Phillip "Screwdriver" Island

The road wasn't wide enough for the holiday traffic.  The island getaway home was lent to me and my host family by Madame McGrath a former native of the US of A.  She teaches French at Belgrave Heights.  She is currently dragging her right foot around; a persistent injury sparked off by dropping a metal replica of the Eiffel Tower on her foot.

I'm not joking.

My first contact with her was me covering a class of hers.  It was a year 7 French class and they were taking a test.  Easy.  I hypnotized them with my accent and was very serious about staying quiet or having the test taken away.  Everything went fine.

At the top of the last test I collected it said, "Sorry I didn't finish it.  I'm not very good at taking tests.  Please don't make me take it again. :( "

I looked up and the girl was in tears, being consoled by her friends.  The bell rang, they all left and I wrote a note to Madame McGrath explaining the crying girl with the test half completed by the compassionate whisperings of her neighbors.  That was our first contact. Madame McGrath currently has a the only other student teacher in the school.  A girl teaching French with confident blonde hair named... well I can't tell you her name because I make up people's names in my blogs and I can't think of a good pseudonym for her so she will be French Student Teacher Girl, or some variation of that... deep sigh.  Ahh French Student Teacher Girl...

The Island is shaped like a dolphin and full of Kangroos and Wombats and Koalas that I didn't see.  I did see a Wallaby, but these things are common and are really imitators of the Kangaroo.  Cheap greedy imitators.
We did several day hikes and walked or biked around town.  I bought a cheap hoodie which I immediately cut holes in for my thumbs to stick out through.  The only other thing I almost bought was one of those little collectible spoons for my Grandma B.  There were several antique stores around full of trinkets one almost wants badly enough to buy.  Stores that live and die by the amount of impulsive buyers who flutter through their doors and along their wares floors long enough to have their eye caught by the flicker of an object from ten to two hundred years ago.

I couldn't find a spoon I was completely satisfied with the second day around (always wait until the second day to make your purchase, if you have the option) so I came back with a very generic blue hoodie.

My hoodie, while only costing ten dollars, is better than Nicki Minaj.
Wallabies are artful deceivers, miniatures attempting to steal the spotlight from the majestic kangaroo and are therefore worse than Nicki Minaj.
Me and my roommates old "Big Green" chair will always be better than Nicki Minaj, even in hundreds of years when it has rotted into the ground or been burnt into the atmosphere and joined the stars as star-stuff.

So, I am off to a weekend at Super-Hero camp.  It's for low-income kids and tries to get the kids and counselors down to a one on one ratio.  My kid is named Lucas and he is in year 6.  When I get back, you will hear about Wilson's Prom and then Super-Hero camp (no, we do not get to dress up like Super-Heroes.  I suspect the camp will be worse than Nicki, but that Lucas will be better.  That is my forecast, you'll find out soon if I'm a prophet or not.) so I have some catching up to do still.

Cheers,
Melmoth


P.S. Libby Allen on how many people are in Australia and the US, "There aren't 22 million Australians... there can't be.  Because there are only like 8 million people in the US..."

King Duncan

I have a bit of catching up to do.  I have been on three major trips, all with major happenings to inform you all about.  None of these next three posts will involved things related to academia, sports, heffalumps, fabric softener or wooden sculptors of Holly Golightly.

I recently read "Breakfast at Tiffany's."  Truman Capote is brilliant and I am 99% sure that the thousands and thousands of American girls who paste Audrey Hepburn posters on their walls have no idea who Holly Golightly is and if they do I am sure I can say to them "'oh' with recognizable relief, 'oh' with a shameful, rising inflection, 'the movie.'"

Year ten camp was overshadowed by King Duncan.  I call him "King Duncan", because I am teaching Macbeth to my year ten students.  He is not a king and his name is not Duncan, but he is in turn one of my favorite students and is also one of my most challenging students.  He always carries with him a water bottle and a ketchup bottle (In Australian, a Tomato Sauce bottle.)  He is a very picky eater, and what he does eat he suffocates in ketchup.  He suffocated a large bowl of rice in ketchup.

Oh King Duncan, you shouldn't put ketchup on your pancakes...

King Duncan has autism, severe enough that he will say, whenever he is feeling hungry, "I am hungry."  This is a statement of fact, spoken without malice to the air, usually in those quiet empty spaces that hang after sentences.   For example,

Instructor at high ropes course: "Now students, I want to challenge you!  You're going to have to give this rope bridge your all, but I know you can do it if you follow the instructions I gave you and encourage each other... are there any questions?"

King Duncan: "I am hungry."

King Duncan did not participate in the rope bridge. He did however give the rock wall a go, as well as the laser skirmish.  King Duncan however, stole the show on the Flying Fox.  The Flying Fox is a zip line that runs across the lake.  It lasts about fifteen seconds and is a great confidence building activity.  Once the individual decides to jump off the launching platform, they are finishing the activity.  They can scream and flail and crap their pants and yell all sorts of gibberish while throwing any bit of clothing they can tear off of their bodies into the lake, but they will finish the Flying Fox.

King Duncan did none of these things.

Wearing a horizontally stripped shirt and black/blue with white strip/swirl swimming trunks, King Duncan and his ever present water bottle skirted across the lake looking like a content sloth.  Not a care in the world and the hint of his rare smirk/grin on his face.

I had the best view, that of the spotter.  At the end of the line, there are two spotters who work together to slow down the incoming Fox.  It was myself and a very mild-mannered student named Thomas.  When I realized it was King Duncan (who by the way is a husky sort of boy) coming across the lake, I suggested we back up the receiving platform a bit, to give him more time to slow down.  We did.  When he was getting close to us I suggested we just hold our arms with our bodies a bit back from him.  I did.

Thomas however, the quiet but gung-ho type, steps right in front of King Duncan (who, as I said, easily weighs as much as Thomas and then another 1/3) and takes him smack full on.

I was stunned.  King Duncan went floating back towards the lake.  As he spun around towards the platform he saw Thomas on the ground and asked, "Why are you laying down?"
Thomas was fine and King Duncan was retrieved, and I was given the image that will be in my brain even as  dementia eats me up.

So, the rest of camp was fine and altogether uneventful.  Other interesting and good things happened, but nothing that you would be interested in (I'm speaking to the person from Estonia reading this.)

My next two posts will be here probably tomorrow.  I just received an email reminding me that I am a "Big Buddy" for a superhero camp starting this Friday afternoon.  Things are unraveling faster.  Boy.

Cheers,
Melmoth

P.S. I am happy to report that for whatever reason the American dollar is currently 2 pennies stronger than the AUS Dollar.  This is great for me.  Keep up the hard work guys!

Bird Cage Necklace, Foxy-Man and More Buddha Please!

Last Friday night, I went out with the staff of my school to a restaurant.  The restaurant was called "Flippin' Pancakes."  They had good food, good service and a nice atmosphere.  They did decorate the headboard lining every room with different china plates, and that looked stupid.

I had a good time conversing with other faculty, teachers and even a student teacher about my age, though she is a cute ozzie girl, rather than a forgotten literature character/folklore from Spain.

The highlight of the evening though, was the woman with the birdcage necklace.  I understand that fashion now decides people, but this necklace... I couldn't help but look at it to try to convince myself it was something else.

(What I mean by fashion deciding people is that there is, in the world of fashion the "in" and the "out."  I needed a new pair of black dress shoes.  I was convinced that the "in" shoes are a bit pointy at the end.  Very sleek, very European.  Nothing really like what you would find in America.  I did nothing to choose what fashion I would wear, the fashion chose me.  How pathetic I am.)

This fashion now is wear long looping chains with gaudy trinkets wrapped up at the end, resting somewhere near the navel.  Most of these necklaces look like a hoola-hoop of collectibles from Ariel's secret stash of junk.  This necklace was, unlike most jewelry of the current "fashion," very concise.

It was a long silver, rather plain chain, that looped down, not quite to the bellybutton of the lovely lady who wore it.  Where the chain connected, there was a good 6 inches of extra line hanging off, as if to say, "I'm a necklace that works with extra tall girls."

Attached at the bottom of this necklace was a birdcage the size of those old Silly-Putty eggs.  Inside the birdcage looked to be the imitation of a parrot.

Now, I haven't been this way long, but thanks to the influence of my good friend Cyrus Wetherbee, I am a bit opposed to the idea of caging birds.  A bird, by its design, evolution, whatever have you, exists to be in the air (obviously this is not the case with things like the Kiwi, the Ostrich or the dodo (rest in piece) but you can cage those birds, as long as you treat them well!)  No one thinks about this idea... at least it doesn't seem to me that people think about this idea, because how could one reason out the justification of clipping and or caging a bird?  I'm not planning on joining PETA, because well, that's not my thing.  But I daresay it will make it much more difficult for you and I to be friends if you can't at least see the selfishness of taking flight away from a bird so you can have a companion, or a pretty sight.  Flying birds are about as free as you can get.  And take that away, well, it's like "putting a hamster in a balloon and floating it in the air, expecting it to be quite comfortable, happy and satisfied."

The point being, when I looked at this girl with the birdcage necklace, the only thing I could hear her saying was, "I'm all about caging creatures in their unnatural environment..." or something like that.  It was very odd.  Usually I am able to dismiss these things, or people, but these thoughts of wearing a necklace that was so blatantly a symbol of something unnatural and... lonely.  Well it got to me.

The next day I saw a fine Australian film called "Face-to-Face" about reconciliation and forgiveness.  It was a good message and good acting.  Pretty swell cinematography.  I was quite happy with it overall.

Then a book store.

A new looking bookstore.  Like a freshly inflated rubber raft.  It didn't smell new though.  It didn't smell at all now that I think about it, which is a shame.  I bought a basic Australian bird spotting book (what am I turning into?  I will at least look at the pictures.) and Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote.  While carousing though, I noticed a long line of books, all sharing the same row.  It began from the end of the aisle towards the back with these different sections: Spiritual, Science, Military, History, Biographies, Non-Fiction.

I am convinced that bookstores are a sort of equalizer.  Yes, just for your money, but that is better than a lot of people anyway.  I feel like I would be hard pressed to find a topic/subject/book that when you asked for it in a bookstore you would be run out, or spit on.  Maybe a book that encouraged the mistreatment and caging of birds.

Anyway, I am sure you are thinking of lots of books about supporting Nazi's and really crude things that would get weird looks in a book store... why are you thinking about these things?  Stop it.

My two favorite titles from the bookstore: One Buddha is not Enough and The Origin of Species
Both, two books down from one another, both making lots of claims about what's what.  This is making me think of the Vegan and Vegetarian I met a few weeks ago.  They are nice people.

I'm considering changing this blog to Better or Worse than Wearing a Bird Cage Necklace...
but, instead I will just say that bird cage necklaces are Worse than Nicki Minaj. Also, at least there is only one Nicki Minaj.  I fear there are dozens of these necklaces.

I'm off to a camp for my year ten students tomorrow, so enjoy a few days without feeling obligated to read this crap.

Cheers,
Melmoth

P.S. I had to come up with a super-hero to dress up as for one of the nights.  I will be going as Foxy-Man with a fur neck covering thing.  My super power is extreme political push for the right to hunt animals for their fur.  Sub-powers include seduction, bribery and arson.

THIS BLOG IS STILL ABOUT NICKI!

Two days of blogging in a row. I guess you're lucky... punk.  You're punks, all of you.  And if any old man with a mustache crawling into his mouth ever yells from his porch at you, "You darned punk!  Grow up ya hippie!"

Immediately stop.  Walk up to that man (staying out of spitting range), look him hard in the eye and say, "I am a punk, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life farting around."  And walk away, backwards until you are out of sight.

Now, onto the first things.  I have been neglecting the nature of this blog.  So, here is a catch up list of things Better or Worse than good 'ole Nicki (who is unfortunately as admired here as she is in America:

Things Better than Nicki Minaj

• Kookaburra.  I have been given several eye witness/first hand experience stories from different people about arrogant Kookaburra who steal food right out of the hands of people about to eat it.  One person received a cut on their lips from a Kookaburra going after some chicken.  Hitchcock was apparently a prophet.
• Melbourne Weather.  It is exactly the same as Michigan weather.  For those faithful readers from Estonia (7 views), Nicaragua (5 Views) and Canada (1 View) this means that the weather is very inconsistent.  This past Tuesday it rained, was then sunny, rained again, came back to sunny as if a malevolent Venasaur had used "Sunny Day" in preparation to unleash a barrage of solar beams on a hapless magikarp.  After the sun stayed around for about five turns, it began to hail ice the size of British front teeth for twenty minutes. I hate Nicki Minaj.
• Flippin' Pancakes.  (This is the restaurant I attended last night.  Tomorrow I plan on blogging again.  If you want to read my three consecutive blogs as symbolic of Christ's crucifixion and resurrection, you may.  But only because I mention that is also Better than Nicki Minaj and I am referring to it in the Better than section.
• Coin Change.  The Australian currency system has a plasticy sort of paper money.  This is fine.  However, their smallest dollar note is numerically "five," graced with the face of an old governess "Glenn R. Steven" as far as I can make out her signature.  I believe she won her election in 1955 by promising to funnel funds towards "Boomerang Development and Lock Picking" and away from education.  I make these assumptions based on my daily observations in the classroom.  I digress.  When I make a purchase with any sort of monetary note, I expect to receive monetary notes and some small change in return.  Take the example of expecting change of four dollars and seventy-five cents.  I expect four, one dollar notes and three quarters.  I receive two, two dollar coins, a fifty cent piece a twenty cent piece and a five cent piece (which is not referred to as a nickel.)  As the change is placed into my hand, there is a moment of confusion, rage and absolute greed where I begin to form a slur of hateful belittling words towards the individual who has shortchanged me.  This lasts for a moment and is then replaced by the realisation that here in Australia, the change is different.  And they spell "realisation" with an "s."
• Pretty much everything else.

Things Worse than Nicki Minaj:

• Australian cop cars.  The only giveaway is the amount of antennae on the vehicle.  It can be any make, usually a newer model SUV type.  Local Law Enforcement will also set up speed traps. Unmarked cars on the side of the road may have radar guns with cameras inside.  This cars are also apparently able to operate the Federal mail, because if you drive too fast by these cars they send you a ticket.
• Australian plumbing.  NONE of the toilets I have encountered flush the opposite direction.  They all flush as per described in an earlier post.  Check the label at the bottom.
• Crossing the street.  If I die in Australia, I will have been hit by a car while crossing the road, looking the wrong way.

So that's a good little list to catch you all up on how I have been feeling.  Sorry about that post yesterday.  Very boring I know but, even a squirrel with 20/20 vision with fall out of tree every now and then.

Tomorrow, I will fill you in on three great stories.  The woman with the birdcage necklace, the book store and church.  Oh a pot of trouble is brewing.  

Also, my host sister now has a boyfriend. 

Cheers,

Melmoth

Did you hear?!?

We were out of Pokeballs, so no penguins were captured.  I will be attempting again in a week or two after I find some , so I'll let you know.

I helped out at a multi-school athletic carnival.  In American this means I ran the shot-put at track and field invitational.  Oh Australian lingo.  The only carnival I think of normally is the Festival or Feast of Fools in "Notre Dame of Paris."

It was a grand time.  I learned to speak in Metrictongue (which is similar to Parseltongue) and took advantage of the teacher tab at the canteen (HAH, Canteen makes me think of cowboys... not a concession stand.)

"There's a snake in my boots!"

Teaching is going as well as can be expected.  I'm tired a lot, and I type and read and write and come up with things way in advance or just before I need them done.  Today marks my being in Australia for exactly a month.  My glass is a quarter full and I am looking forward to the next three quarters. That's enough about that.

I read an article the other day about art thieves.  Some of the most famous art heists have been by sleepy eyed janitors or security guards who shoved said artwork in their smocks.  I hate the media.  Everywhere I go I have newspapers and movies and newscasters who have apparently gotten a hold of the Rick Moranis shrink ray, flipped it in reverse, and pointed it at every possible story in order to FREAK EVERYONE OUT.

No more preaching.

I have a teacher social tonight at a pancake house.  I'm not sure how many people will be there... I am also not sure how many people my age will be there.  Probably none. If only I were forty.  But what else is there for a foreigner to do on a Friday night in a strange land.  

So for the next blog, which will be better than this one:

1. Info on the Pancake Teacher Social
2. Info on the Year Ten Camp. (This upcoming Tuesday to Friday I will be at a high ropes adventure course.  This will provide me with much to write about.)
3. Info in the Penguin Catching, if it takes place between now and then. \
4. More really exciting stories about me teaching kids about Macbeth and Plath!  I'll update you on all the details of everyday I spend here and what things I try and what things work... oh sorry, I thought this was an EDU assignment.
5. The Cassowary I fought. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jB2QFmXUCo&feature=related

Cheers,

Meltmoth

Tomorrow, I go to Capture Penguins.

The poetry cup was a sham.

I sat with a man, I'll call him Anthony Bennett.  He is 26 and works in childcare.  We both admitted to being horrid writers, and proved ourselves on stage.  However, the entire night (40 poets in all) was filled with people wallowing in self-pity and depression, using clever language gimmicks to get a cheap laugh or individuals who took themselves so seriously the only proper response was muffled laughter.

One girl, a certain Bronwyn something or other wrote the most brilliant poem of the night .  However, she was given the short end of the stick and did not make it to the finals.  ATROCIOUS I SAY!

For those of you thinking, "Well, it was up to the judges... and besides poetry is poetry..."  you can leave the internet right now and never come back.
I will be bitter for a week over Bronwyn...

So the poetry thing was a good time, I like Conner, or whatever that guys name was. He was clever and told me that he works with children and actually likes them.  It was good to speak with someone who works with children and doesn't absolutely detest them.  Is that becoming more common?  I hope not.

Melbourne was a fine city.  Fun to walk around.  A lot of restaurants and cafes and shops and things.  There were a lot of alleys, some with graffiti, and I always enjoy wandering down those.

Tomorrow, I go to capture penguins.

My host parents' daughter, Alexi does research near St. Kilda on the colors of penguin feathers.  She invited me to come along tomorrow night and help her catch some for her research   My response, "Yes. Without a doubt."

I have already gotten the box and label and will be shipping a pair to my lair in the states. (REAL POETRY RIGHT THERE!!!)
My Sunday afternoon will now involve keeping the fire in the house stoked as I drink hot tea, eat cookies and get back to people with some emails.  Also, found a church today that made me feel very much at home!

I'll fill you all in on the Penguins.

Gotta Catch'em All!
Melmoth

P.S.
GO MELBOURNE STORM RUBGY!!!!

Doris Leadbetter and the Toilet's Basketball

I entered a short poetry contest for this Saturday evening.  The Doris Leadbetter Contest.  Ohh, Doris... what a strong woman you must have been.  I plan on winning the contest solely using my American accent.

There are two great things about the contest.  One: There are prizes for first through fourth place. Cash money prizes.  If ever good poetry was written, it was written for money. Two: I did not have to submit the poem I, I simply purchases a ticket to read at the event.  Forty contestants, no censorship, one minute to read.  So, I can either read some mediocre piece of rubbish I have managed to force out of the tip of my pen... or I can get up there and give the crowd something, unexpected.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Classes are going well.  I teach a lot.  Nothing really original or new.  Macbeth and Plath are the two major focuses.  Playwrights and Poetry.  Here I am spewing out to students what professors have drilled into my brain.  I only hope I can stay one step ahead of them, like Pierce Brosnan stayed one step ahead of the lava in Dante's Peak.


There was basketball in a toilet today.  I found it.

Australians put the letter "r" in the darnedest places.  Like in the word "saw" it becomes "sore."  One of my students actually wrote an essay using the word "sore" where "saw" should have been.  The letter "r" disappears just as much as it appears.  It's like a phantom letter.  "Car" becomes "Caah."  It's not bad, just different.  Communication is still easily possible.

 Oh I know, parent/teacher conferences are tomorrow night.  I'll try on an assortment of different accents for the occasion: Irish, British, Scottish, Australian, American, Chinese... It will be wonderful.  I'll probably most often use the "Your kid is a screw-up accent" though.  I feel like I'll get pretty good speaking like that.

Cheers,
Melmoth