It's Later Now

So, Aussie Rules is finished, and, with it, the penultimate stage of my time in Oz. We are not entering the final chapter of my time here (I was gonna use the final chapter title from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as the title for this post, but that's Home Again, which doesn't really suit this post, and the chapter before that is the rather esoteric (and spoilerish) Glinda the Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish, so I'll have to come up with something on my own). Granted, I have two assignments, one test and one exam to go before I'm done with uni, but I saw Aussie Rules as the last bastion of mid-exchange-year-Rory, a lad who could still sleep in if he wanted to, or take on a show, after all he'd have time later to see Oz- well, It's Later Now (ok, title found).
To mark this occasion, I have booked my tickets for New Zealand, and, even more excitingly, shaved my face. Yes, I took the advice of that drunk lady on the train and got a hair cut. Just not on my pate. I have a few other plans for my time here (hopefully Uluru and more penguins).

Ladies. 

Aussie Rules went very well; my hats off to Andrew for pulling off the frankly bizarre idea he pitched to me all the way back in October ('No, see, cos football is Islam...'). I had some one thank me personally for my performance and say he'd come specifically to see me (having been bowled over by me in Confetti and Everything) and honestly this was a lot more pleasant than the fan I had in Edinburgh, who walked up to me in the middle of the meadows and whispered 'multim olim' in my ear AT ONE IN THE FUCKING MORNING. But, yes, Aussie Rules was a success, and I'm proud to have it as my final impression upon the melbourne acting scene (though not the theatre scene in general- hello, BESTies).
Speaking of theatre, it was over two weeks ago, but I needs must mention the Amadeus pre-show sing-off. If only because I got to fulfill my dreams of singing 'American Pie', 'Moonriver', 'Blue Moon' and 'Mr. Sandman' before an extremely captive audience. Also, on the final night I did what can only be called an astonishing rendition of the song below.

Let that image burn into your retinas.

In other news, I skyped with Esmond on Friday, and it was lovely: we spoke for two and a half hours, and despite ten months apart, we still fell into conversation so easily. It's nice to know I'll have at least one friend when I return to the Great Wet North (I thought of that on Wednesday and by God, I'll get the mileage out of it).

In other other news, it was Victoria's birthday last Saturday, and, wouldn'tcha know, she had a sci-fi party, so naturally....

The very definition of a coquette.

What? You can't guess? I'm Poison Ivy from Batman and Robin. Duh. I mean, the hair's a little off, and I've really made no effort at all apart from holding a plastic flower and wearing a Batman-related T-shirt, but I think everyone can agree I've adequately captured the campy awfulness of that film.
The party was a lot of fun, and I got to see Victoria's assorted friends, probably for the last time before I head off; as Ryan North is wont to say, 'partying is such sweet sorrow'.

Last night was Eurovision here in Ozland, and, much like with the Olympics, I found myself the token pom in a group of Aussies watching something distinctly English. I got a lot of mileage out of the fact that no one gave us any points (it's all political, I tell ya), but I didn't realise how seriously the Antipodeans take the damn thing. Everyone, that is, except the closed captions guy, who added such delightful additions as 'you can guess what she said' and 'what's she gonna do with flowers? Put them down.'
Victoria, Aspen, Michael and myself were enraptured by the cheesiness, and I found Aspen's knowledge of past contestants to be vastly superior to my own, which isn't actually saying all that much, but she remembered 'I'm in love with a fairytale', which I only recall because it was the night I came out. Funny old world, innit?

Finally, when I was crossing the road this morning, my hood slipped (yes, it's finally started raining in Oz- laugh it up, Edinburghers), and when I lifted it, there was a car right in front of me. It was really very terrifying. I also realised I hadn't updated this thing in ages and I didn't want to die without you guys having heard my inane prattle for a month! Hence, this post.
Blame the hood.

Our feature presentation

I come to you once more from the Rowden White, where, I've discovered, there are little signs on the desks reading 'please do not study'. I think I'm going to like it here.
Just checking in to inform you that last night I saw 'The Dark Knight Rises'; an awesome film, to be sure, but the experience around going was what I mainly wanted to talk about (however, I want to be the first to point out how much Bane sounds like Rik- 'Impossible!'). For one thing, we drove there; nearly all my antipodean peers can drive, it would seem, as their system of learning is much less strict than ours, from what I understand. I was trying to remember the last time I was in a car not driven by my parents, and I honestly drew a blank until I remembered back to the night after my Spanish exam, when the entire class went for tapas and we all drove back together, somewhat tipsy (I'm sure the driver wasn't...yeah, almost definitely sure). That was two years ago. I feel I was due a road trip with my fellows.
Also, I don't know if it's Australian cinema culture in general or just the particular screening I was in, but my word would Kermode have been appalled. Everyone was talking. About what was happening right there, in front of them, two seconds after it happened. I won't reveal the twist at the end of the film, suffice to say that mere moments after it happened, the person to my right predicted it for his mystified girlfriend. Well done you. Not. Plus, nearly everyone, including, I am ashamed to inform you, the very Australians I had travelled there with, had their phones out. One of my fellows' phones went off during the feature, revealing his ringtone to be theremin music, much to the delight of everyone, excepting myself. Guys, we've paid $11 for the privilege of watching this film- maybe we should do that instead of texting one another, yeah? Alack.
There is one other aspect of this experience I feel I should relate to you- after we all purchased our tickets, individually so as to avoid people having to barter about what was owed and to whom, I was found to be seated a row in front of all my fellows, entirely on my own. Well, I took my assigned seat as this seems to be the only aspect of the cinephile's code that it's not kosher to break in Oz, and waited and waited for others to arrive, so I would feel like less of a loser. Well, arrive they finally did; the couple who would squeal spoilers at one another once they'd already passed. I yelled a sarcastic 'Friends!' when they sat down next to me, turning to my fellows as I did.
At which point, the man switched places with his filly, so as not to be next to me.
Charming.

Hello from the future

It's five in the morning on July 13th here (my first real day in Australia is Friday the 13th, oh dear...). I have officially been beaten by jet lag, and cannot get back to sleep; my current plan is to exit yarra ASAISA (As Soon As Is Socially Acceptable), and go explore the city, taking time to do all those jobs one must do once one moves- open a bank account, get a new mobile, acquire some friends.
Ah yes, the eternal search for companionship. Once I'd finally settled in, had the tour and unpacked (I am now the sort of person who unpacks- deal with it), I was faced with a choice; either try and get some sleep, or go out there and meet my new comrades. Now, bear in mind I'd been travelling for 36 hours and had slept an estimated 6 hours during that time. I'll admit it, I was irritable. I was scared of what I might say, and how this may affect future friend-making. Case in point: I had gotten the 546, as instructed, but did not alight at the correct stop. *cue sad trumpet* I crossed the road to the bus stop opposite, where the same bus would pick me up and take me in the opposite direction. Soon after, a woman plodded up and I promptly asked her the time, she gave it to me, and then I foolishly asked her directions to Yarra house, lest I should be able to walk. She had never heard of such a place, but told me she thought the bus driver would have.
Forty or fifty times.
Not in a row, you understand, but interspersed with telling me her family history (no joke, one time her dad delivered furniture to Buckingham palace) asking me which suburb I wanted to go to, and interrogating me as to which university I was attending (she herself was a LaTrobe graduate). These conversational curiosities also bore repeating, in her eyes.
I nearly punched her.
She was the most insipid woman I had ever met, to paraphrase Austen, and I am not Elizabeth Bennet, I am not Emma Woodhouse and I am certainly not Fanny Price (heh heh, Fanny). Now, as anyone who knows me will attest, I am the most sweet-natured and kind soul you will ever meet- but beneath that burns a fire, which takes very little kindling to reach white hot terminal combustion. And this woman was piling on the logs like there was no tomorrow. She is lucky to be unharmed.
So, clearly I was in no state to meet my new best friends for life, and I decided to nap before heading for the trenches. I slept for four hours and then set off to the games room. Empty. I tried the recreation room. Empty. The kitchen? Empty.
I returned to my room, trod down the growing feeling I was going to be alone for a year, and circled back upon myself, where I found a man sitting in the games room. Success? I wish. The man was not unfriendly, don't get me wrong, but he was very happily watching TV and didn't need a new English friend. He asked the room at large (there was someone else there, asleep) what we wanted to watch, and, since it was on, I suggested the film 'Hanna'. This somewhat reminds me of the time I tried to seduce someone by showing them 'Batman Returns'.

Ladies.

This is not to say Hanna is a bad film, but it does not generate discussion- it's just too bizarre. The only thing one can think of saying is 'wha-huh?' Especially if you haven't seen it before. Alack.

So, once the film ended, I shot the man a smile and retreated to my room. I woke up four hours later, and broke a glass I had on my bedside table. Smooth. 

So, in conclusion, I've had 14 hours' sleep over the past three days, I broke the glass I was so kindly given by the RA, I've failed to meet anyone and I'm on course to live some kind of nocturnal existence while here. But, not for me the furrowed brow, tomorrow I can woo them all with my James Bond-style charm. Watch out Oz, the British are coming.

P.S. On the second leg of my journey, I was once more sat behind a baby, who screamed his lungs out the entire time. Guess how many mommies he had? That's right, only one. Give it up, breeders, gaybies are just better.