagans would be able to keep their holiday traditions and still become Christian. Cutting down an evergreen tree in the dead of winter and bringing it into the home - nice. Easter eggs and rabbits symbolizing both pagan fertility rites and the rebirth of Christ - in the SPRING. Yes, in the spring that makes sense. Stringing up lights to celebrate the winter solstice and compensate for the short days of winter - that's when my itchiness began. It makes absolutely no sense to hang out Christmas lights that don't come on until 9:30pm in the summer. Easter eggs in the fall? Ridiculous - but actually, maybe I'm wrong - are there any birds that migrate to Australia and lay eggs in April/May - which is Australian fall?? Unnecessary side-track - the egg thing was TOTALLY adopted, as were all these other traditions, from the Northern Hemisphere, where they made perfect sense. Here, they are just a reminder that we're not in Kansas anymore.

Did the Aboriginals celebrate any holidays? If so, while I've heard a few stories here and there, I have yet to hear of any holidays. For now, I would like to stick to what I know as universal - the solstices. The same day marks the event in both hemispheres. Sure, we can do colored eggs and Christmas trees, or whatever - but some of these things need to be put in their proper seasonal frame. I've heard there's a group that celebrates Christmas in July - they've got the season right, but why move a Christian "date" that's actually already been shifted to accomodate the pagan traditions? I could see doing this in that tiny patch of Australia that gets snow in July. Otherwise, it only reinforces my notion that the solar seasonal markers are what should be the basis for celebration.

Wildlife Corridors

We've moved about two miles, nicer house, nicer neighborhood. But one of the things I really miss about the old place is that it was a block away from the Cooks River trail. I think I need a wildlife corridor almost as much as the wildlife does. I can still walk 20 minutes and get to the Cooks River trail, but that would be 40 minutes round trip of annoying traffic noises just to get there and come back. The whole point is pleasant walking in a quasi-natural environment, not 40 minutes of annoying traffic for 2 minutes of relaxing greenery.

Earbuds are an essential tool to block out harsh, annoying urban noise (traffic, buses, overflying jets). Generally, I don't have the music or podcasts too loud, but when I'm walking near a busy road, it's surprising how much I have to turn up the volume to hear over traffic; passing buses. Sydney's established bicycle paths are a convoluted, sometimes incomprehensible meander. On occasion I've realized they are going out of the way to avoid a busy street or impassible intersection. But as convoluted as Sydney's neighborhood streets and network of roads are, they do present an opportunity for finding routes AWAY from the maddening noise and traffic. Perhaps rather than trying to specify the convoluted path best for a bicycle, maybe neighborhoods should do more to identify "quiet streets". These would be the streets where a car should EXPECT to get stuck behind a bicycle or see children playing in the street. Rather than channeling a bike onto a specific street, this would make larger swaths more visible, with smaller red zones where bicycles should expect trouble.

Of course "quiet streets" are not wildlife corridors, but they could potentially harbor more foliage and other signs that they are more friendly towards flesh and blood than metal and machinery. They wouldn't necessarily be bicycle commuter corridors either, because bicyclists on a mission can almost be as dangerous to foot traffic as automobiles. We had a couple of accidents in San Francisco where bicyclists hit pedestrians - including killing an elderly person. OK, so keep the bicycle routes, but also identify the quiet streets (which are sometimes obvious as the lines that aren't designated as major arteries). Unfortunately, creating more wildlife corridors is a challenge in highly developed suburbia. But designating quite streets and human corridors still remains a huge opportunity.

Sydney's Finest

When you use Australian google for "types of cockroaches in Sydney", nearly all of the first page entries are for pest control companies. Of course, most of them want to tell you all about cockroaches from the extermination perspective. So an exterminator says there are five types of cockroaches common in Sydney. Yeah. Plenty. I think I've seen two main types. There is the type that crawls up out of the drains (hopefully, when we remodel the house, the drains can be made less accessible?). The second type seems to just wander in off the street, as if they're taking a shortcut through the house and get distracted along the way. Maybe the remodel can also close up some cracks that these guys seem to walk right in. Anyway, the cockroach in the photo may have been drunk. He was just wandering around the street in broad daylight. Usually you see them scurrying around after dark.

Ski resort jobs

Went to an information / interview session for Perisher Ski Resort. It was very interesting to see both the applicants and learn about Perisher.

There are two ski resorts in Australia, Perisher and Thredbo. According to the presenter, it could actually snow any day of the year in the Snowy Mountains, but of course, most of the snow occurs / accumulates in the winter. The deepest snow is actually at the END of the season, but when the weather starts getting warmer, Australians want to head to the beach, so the resorts don't get much business once the beaches are warm. The snow is a bit remote, and people make reservations in advance, regardless of the snow conditions. Perisher has a train that takes people from lower elevations, so they don't have to drive in the snow, as most Australians have no snow-driving skills (though there are plenty of 4WDs for mud and dirt roads).

Everyone at the info session were "late applicants", many who just found out about job possibilities - but the application period actually starts in January. Perisher has a high rate of return employees, and they try to keep them by finding them jobs at other resorts in the off-season. The biggest surprise, as the representatives went around the room - most of the people in the room were from Taiwan, and applying for housekeeping jobs. The rep said, for whatever reason, they get a huge number of applicants from Taiwan ex-military for housekeeping jobs. There were also people from Argentina, Wales, Britain, and New Zealand - most were young people on gap year or on break from school.

The big challenge for Australian ski resorts is their remoteness and New Zealand gets more snow - it's just a short flight over to New Zealand and possibly even more accessible ski resorts (I see them advertised at the train stops). But there's no "just drive up the hill and go skiing" as there is at Tahoe - it's more a "make reservations in advance" situation.

Oh, I probably won't get a job - they either didn't believe I'd be happy to make beds (or couldn't compete with the Taiwanese military?), and I didn't have quite enough experience to be a desk clerk. Maybe I need to go to school and learn to drive a snow grooming machine?!

Banana situation?

Still learning more about Australia. For example: most bananas are grown and consumed within the country,  but most of the time there's an oversupply.  Dole starts banana exports.

Visit to Newcastle

Finally got around to visiting Newcastle - a somewhat lengthy side-track on the way home from Hawks Nest. Newcastle is the largest coal exporting port in the world - the mining began in 1833 (wikipedia), and there are huge stacks of coal along the port as evidence. The old brick industrial buildings remind me of towns in the Midwestern United States. Unlike Sydney, the streets are nice and wide, and though there's traffic, it doesn't feel claustrophobically squeezed onto narrow neighborhood streets.

Unlike any Midwestern town (except maybe on the Great Lakes), there's a lighthouse and a nice beach for surfing. Even in the harbor crowded with cargo ships, the water seems relatively clean, and surprisingly clean considering the amount of coal sitting on its shores. Below is a seaside pool complex - in a style similar to the Cliff House in San Francisco.

Hoosier tyres?

Another reminder of home.

What?! I've never even heard of Hoosier Tires, but then, I don't follow the NASCAR circuit (it's all Goodyear and Firestone, isn't it?) Wait a minute... clearly the web site was made in Indiana, because everyone knows tires is really spelled (or as they say here, spelt) tyres! link to Hoosier Tyres

Convoluted paths

This is what makes me feel senile, and, "What the hell am I doing here?!" It has been nine months. I decided to make a map of places/routes I've traveled frequently enough to not get lost without looking at the map (red lines). Part of the problem is I have done relatively little driving on my own - I've mostly been walking, bicycling, or taking the train. So I know the train lines pretty well, but otherwise, I know a fairly small area. Even Australians, even people who live in Sydney agree that Sydney roads are convoluted. If you miss a turn and try to turn around, you may end up on a street shooting off at some odd angle, and not be able to get back to where you were. Most streets are at an odd angle, and even if you think you know which direction you're going, soon enough you'll be spun around on a round-about and shoot off at some new angle. There is no "what direction am I going". The train lines are good (and fairly straight-line) - but that means you can't go from point A to point B without crossing a train line - and they have limited underpasses, overpasses - so you have to run along them or find the underpasses.

Job search basics

I'm slowly (perhaps too slowly!) learning some of the nuances of job hunting in Australia. One of the frustrations is that many smaller corporations don't have HR departments in-house. They outsource recruitment to agencies. What this means is you can't actually see the company name (agencies don't want to reveal who their clients are) - you can only see a job description. There are some companies I'd consider mopping floors for, but other companies I'd hesitate, even if it was a dream position. I guess the strategy would be to apply, then decide depending on the interview (if you're chosen).

On the plus side, I've recently discovered that for many positions, it can be quite easy to just call the hiring person. Although an HR department might be swamped with resumes, they still post the hiring manager's telephone number. This seems very odd, but I've actually been told by an HR person (who has the pile of resumes) that it's perfectly ok to call the hiring manager and have them watch for my resume.

Daggy

I've gone from San Francisco,  which has pockets of fashion consciousness,  but overall is anything goes;  to Sydney,  which is much more traditionalist and trend-conscious (in San Francisco,  there can be trends for a day). So I'm considered a bit of a dag.  Which apparently is a term used affectionately,  though the original meaning is unknown to most Australians (and Kiwis)  "The literal meaning is a dung-caked lock of wool around the hindquarters of a sheep - an abbreviation of 'daglock'".
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dag_(subculture)

First medical visit

Today was my first visit to an Australian doctor. I have Medicare and private insurance (both Australian). When visiting a doctor here, I've been told you can look for an office that does "bulk billing" which means they don't charge anything out of pocket, and subsequently bill Medicare for your visit. OR, you can go to a doctor's office that doesn't do bulk billing, in which case you pay upfront and get reimbursed a portion of the fee from Medicare. For my visit, apparently, private insurance doesn't cover any of it. The visit was $65, Medicare will reimburse $36, and so the visit will cost me $29. The office said Medicare will mail me the check, but in the future I have the option of having it directly deposited into a bank account.

Bicycles, bicycles

There must be thousands of organizations in Australia that collect old bikes and do various things with them. In the US, this entire layer in unnecessary - any bike sitting unused for more than 1/2 hour gets stolen. The US system is much more efficient at getting bikes to needy individuals. What's on in Sydney?

What kind of dirt?

The soil in our backyard looks like hardpan clay? (I really don't know soil classifications). Anyway, it's bare dirt in some spots where nothing is growing, and the weeds and grass seem to grow just as well in the concrete cracks as they do in the soil. I thought I'd need to get a pickaxe to break through the surface.

So since it's been raining for 24 hours, I decided to stick a pitchfork into it and see what it looked like underneath. Surprisingly, it looks like fairly rich, black dirt - however, there's a layer of maybe 8" and then you hit some rocks. Also, most amusingly, when you break into it, even after 24 hours of rain, only a very thin layer of the dirt on top is wet. The rest is pretty dry. The water runs off the surface rather than soaking in. I've heard that if you put the leaves of some native trees in your compost, the leaves have a wax that will coat the surface of the soil, and that doesn't let the water soak in.

Ants

When the first English settlers planted a garden in what is now Sydney,  everything was devoured by ants.  The ants are still here.

Hot? ...or REALLY Hot?

How can you tell when it's really hot outside? When you turn on the cold water tap, and can barely keep your hand in the water that comes out because it's too hot. Apparently it was 109F in Sydney today, fairly dry, but then there were clouds and a thunder shower. The heat then rain left a nice herbal scent in the air, but also seemed to bring out the flies. I am rethinking my notion of insulating the hot water pipes - maybe I need to insulate the cold pipes as well?!

Obnoxious drunkenness

Oops - somebody shit in their own bed. Alcohol ban extended