365

A year from today, I will be finished with my undergraduate degree.

This is quite a terrifying thought: it signifies onrushing adulthood, a looming crossroads and that there have been three years since I finished sixth form, which I cannot fathom.

Unusually, I can actually recall my last day at Shrewsbury; frollicking in the meadows, building human pyrids, my friends sneaking me drinks at weatherspoon's cos I'd forgotten my ID. I simply cannot comprehend that that happened three years ago. It makes no sense.

I am inordinately grateful that I took this year in Melbourne, for a multitude of reasons, but at the moment because it's given me an increased fervour for my subject. Before coming to Melbourne, I was seriously considering dropping out of uni, convinced that I'd made the wrong choice, that I had no future in my elected domain, that I was going to fail. I watched in envy as Becky and James and Sam took everything in their stride and I couldn't even manage a single step forward (or so it felt- I obviously made some advances in academia, else I wouldn't be here). I refuse to take all the blame for this melancholy- I truly feel that Edinburgh put some of their worst feet forward during second year (incidentally, this criticism is moot now because I was the last year to do my course): syntax, phonetics and globish all in one year? It's like they wanted us to stop caring. But, yes; I was dissatisfied and dreading honours. Now? I kinda wanna do post-grad; obviously, some of that comes from there being more choice in honours, but I think it also is due to Melbourne Uni's different approach to the tertiary educational experience and, most importantly, some of the professors I've had here. 

I'm trying very hard not to completely disregard Edinburgh; when skyping Daniel recently, he accused me of exaggerating my dissatisfaction there, and that's not at all what I'm aiming to do. But, I also feel I have to be honest (or else, what is the point of this blog?) and I really credit Melbourne with rejuvenating my appreciation of my course. 

Ask me in a year what I want to do and maybe the answer will be radically different, but currently further education is top of the list. 

...I kinda wish it was something less expensive.

And, to make this post not just words, here's a picture of Victoria and I molesting a giant Manta. And, no, there's no glass.

"If you want to milk plows or cow fields"

So far, in the course of my adventures in Oz, I've acted against someone who's in Neighbours and auditioned against someone who was in Summer Heights High, not to mention being the same audience as Geoffrey "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request" Rush. But now, I think, I have reached a whole new height of star-interaction.
For, you see, yesterday, Tuesday the 9th April 2013, at 2.15pm, on a sunny afternoon in Melbourne, I made a short film with none other than motherfucking Sportacus from Lazytown.

As badass as scarface?

Not only that- I had actual lines (the humorous spoonerism that resulted from such makes the titles of this post) in a film with Sportacus. I was even DIRECTED by Sportacus. He told me he liked my line reading.
Swoon.


Daniel, you're not the only one who's acting career has taken a major leap forward in the past two weeks. 

He ate your father in front of you

So, Daniel got into Drama school. Aside from being the single biggest contributor to this blog (after myself, of course), Daniel also holds the distinction of being one of the few actors I have 'discovered'.

And what a discovery it was.

Of course, Danny boy himself might dispute this, and argue that he even had some professional roles in Spain but buckus, I say, that damn Spider is where your career started in the English speaking world!

This guy.

The only person whom I believe could challenge me as title-bearer of Godfather of Daniel's theatrical career is Ian, and though Daniel did indeed have lines in Vatnsdal, I don't believe that play truly tapped into Daniel's talents. His cackling, baton-twirling, cross-dressing talents. All of which TWWOO used to great, if somewhat psychodelic, effect.
And, thus, I'm very proud to say that another one of my babies has hatched into a beautiful butterfly. Now, Joseph just needs to make something of his life.
Like that'll ever happen.

In less self-congratulatory news, I got to watch someone else directing my work for the first time last Sunday. This is only the second time someone else has actually helmed a project to which I contributed the script: but during The Ten Minuters I only ever saw the finished product, not the 'making of'. And I have to say, it was weird- seeing my words come to life but with no control over how they lived. I now know how my parents feel. No wonder they're always so disappointed with me.
P.S. For Posterity's sake, this play is Aladdin, a pantomime I've written to be performed for sick children. (And also children who are ill- get it?)

And finally, I've started Language in Aboriginal Australia and it's really fascinating- the culture is so different from what I'm used to that it means everything I'm learning is completely unexpected and brand new. I haven't had that for a while.
First Language Acquisition is also proving as interesting as I'd hoped and I was actually presented with some tangible proof for innatism, which I never imagined would happen and may merit further investigation.
Phonetics has sadly segued into ear training, which boils down to weeks and weeks of watching one's tutor/professor repeat the same sound twice and ask 'did you hear the difference that time?' to which the answer is inevitably 'no'. Not as frustrating as syntax, certainly, but quite bad.
So, all in all, quite a good term so far.

Bach Too's Cool

Uni started again yesterday.
I have now had a taster of the three subjects I'm enrolled in for this semester- Semantics, Phonetics and First Language Acquisition.
First up was Semantics, taught by David Thewlis in an oscar-worthy performance as Brett Baker, who also taught me Syntax last year. I'm trying not to hold that against him, I really am. Suffice to say we won't be studying pragmatics this year, which I personally think is one of the most interesting areas of semantics (it's to do with implication and context- which are absolutely fascinating linguistically). I'm currently trying to switch Semantics for Language in Aboriginal Australia, which for some reason is not offered at Edinburgh.
Next was Phonetics, and the professor seemed oddly nervous- I don't know if it's his first time teaching or he just had a bomb strapped to his leg, but he repeated himself a lot and at the...end just...kind of...faded... ...a....way. Sadly, he's up against the titan that is Patrick Honeybone as my previous professor in phonetics and, well, that's an extremely tough act to follow. Like Invocal. Or Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (Daniel.) As for phonetics, it's not my favourite field anyway, as it's rather dry- lots of science, TONNES of biology- but it's not as bad as syntax, as I can at least see the need to study phonetics, and it does have some interesting facets. 
Finally, I headed to First Language Acquisition- the Professor of which has the same name as my grandmother and only paternal aunt. What a small world. First Language Acquisition has always been one of my favourite topics cos babies are just so damn cute when they try to talk. Case in point:

 

I'm pretty sure he calls me 'Nony' in that clip. I dunno if that's better or worse than 'Ory', which was Sam's attempt. 

Anyway, in First Language Acquisition we have to go and record a child talking and interact with it, which will at the very least be a different way to spend an afternoon (though I essentially did exactly that every Friday morning for eighteen months). I'm quite looking forward to this course actually, especially since my professor said she was a sociolinguist by trade, meaning maybe in later life I can combine two of my favourite fields after all (if we can just work in watching penguins somehow I'll have it made).

Really, really sorry Rachael

...It would seem reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated (I'm looking at you, Spanish Daniel). Yes, despite the best efforts of the world's deadliest continent to boil me to death, the flying crocodiles Jason and I encountered and the spider I found in my coat this morning, I am still entwined within this mortal coil.

But then why have I not been updating?!, you cry, because you're easily excitable; the answer is simple: I was saving it for a christmas present. I was gonna tell you all the exciting things I've been doing this holiday on christmas day itself, thereby rendering that day of days even extra specialer. But you all moaned and whined and lamented and whinged and cried and sneezed and wailed and shrieked and screamed and shouted (Jari was especially bad) that, like that new parent who just wants their infant to shut its freaking face, I'm letting you have your christmas presents early. Lucky you. (especially you, Jari.)

Firstly, apologies to Rachael Murray, who I honestly thought would never read this blog: at least it shows I'm thinking about you (more than what's his face at any rate- you know, the one with the hair). I imagine I'm banned from any Bedlam parties this year. Boo hoo.

Secondly, what have I actually been doing? Well, dear reader(s?), I've really only done one or two uniquely Australian things in the past few weeks. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've been having a ball, but in mostly very conventional ways (cinema trips, coffees with friends, toffees with enemies, banoffees with frenemies): however, I did accompany Jersey Shore (AKA Neato Duh AKA Jason) to the Victorian Parliament House for a tour that was nowhere near as lame as I was expecting. The building really is rather spectacular, with something ridiculous like $6 million worth of gold leaf on the walls, and is mercifully air conditioned: did you know that the Victorian Parliament still has a sergeant at arms present at all meetings in case someone tries to kill the speaker? They're armed with a golden mace: the current sergeant is a 5'1 woman, and honestly the mace is almost as tall as her. I'm not kidding. They also have brains in their street lamps, though they refuse to acknowledge this.
The other ozzie undertaking I undertook was to attend a pool party at one Milly Raso's. A pool party. In the middle of december. Try and get your head around that, ya bloody poms! It was very fun, cos we got to see Neato take his first dip into a pool. And I actually didn't try and submerge him at any point. I'm quite proud of myself for that.

Thirdly, I have been alluding to it throughout this post, and you've no doubt all been pondering on it, so I'll just go ahead and spit it out: it's bloody boiling. Christ on a bike, but it is hot. And it's gonna be hot for a long time to come. I now know why slow-cooking turkeys don't just up and out the oven: it's too friggin' hot to move. Like, seriously. It just saps your energy. I mean, I saw a flash mob the other day and I honestly woulda joined, if not for the forty degree heat. I left them to their sweaty fun and chilled in a lord of the fries (it gets mention on this blog just cos I love the name).
This heat has allowed for some relevations: a) it is fucking amazing that Australians are so unilaterally pale, b) air conditioning should not be a privilege but a RIGHT, protected by Geneva and all and c) Ozzie bartenders cannot prepare pimms to save their lives. One actually tried to serve it to me straight, no lemonade or nothing. I put her in her place. My antipodean pals have naturally never heard of Pimms, and think me a silly beggar for drinking it when there are perfectly good stubbies to be had, but they can suck a lemon. After they've put it in my pimms, which is served with lemonade, ya daftie.

There is more to tell, and I will do so in part 2, expected some time this evening. I will also post some time tomorrow on the advancements made by Blank Slate theatre, which I know you're all salivating to hear, and there is a video which I just can't wait to show you. Well, evidently I can wait, because I am. But, yes, fun times ahead. Get excited.

And Daniel, stop declaring me dead, please. It's frustrating.

Echo de Menos

I'm forgetting people's names. I don't know if I should be worried. Last week, it took me three days to try and remember Amadeus Alasdair's full name- this was someone with whom I shared a room for five days during NSDF, and I genuinely couldn't think of his surname. It was distressing. I actually exclaimed "Wilson!" aloud in the street when it occurred to me- I was tempted to go the full Tom Hanks, but I haven't actually seen that movie and I didn't want to get it wrong and look like a freak.

Now today I can't think of the second name of Rachel-who's-the-ents-manager back in Edinburgh. I want to say 'Madow', but that's a left-wing newsreader from Americaland; I have a feeling it's 'Meyrick' but if I had to put money on it, I just wouldn't and keep the money for myself.

But on the reverse side, a couple of nights I dreamt that Rosie limped up to me in the street (she'd broken her foot again); I keep seeing Thom Louis in the street, or Chris Craig Harvey on the tram. These aren't people with whom I'm particularly close (although I did lock lips with Chris SEVEN TIMES), but I keep seeing them. I don't know if this is normal, but I didn't see Shrewsbury people in Edinburgh, and it's not like it's just a physical resemblance- they always seem to be wearing clothes that I associate with them.

The natural conclusion is just that I miss them (it's true I miss Chris' lips), but then why am I not seeing Esmond, or Daniel, or Rice Krispies?

These are the clothes I associate with Daniel. They are, naturally, his mother's.

It's harmless, obviously, but it's weird to keep double-taking at strangers on the street. Also, if this blog isn't here for me to obsess over minor details then what is?

P.S. Rachel's second name was 'Murray' (just looked it up) but I'm pretty sure I had a 'Rachel Meyrick' on Facebook. The plot thickens.

EDIT: Rachel Meyrick was in my year at sixth form.

Dinosaurs on a spaceship, snakes on a plane, freshers on my turf

If my calculations are correct, which is by no means certain, Edinburgh Freshers' week began this weekend (a quick google confirms this).
I'm trying to work out what I'd be doing were I still in Edinburgh; no doubt part of me would be tempted to repeat my actions of the previous Freshers' week, where I tried to reinvent myself by attending all manner of different events, including, *shudder*, a bingo night, before returning, somewhat gingerly and with my tail firmly between my legs, to Bedlam.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Of course, it's impossible to know what I'd be doing, as I would've acted differently towards the end of last term if I'd thought for a second that I'd be coming back. I probably would've tried to put a play on during Freshers' week, and maybe auditioned for one of the plays already on, or maybe I would've even waited to put on TWWOO until this semester. I wouldn't have spoken to some people so frankly, and I also wouldn't have buried the hatchet with some people (I'm looking at you, Gem).
I'd have most likely spent the summer in Edinburgh, so maybe I would've suffered a relapse to the state I was in last July. Or maybe I would've risen triumphantly above the black dog like a phoenix (anyone else flashing back to Harry Potter?).

Above: my (hypothetical) summer.

I'd go and watch Becky perform stand-up and Daniel perform Blue Room (this is the thing I'm most sad about missing.)

Imagine this in a sex play.

I'd maybe staff at Bedlam a few times, try and get to know some of the newbies- there'd be numerous trips to Doctors, no doubt, and a bit of mythicising those who'd have departed (I've decided in this alternate reality that Esmond also didn't leave, so the whole ladies' man thing didn't come into play).

Dreammaker, heartbreaker.

I'd have fish pie at Teviot, and meet with Bammers and Henriette and talk about what we did all summer, and I'd hang with Luci and Bryn and feel awkward as they lit up and started getting all metaphysical. I'd have hot chocolate with Freya and discuss Lord knows what.
And then a black hole would open up over Edinburgh and everything I know would be consumed by the void. Because, after all, this is all postulation and furthermore, is completely useless because I'm not there, I'm in Melbourne and besides, Freshers are all mistakes. Filthy, nasty things. Glad I never was one.

Of course, I also can't help looking forward a year and trying to imagine how I'll act during my fourth (God, that's too many) Freshers' week. Maybe during final year I'll finally have figured it out and I'll be cool as Corbin, taking in the sights but not getting unnecessarily agitated over little things of no significance. Somehow, I doubt it.

A series of unfortunate events

I've just completed a syntax assignment; it might not have been pretty, it might not have been clever, but I got it in and that's what counts (that's what he said).

It felt odd to be doing an assignment and not complaining to Becky about it. In fact, I had to do the entire thing without any of the regulars (yet again, totally what he said); Becky going on about how she'll fail and spectacularly failing to fail, Rosie not starting until a month after the deadline and breaking her foot, James knowing all the answers and not telling me AND seeing a point to studying syntax and not telling me.
Yes, much like the final season of house, all the regular characters and their endearingly frustrating antics were gone, leaving only one incredibly grizzled, beaten man to try and solve yet another pointless and nonsensical mystery on his own and pulling the answer out of his ass at the last moment.

I totally just compared myself to Hugh Laurie.

Above: me. Definitely.

Doing a syntax assignment usually comes with a sense of camaraderie; we were all storming the beaches of futility together and even if we weren't enjoying ourselves (except for Jimmy boy, being the rough and tumble scot that he is), we were at least together. Now, it's just me: I did speak to some others in the class about the assignment, and even tried expressing my disdain for it, but either ozzies are much more studious than Brits or I was talking to the squares because they simply didn't get me.
Alack.
The only comfort is that Becky will have to do an assignment without me...whining. That'll show her?


It was also odd to not be on facebook during an assignment- just as workplaces have coffee breaks, assignments have facebook breaks; but, having kicked the metaphorical caffeine habit, I resorted to the much more productive les mis breaks, where I would watch the trailer for the upcoming film:

and then one of the songs, chosen at random from the jauntier numbers:

and I'd pantomime along. Of course, I had to be silent, still being in the Rowden White.

In my defense, it's a really good trailer, and the soundtrack is possibly the best of any musical ever. The sad thing is, this lead to me singing 'I dreamed a dream' to myself, and several accused me of wanting to be Susan Boyle.
Shame on them. This song existed long before the scotswoman claimed it as her signature, and I've had it stuck in my head (rotating with 'Kiss me' and Invocal's back catalogue) since I was in a production of this stirring show, what, eight years ago? Damn. Let's have a moment of silence for my adolescence, shall we?

Anyway, the outcome is I'm super-excited for the new Les Mis film and everyone in the Rowden White thinks I'm a loser, which I guess is better than narc.

In other news, after finishing the ordeal, an ordeal being the collective noun for syntax questions, I treated myself to some ice cream from the student union and then went and sat in the sunshine to enjoy it. As I merrily licked away at my treat (Oreo flavoured, you know) what should descend upon me but a dire raven?

Not pictured: The dire raven. P.S. Got to watch some of TWWOO to try and screencap the raven (failed miserably), but it still makes me so very happy to watch that video. I love you all, wherever you are.

This thing was huge; the ozzie everyman who happened to be sitting opposite even felt compelled to comment on it. It landed next to me, more vulture than bird, and set its beady eye upon me and, more importantly, my ice cream. And then this happened:

I jest. It flew off. But I was kinda concerned with said ozzie said, quite cheerfully, 'he'll 'ave your eye out, no bother'. Thanks. I really wanted to know that, mate.

And then, after finishing the ice cream, I treated myself to some democracy. Yes, I voted in the student elections. I'll spare you the tedium, except for one piece of trivia which I want to share: you weren't allowed to vote for the 'Queer Officers' unless you identified as queer. I have no idea how they planned to enforce this (penile pathismograph?), but it was there, written on the paper. Also worth noting: the woman on the desk told me that I should just skip the Queer officer page, as it wouldn't apply to me.
The Aussies really aren't that good at guessing.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, mis padres have been reading and accused me of poor mathematics; I claimed I was here for eight weeks on 30th August, and they said it was six. Well, sucks to be both of us, cos it's actually seven. The difference between you and me, dad? I don't use maths for my job. Learn to count.

For Daniel For Reals

Did you really not see this coming?

Sorry about the other post.

For Daniel

Two professionally drawn syntax trees:

I just hope he doesn't notice that he asked for bigger trees; also, that these aren't legible.

The Four H's

Before coming here, I had to attend a lecture wherein I was told that I would go through the four stages of exchangeitude, called the four H's, these were:

• Honeymoon period- where everything is great, all the songs on the radio are about you and you're getting near constant lovin' (mom, dad please stop reading)
• Homesickness- you start to miss your friends, family, more reasonable prices, less noisy birds, more comprehensible accents, shorter games of cards, properly labelled Rice Krispies...
• Hostility- this university is silly, why can't they do more like Edinburgh does? I mean, that's the better system, clearly, so just stop being so contrary, Australia and just do what we tell you!
• Happiness- ok, it has its flaws, but at least there are no squirrels to worry about. I'm content.

I don't know which H I'm in- obviously, I'd like to say happiness, but I don't remember going through hostility ('cepting X-bar, but that's hardly Melbourne-specific), and I'm definitely not homesick (see below), meaning I must be in the Honeymoon period. This is worrying because it means all that other stuff's still to come. I can't imagine what I'll get homesick over (the last time was my bathtub), because I've pretty much replaced all my friends- I just need a Rik and a proper Daniel (Darryl has an accent, but that's pretty much where the similarities end). And hostility seems outlandish- I love it here! The lectures are more engaging (yet again, barring syntax), the campus eateries are more varied...writing this out has made me realise I am definitely in the honeymoon period. Well, damn. However, this does have an upside- I should have a bit of honeymoon left when the Pliant one begins his, meaning I won't feel miserable by comparison. Huzzah.

Quick side note: I skyped the 'rents yesterday, and it was exactly the same conversation we have when I talk to them back home: my mom worries I'm not getting out enough, my dad worries I'm spending too much and they both agree I don't contact them enough. If I'd recorded the conversation and bleeped out proper nouns (oh god, I'm flashing back to X-bar) it would have been indistinguishable from the dozens of other times I've skyped them. But, more to the point, we hadn't spoken for 34 days, and the conversation lasted 47 minutes. My mother said she felt it lasted long, but that it was only because we hadn't spoken for so long. By this mathematics, my mom wants us to talk for 98 seconds every day. Half that, and you've got yourself a deal, mother.
Of course, I shouldn't be so harsh, they are, after all, paying for me to be here (mum's defense, not mine). This, however, will not stop me being so harsh. Huzzah.