Boasting, unadulterated boasting

This is another post I never thought I'd write, but I'm just so happy right now that I feel it's completely justified.
As some of you may know, I starred in Amadeus in my first year- during that time, I received my first ever personal review for my acting. It wasn't positive. It wasn't exactly negative, but I remember the phrases 'graceful as a hippo', 'screeching' and 'not quite there' (I searched for the review, but couldn't find it on google- I don't quite know why I'm resurrecting it on the web).
I just got in the review for the current production of Amadeus. And what I love are the parrallels- this review, as with the previous, is just on some guy's blog. They don't know me, they're not writing for an official publication, they're not a theatre critic. It's just some person's opinion.
And in that person's opinion, I am 'amusing'. That's all they said, but that's more than enough. I have improved. I have palpably improved. There is real, undeniable proof that I am making progress in one of the fields to which I have decided to donate my energy, and that makes me so very, very happy.
Go me.

P.S. That old review said some very mean things about Rik. We are not amused.

The thousand yard stare of a man who burned to death and lived to tell the tale.

"Do you know how fragile the human skull is?"

Work has now begun in earnest for Aussie Rules. Last night, we had the first rehearsal, in which Andrew had us do a theatrical exercise wherein I wanted to leave the room by a certain door and my costar was to block me. At first, we weren't allowed to touch, and Andrew told me to leave the room by any means possible. This lead to me uttering the title of this blog post, utterly deadpan and entirely serious to said costar. After that, Andrew said we were allowed to get physical and I walked right out, nearly clipping Tom's head on the door frame on the way out.
It's now been a long time since we I've rehearsed something (not counting 24 hour play), and I forgot how intense such sessions could get. I think a large part of this is due to Andrew, who is very confrontational in his directorial style (in no way a criticism), and the other is that this is my first part since, I believe, Vatnsdal which isn't mostly comical- I'd forgotten how difficult it is to be sincere and unaffected when acting (Tom quite correctly noticed I was 'blocking' during one exercise, when I couldn't stop laughing). But it's always a goal of Andrew's to intrude into people's comfort zones, and why shouldn't that include his actors?

For a role that is almost entirely comic, look no further than Emperor Joseph, whom I will be realising in Amadeus. Yes, things have come full circle (about a year early, I'm disappointed to say), and I am once again starring in Peter Shaffer's tale of jealousy and nipples; however, in a twist that shows how much I've advanced as an actor and a person, I'm no longer the shouty, pompous German but now the serene, foolish emperor. It was odd at the readthrough to hear the lines with which I was so familiar (in the way you're familiar with the living room of a house you lived in five years ago), with completely different accents, inflections, and, in some cases, genders to the voices that I was used to. Rik Hart, for example, the epitome of old-school British Gentlemanliness, was substituted for an Australian girl, and that was when I first felt I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Interestingly, David K. Barnes being replaced by a petite Aussie lass felt completely natural. I think maybe because Strack is quite effeminate himself.
Maybe.
As for my own reading, I'll admit there's more than a dash of Sasha in there, but fuck it, what's he gonna do? Tall me to death?

Above: Artist's rendition of Sasha preparing for battle.

In other news, I've exchanged Semantics for Language in Aboriginal Australia, which will hopefully be insightful and uniquely Australian.And, in First Language Acquisition, we are once again touching on Innatism versus socialisation theories, and I still don't understand Innatism because there just seem to be so many flaws in the theory. (Innatism holds that humans can acquire language without really being taught it- my problems with this idea are numerous). I asked my professor, and she just said 'exactly', which, although affirming because I was right, wasn't all that helpful. I'll have to ask Jimminy about it, I think he's an innatist (fool).

The Jungle Blog

So, this one has been a long time coming, but I was trying to get some photos/videos off my phone, who was refusing to co-operate. However, thanks to the magic of Andrew Victoria, we're back in business. So, without further ado, my trip to the rainforest.

NB: For the vast majority of the time, I couldn't actually see my phone screen due to the glare of the sun, so there's a very real possibility that these pictures are awful.

So, I had to get up really early to go into the rainforest- I was picked up by the tour bus from N Joy and we sped along toward adventure. My tour guide was kinda weird- he kept acknowledging that no one really wanted to listen to him, but this didn't seem to deter him from speaking. He was also morbidly obsessed with Steve Irwin and kept touting how we would be able to see the actual spot where Irwin died (Neato!). We stopped off at a look out point where one could see some of the reef and the jungle.

We then sped along toward a wildlife sanctuary, where there were cassowaries, which can split a man in half, and ducks, which can't but had a go anyway- while I was feeding an adorable little kangaroo, a horrid bird flew up at me to try and get the food for itself, after I specifically refused it anyway for not being cute enough. Yes, I said boo to a goose and in response was viciously attacked. (This would actually be a theme of that day- being attacked by animals.)
But not before I held a koala, a python, and a motherfucking crocodile. Yeah, that's right. An actual, living crocodile. And I held it, with my unprotected human hands. How badass am I right now?
However, the croc wasn't half as problematic as the drop-bear, oh, I'm sorry, I mean 'koala'.
A koala which tried to eat me. As in, sniffed out its meal, leant back and opened its maw- at which point, the keeper stepped in and pulled him out of my grasp. The Koala was named 'grizzly' (I wonder why), so I can say I've faced being eaten by bears both drop and grizzly. I'm pretty sure I'm the most bad ass person in my social circle now. And I'm not even finished yet.
So, in the sanctuary, I saw pelicans, cassowaries and a lungfish (which is fucking horrific, btw), crossing three other animals off my Ozzie bucket list (how do I only have four months left?!). I also fed kangaroos for the second time, as well as some weird birds, and, inadvertently, one overly-eager duck. 
Then, it was on to the river and this is where things get really bad ass.
Anyone who read the last post and clicked on the link at the end will have read how crocodiles on the Daintree river have been becoming more aggressive, and that one croc actually attacked a river ferry a couple of years ago. This is the croc that I encountered on my trip along the river. We were chugging along, and I'll admit I was kinda bored, having only really seen mangroves at this point. Then I spotted two eyes popping out of the river, staring, I thought, right at me. I pointed them out and we all marvelled at this pair of eyes, which belonged to a croc named 'Scarface', as our guide informed us. After a while, the eyes submerged and we all thought that was that. I'll show you my picture versus one I found on google:

So, that's what I saw; pretty cool, but not all that threatening, right?

Found here

That was what I was actually up against. And I say 'up against' because guess what? Scarface resurfaced, and our guide informed us he was stalking the boat. 'Don't worry, though' he added, 'they hardly ever attack boats'. This was not as comforting as he thought. Had I read the article before I went, I might well have abandoned ship then and there, even though this would have simply put me even more in Scarface's domain. So, I can now say I've been stalked by a monocular bull croc named 'Scarface'. Jari, step down as the badass-king of our friendship group. We have a new monarch of badassery.

This guy.

After the river cruise, we stopped off at the point where you could see EXACTLY WHERE STEVE IRWIN DIED! ERMAGERD! After telling us how he died for the third time, TJ, our tour guide, let us off the bus and made us wait at this point for what felt like an inordinately long amount of time. I think he wanted us to fully appreciate that THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE STEVE MOTHERFUCKIN' IRWIN CEASED TO LIVE!!1!

Taste the death.

Then, we had lunch at an ice cream factory. Sadly, this is not what it sounds like- lunch was provided by the tour group and we sat and ate outside the ice cream factory. Still, I did sample some of the ice cream and it was delicious- chilli and chocolate, which I always think of as mine and Freya's flavour. There was maybe a touch too much chilli in there, so rather than cooling my pallet (Cairns is tropical, you know), it just made me reach for the water jug.
Also, while eating I walked into a spider's web. My natural reaction was to shake myself free and then to move on as though nothing had happened. This is the spider into whose web I had walked:

It's known as the Golden Orb spider and can kill people. And I shook its web whilst entangled in it. This is my life now.
Oh, also, the ice cream factory's toilets had a confusing use policy:

"Strictly" *nudge**nudge**wink**wink*. This reminds me of Rik's story about a friend who became a "Taxi driver".

After this, it was onto the rainforest, and I fulfilled another childhood wish by trekking into the jungle, even going barefoot at one point.

Sadly, this was a rather uneventful trek, even though we saw some more venomous spiders and I ate a live ant (I was told I could- it tasted of lemon). We were told to look out for cassowaries, which, as previously stated, can split one in half, but sadly none approached. Oh well, I'm still more badass than you, Dr. Fowkes and all (y)our little friends.

The next and final stop was at the beach, where I encountered this lovely sign:

I love the way the tentacles are artfully missing his lack-of-crotch.
I also want to point out that the beach looked like this:

Ok, the photo doesn't do it justice. Just understand that it was fucking beautiful- the water was pristine and inviting and full of killer jellyfish. *Sigh* Nice one, God, you got us. Also, I totally wrote 'Moi Smells' in the sand but it didn't come out in the picture- but it was definitely there, so, yeah. It's been written on both hemispheres. It's official now.

Anyway, after this we pretty much just headed back to the hostel, but I wanna share one final anecdote with y'all. On the way back, I struck up a conversation with one of my fellow tourees (I don't like how much that sounds like 'Tory', oh well), whose name was Peter. Peter was having a mid-life crisis. You could tell because he kept saying 'this is my trip around the world and then after this, it's settling down and having kids' and then laughing hysterically. Peter lived in San Francisco, but had been all over and was basically filling in the blanks on his travel check-sheet before he reproduced and his life ended. I can only hope I've done as much when my mid-life crisis comes around.
God bless you, Pete, wherever you are, and God help your children.

More photographs to be found here.

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.

Penguins and possums and fruit bats, oh my!

PENGUINS.

Sorry, I like to think I'm normally slightly more eloquent than that, but it has to be said: I SAW PENGUINS IN THE WILD! Real, live, tiny, cute, shy, beautiful PENGUINS!
John, a fellow Yarra-n, took Jason and me out to St. Kilda's beach last night; a short walk along the pier, a hop, skip and a jump along a frankly somewhat perillous walkway spanning the riled ocean, and there they were.

PENGUINS.

Real, live, fuzzy, breathing, squawking PENGUINS! I was a foot away from one at one point- I could have reached out and touched him, had I so desired. I didn't, because that would have been cruel and I'm not a cruel person, but by God, it was tempting. The species I saw were called 'Little Penguins', changed from the not so PC 'Fairy Penguins'. And they look like this:


Ladies.

 They are the most adorable thing one could imagine, and one looked right at me with his beady little eyes and I genuinely wanted to just squeal (ask Jason and I probably did.) Sadly, I was only allowed to coo over them for about half-an-hour as we had to return before our parking ticket ran out. But I will return. I vow this. I will see more

PENGUINS.

Real, live, terrified, kidnapped, mine now PENGUINS.

Epilogue:
To make sense of the title, Jason and I went for a stroll before I trip to see the- well, you know. And we saw a fruit bat, very large, very fast, very close.
And then another.
And another.
Then four.
Then five.
You see where I'm going with this? There were hundreds, filling the sky, clogging the horizon with their slightly creepy silhouettes. It was slightly like the scene in the wizard of oz, where the witch sends her little minions out to get them! and I had to stop myself from calling out 'Monkeys' in a Rik Hart baritone. I elected not to so as not to annoy Jason by talking even more about TWWOO.
Then, on the way back, we saw a possum- smaller than the one which crossed my path a couple of weeks ago- he scarpered when he saw us: not up a tree, as expected, but down a train. Proving that a leopard may change its spots and a possum its exits.

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.

10505 Miles

Genuinely at this moment, I don’t want to leave Edinburgh. Compounding this is the fact that if I weren’t about to cross the globe I could’ve saved myself a lot of stress and anguish this past week (I know, I know, #firstworldproblems), but the meaty heart of this lamentation stew is that Edinburgh has never seemed so uniformly charming in all my time here. As I was clearing out my flat this morning, everything took on an aura of delightfulness so potent that I nearly burst into tears upon finding a note- written by an American exchange student in my first semester- telling me ‘farewell’. I swooned over finding some mementos of a show that at the time nearly killed me. I pored over posters, wept over washing baskets and cuddled a shoe; the better half of a pair where one’s ruinous, worn existence had condemned the other to garbage.

I wish I were exaggerating, but despite the tepid atmosphere and decidedly damp vibes I’m getting from her right now, I want to lie down and wrap Edinburgh around me like a blanket. This week alone I’ve said goodbye to Becky, Freya and Rik, all of whom I’ve known since Fresher’s week- Becky has never been earnestly fun, Rik so quintessentially knowledgable nor Freya so unfathomably fascinating. ALL of them will be here next year. I could bask in another year of their friendship if I weren’t sodding off down under. Of all my fresher’s week friends, only Esmond remains to bid adieu, and then I am officially alone.

But, if my heart of hearts wants to kick and scream and hold its breath and refuse to get in the car, then my mind of minds is perfectly fine with that, revving the engine, leaving now, goodbye, going to leave you behind. I KNOW this is an amazing opportunity; it will improve my employability, gain me life experience, flesh out a sadly depleted CV (I think those might all be the same thing)- and I must confess, the allure of my antipodean paramour is intoxicating. But goshdarn it, did Andy have to be so witty last night? Did Connor have to be that loveable? Did John have to be...John? I am not particularly close to any of these people, and a voice in the back of my head is yearning to plumb their depths (metaphorically, guys, in case you’re reading- this is not a love letter). And I could, if not for the fact that I’ll be 10505 miles (a pleasingly round number, don’t you agree?).

So all I can do is hope; hope that I find an Australian Andy; hope that my friends don’t change too much while I’m away; hope that my year abroad isn’t just a bullet point on my CV or a kooky story I tell my children; hope that it’s a start of a whole new life, one equally as awesome as Edinburgh seems now. I’m realistic about what will become of this blog- at best, it’ll be a curiosity wheeled out to entice future freshers to apply for exchange years. My advice to you then is this: take off the graduation goggles, and you’ll see they’re rose tinted.

P.S. Flipped a coin as to whether the title should be ‘10505 miles’ or ‘Graduation Goggles’ before realising that the former is a better title and will stop me from having to think up a ‘How I met your mother’ themed title for each post.