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.