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.

Hammered, Tanked, Wasted, Plastered, Canned, Sloshed, Housed, Juiced Up & Crocked

Dear reader, I know you hold me up as a paragon of virtue and decorum. I know that what you are about to read will destroy your faith in humankind, ie. me. But I must be honest with you, reader, otherwise this entire blog is just a pointless exercise in onanism for me.
And none of us want that.
So, I'll level with you, reader, treat you like an adult and tell you things that I hope you're mature enough to understand.
I got absolutely wasted last night.

Not quite as wasted as this.

I wouldn't normally use 'wasted' when I can still, with relative confidence, remember what happened the previous night. And I can. Every. Sordid. Detail.
Allow me to set the scene; it's Milly's birthday today and she decided to host a party in her parents' house, about an hour and a half away from Yarra, as Kookaburra flies. I drove up with Aspen, Manthy, Jason and Smeargle, and we were all pretty tightly packed into the back (Manthy gets carsick and so got to sit in the front.)
It was hot and uncomfortable, but I was excited and we passed the time playing twenty questions (we all got stumped over Michael Caine, who, did you know, has won an oscar? Smeargle did.)

Suave mother, ain't he?

Anyway, we arrive, after a minor drama over a tollroad and the accidental taking thereof, and pile into 'the unit' (a second building built on the main land of Milly's house) where the party was to take place. We settled in, watched a little TV, snooped about the house and then the business of presents began. I read Milly  the poem I wrote (an acrostic), Aspen and Smeargle gave her drawings, Logan got her a USB, Alec got her Fifty Shades of Grey and Cass got her a potato. I believe it was around this time I took my first drink; I'd purchased some vodka with cranberry (40%) and Manthy was kind enough to give me some raspberryade with which to to mix it.

Above: my bloodstream, last night.

I was drunk within minutes, and I don't mean tipsy, I mean drunk. There's a video of me singing along to Nelly Furtado's I'm like a bird from about twenty minutes after this drink. I was the first one drunk and I don;'t know why cos it took me about two hours to get drunk after TWWOO, and a lot more vodka (I remember I was halfway through the bottle when it was pointed out I was even heavier on my feet than normal- I'd had maybe a quarter of a bottle when I was three sheets to the wind last night.)

Can you tell?

All I could do was be thankful that I was happy, TWWOO drunk Rory and not miserable, Bedlam drunk Rory. I participated in all the games, danced, sang, made people laugh and was generally agreed to be the life and soul of the party; some people, notably Adrian with whom I duetted on Circle of Life (lifting Jason as an impromptu Simba) and Cee Lo Green.

I see you driving 'round town with the girl I love!

Sadly, it wasn't all sweetness and light- I managed to smash a glass with my bare hands (but didn't cut myself)- just by banging on the side of it, in the manner of a speech. Luckily, I wasn't the only one and I did learn my lesson and managed to avoid punching the TV placed precariously against the dancing wall. I did start to sober up shortly after this incident, and decided I didn't want to face the rest of the party sober, knowing what I'd done (it was about ten o'clock at this point); so, I deliberately re-intoxicated myself.

Really didn't take that long.

This might have been a bad thing to do, having already broken something in my drunken state, but I find it hard to regret, since I went right back to singing, dancing and generally living it large.

Large and in charge.

I remember drunk pass the parcel, with questions instead of prizes, and how I fashioned a hat and gloves out of the discarded newspaper (after building myself a nest).

Made from 100% recycled materials.

During this game, Ellie said she wanted me as her child; I was also declared most likely to appear of Sixty Minutes (a news talk show) and go to jail, so I had to do two dares: one tell a story about someone in the room (I chose to make Martin a fairy princess of Oz) and do an interpretive dance entitled 'the death of the butterfly', which I'm really hoping wasn't filmed. This was filmed, for some reason:

There was a Milly trivia round, where I insisted we be called 'the Periwinkles', still not sure why, pizza, which I devoured and with which I managed to avoid a hangover (in the stead of weetabix, see) and a deep, meaningful conversation with Logan and Jason where I opened up about my depression last summer.
All in all a really enjoyable night in a part of Australia I hadn't seen before (Check out 'The Mornington Peninsula' page for photos taken from my walk there this morning, WARNING: there are a lot of photos).

MillyxCory VictoriaxCory IxAudrey Hepburn

I'm gonna mix it up today and write this post as a songfic.
***
They had walked a long way to reach the bridge. Milly had promised it would be worth it. Milly had copper brown hair which went down to her waist; like a hotter Kristen Stewart.

She was walking with her friends Victoria Jason and Martin and the secret love of her life Cory.

Moonriver, wider than a mile

The bridge spanned the river which seemed to go on forever- it was so wide it made the Amazon look small.
"Neato!" Said Jason who was American.

"Bonza!" Said Martin who was Australian.

"Crikey!" Said Victoria who was Australian too but she was secretly looking at Cory and not at the river like the rest of them were.

Cory didn't say anything because he was the strong and silent type and not prone to stupid exclamations.

I'm crossing you in style

"We should cross it." Said Milly who was also Australian.
"Neato!" Jason said and eargerly ran across to the middle of the bridge.

"Bonza!" Said Victoria and Martin together and zipped across.
Cory didn't say anything and walked across the bridge demurely and coolly.

Someday

"Someday I'll tell Rory how I feel" thought Victoria.

Milly thought it too, even though she couldn't hear Victoria's thoughts, not being psychic.

Old dream maker, you heartbreaker

Victoria dreamt alot about Cory who she knew would break her heart if she ever told him the truth. Milly was the same.

Whereever you're going, I'm going your way

The friends all followed Cory to the centre of the bridge and looked at the river. The moon was reflected in the water and was beautiful.

It was not as beautiful as Cory who they would all follow to the end of the earth but it was still pretty "Neato!" as Jason said.

Two drifters off to see the world

Jason and Cory were both foreigners to Australia where they were currently. Both were new there having come from other countries. They both were seeing the world having left their countries and come to Australia.

There's such a lot of world to see

But neither of them had seen all the world.

Victoria and Milly thought they saw the world in Rory's eyes.

We're after the same rainbow's end

Both Milly and Victoria knew they both wanted Cory and that neither of them could have him like a rainbow.

Waiting round the bend

Martin decided to leave and wait for them around the corner.

My Huckleberry friend

Cory was Huckleberry. Beautiful and Huckleberry.

Moonriver and me

"I feel one with this river." Said Cory deeply. "And with the moon. I feel like a...moonriver." He said Huckleberrically.
"Neato! Said Jason.
***
Hope you liked it! Please comment! XXX

A bridge too far

The 'rents have landed, and I did not need to contact them, meaning I win.
The war.
Against...prodigality.
Or summat.

Anyway, this'll be a quick'un just to tell y'all about one of the less pleasant memories I have accrued in my month (shit, one twefth of the way through my time here- WHERE HAS IT GONE?!!) standing on the underside of the world.
I call it...

'Les Misère-ables'

It started with the rather innocent suggestion that Logan, Aspen, Jason (who is now on his fourth nickname in 'David') and I play 500, a card game I've picked up whilst here. The point of 500 is to win 500 points through playing what is essentially 'hearts' but where the trump card changes every time; at various points in the game, Logan and Jason had scored 490, 430 and 470 points. Aspen and I had, equally variously, 150, -230 and -440 points (if you get to -500 points, you lose). However, neither team ever managed to get to that golden quincentennial marker; at one of the points that L and J had gotten oh so unbelievably close, I managed to persuade the ineffable Mr. J to take a fool's gamble and thus lose them an inordinate amount of points. Now, for some reason, Logan decided this was my fault, even though it was David who had taken the risk. He expressed his distaste by twisting my ear to try and stem my laughter at the situation, which I felt was unnecessary- now, Logan is one of the few who actually reads my blog, so I'll leave this discussion there.
Anyway, long, long, long story short, they won and we went to Macdonalds, but it's notable for being one of the few times my serpent-tempter act has actually worked, and also for the sheer chunk of my life that it took to complete this game. Seriously, I now see my life as pre and post- 500.

Bats with wings, do your thing

Glad to see you’ve awoken from the hypoglycaemic coma into which you slipped upon viewing photography from the hands of your idol, me.

Well, dial 999, cos here comes some more images captured by my most singular hand.

The subject this time is nothing so evasive as the common garden pancake, but the much more placid fruit bat. Yes, those black cocoons hanging from the trees are not incredibly rotten apples nor some form of shiny metapod, as I first decried, but hundreds and hundreds of flying foxes! My friend John, of penguin fame, drove me down to visit the colony in Yarra Bend Park and even played tour guide, pointing out the various fragrant plants and filling in the rather large gaps in my knowledge about fruit bats (did you know they can swim?) I also got to learn some more unusual facts about the bats from reading the signs- for example, that smell that pervades the bat cave in Chester zoo is not their faeces, but their pheromones, so if you don’t mind it, you may well be a zoophile. Also, it conserves more energy to sleep hanging upside down than to defy gravity and stand up- who knew, right? Anyway, long story short, there were hundreds and hundreds of bats, swarming the trees like gremlins on a plane wing, not moving and perfectly visible in broad daylight, and these were the best I could get for you:

I tried shouting 'use harden' to no avail.

Note the harbinger of death or 'poison apple' look.

A bat in the hand is worth two in the bush. 

Something witty.

And please gawk in disbelief at a video I shot of bat in flight.

Allow me to reiterate: I fuckin' love Australia.

"Sir, I will fight you"

Dear reader, today you are in for a treat even more scrumptious than the one I consumed last night. Yes, those of you who also follow my admittedly sporadic tweets (and thus get the full Wiz-kid experience, as it were) will be aware that last night, in the company of messers Logan and Aspen, I frequented a pancake parlour. Oh, what rapture! Oh, what ecstasy! But that is nothing compared to what you are about to experience, dear reader; gaze, agog and aghast, at a photograph...taken by yours truly. 

Not pictured: a balanced breakfast.

 And, what is this? Another?!

Huh. I'd always pictured them as identical twins.

Yes, even though I purchased a phone some eleven days ago, up until now, no picture taken had the panache nor classiness necessary to be placed upon this blog of blogs. But now, weep mere mortals! Weep at the beauty assembled before you!
In other news, the pancakes were delicious but gave me a stomach ache this morning. Swings and roundabouts.

I went to a readthrough this morning- I hadn't been to one since January* and that was Spirit of the Butterfly, so I'm just gonna go ahead and say I actually haven't been to one since that workshop in October which lead to the infamous 'Rory as Titania' line**. It was immensely enjoyable; at first, naturally, we were all kind of awkward and no one really knew what to say. But then, someone tittered at one of my recitations- I was cast in the role of a clown (playing to my strengths)- spurring me on to greater pantomime, encouraging others, and before long we were having a gay old time with much mirth and we started interacting outside of the script. I'm so glad I got up for it, because to be honest, between the weather (see The Shit Hits the Fan), my stomach ache (see above) and the start time (see NINE O'CLOCK IN THE BLOODY MORNING!!!), I was sorely tempted to skip. But I didn't, and was rewarded. Sure there's a moral in there somewhere, but if I look for it I'll have to live by it.

The readthrough also introduced a new player into the mix by the name of George- after the reading, he and I stood talking and not only did he compliment me on my voice and say he might be able to help me get a job but he smokes a pipe, so he's definitely in my good books. Hopefully, we'll meet again next week at another readthrough, so I'm gonna go ahead and create a tag for him (am I moving too fast?). Anyways, readers, I feel that's enough excitement for you, else you won't be able to get to sleep, so off to bed.

P.S. The title's a quote from the readthrough.

*For the purposes of this blog, I'm counting a readthrough as a reading of a play as a gathering where people assemble to read a script when they have no intention to be in a production of said script, thus discounting The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Hawk Noir and the ten minuters' scripts.

**You know the one I mean.

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.

The only one he ever feared

Finally updating from the ol' Y to the A-RR-A; I've borrowed a charger from Jason. So, what's been going on since I last upadated y'all? (Esmond now reads as well- SQUEE!)
Well, I saw a possum during the day. It was humungous! It just ran out in front of me as I was walking to the bus stop on wednesday morning; it scampered up a tree and then sat there staring at me and urinating. I hope these two actions were not related. I also visited a 'chocolate restaurant' with Millie, Victoria and Martin- the furniture wasn't sculpted from chocolate, as I'd hoped, but the waiting staff were so 'comme ci, comme ca'.
There was a party in Games room 1 last night- a brilliant opportunity to observe the Australian student in its natural environment; turns out they drink alot and challenge one another to 'Aboriginal-offs'. Guess what that consists of.
I watched the opening ceremony of the 2012 olympics in rec room 2; I was the only Brit there, and so had to apologise for the shortcomings of said event- although I personally thought that Mary Poppins vs Voldermort was not only inspired, but also nucking futs. And I don't know if that's good or not.

How do you say 'jumped the shark' in olympiad?

I wasn't gonna watch, but then I realised that London 2012 is, unfortunately, going to come up alot in the future, and now, when it does, I'll be reminded of that warm 'winter's' day, sitting on the faux leather sofas with my ozzie mates and ripping on Danny Boyle. I think that's about as fun as the olympics are ever gonna get.

For anyone.


Ever.



So now they can stop showing it.





Please.