The Footy and Me

When I arrive in a country foreign to me, the first thing I like to do is turn on the TV and start watching local news, commercials, talk shows... whatever comes on I'll watch it. That's how I learned English, when I arrived to the U.S. way back in 1977. I learned vital phrases watching 'Bewitched', 'I dream of Jeanie' and 'Lost in Space'. From Samantha, I learned to say "wellllll..." when something had gone awry and no excuse was good enough; from Jeanie "Yes, master", but to this day I refuse to use it, and Dr. Smith "Help! Somebody help meeee."

Via this instant mode of social / language immersion, I have learned a lot about the people whose country I vacation or live in. When we arrived in Australia a couple of years ago, I applied myself to the same learning experience. I switched on the TV, and to my joy I realised that we did not have satellite, so we were forced to watch local programs (husband was very upset about this, he missed CNN). That's when I learned about The Footy, watching 'The Footy Show'.

Before I go on, I must explain that Australians will refer to a professional sport with a THE before the said sport (e.g.: TENNIS is to be played casually among amateurs and THE TENNIS is played professionally). THE FOOTY is Australian Rules Football. This is not Soccer, not Rugby, not even American Football, though their ball resembles the U.S. sport slightly.

I will not attempt to explain the game to you, as I am not an enthusiast or a follower of any organized sport; I'm not going to scoff at anyone who is... it's just not in my genetic makeup to be into sports. I will sit through a session of watching and cheering for a team (oh, by the way... never, ever say ROOT in Australia, as in "root for a team", this word means 'to fornicate' down under), but that's it. Even then, I will watch the athletes run, admire the design of their uniforms, wonder why certain colors were chosen for that particular team, and comment on the grass being a lush and vibrant green, but during that whole time, I will be oblivious to the score or the status of each team playing.

'The Footy Show' was loud, brimming with testosterone and they spoke a language totally unfamiliar to me, all about scores, plays etc., and I don't mean the Aussie accent laden English, assuring me that I would not be watching it a second time. That night I became aware of the most followed national game, set it aside in my memory banks and promised myself to pursue further knowledge on the subject, so to be better informed about my new home-country and its inhabitants.

During the time I have lived in Melbourne, plenty of people have volunteered to educate me about The Footy, and I have tried, really tried to understand it, alas... I have tossed my towel in, and given up on all hopes of grasping it. I can tell you that it is played on an oval shaped grassy area, the players are incredibly fit, handsome (they really are), don't wear padding and are often caught in sexual scandals... some incredibly scandalous affairs at that, but are still HEROES in the eyes of their devoted followers, and I might add that they are kind of "excused" by the adoring public with comments like: "that's how those guys are... you know... they're just stupid, fit, handsome guys, who have women throw themselves at them"... which is probably true, but...

...moving right along...

Another interesting bit about the teams is that, each team represents a "type" of person. I'll be honest and admit that I don't remember them all, but one description or stereotype in particular, I was told about stands out. A local friend explained to us that we should at not time ever become fans of the Collingwood Football Club, also referred to as The Magpies (a Magpie is a black and white bird, indigenous to AU, whose colors now represent the team).

He went on to give many reasons but the one which was most memorable was the fact that - in his words: "Collingwood supporters are, what you would call knuckle draggers." As I don't follow any team, I didn't care about his comment, and as I knew no one who was a supporter of the Collingwood team, it mattered even less to me. And then the unthinkable happened... my daughters, out of the blue, started to cheer for Collingwood. What's a mother to do? Let them, of course. Why was I going to let the "knuckle draggers" comment influence me?

Actually, I realised a couple of months back that most of my co-workers are Collingwood supporters, and they are all lovely and very well educated, artsy people... so the "knuckle dragger" stereotype is tossed out the window for good now.

Here's a real 'titty twister' for my 'Collingwood hater' friend: Collingwood won the Grand Final this year (it's like the Super Bowl). In yer face mate!

Though it may appear on the surface that I have become passionate about a sport, I will deny it to the grave... I’m only supporting my daughters’ new found love of sport, and if they choose to go for (be fans of) Collingwood, well doggone-it I back their decision 110%.

An excerpt from an article about the win:

Collingwood wins AFL premiership
AP | 07:24 AM,Oct 02,2010

MELBOURNE, Australia (AP) — Collingwood won the Australian Football League premiership by crushing St. Kilda 16.12 (108) to 7.10 (52) in Saturday's rare grand final replay.After the teams drew last week — only the third drawn grand final in the history of the Australian Rules competition and first since 1977 — the Magpies left nothing to chance in the replay.

Rubbing alcohol MIA in Australia

My youngest daughter found a mini battery operated hand-held fan, which I bought her last time we were in the US, and desperately (the way only little ones can obsess about something) needed to make it work again. The weather had clearly turned from 'coat wearing' season to tropical 'bikini heat' over night in Melbourne, and the poor child needed to cool herself down, or... God knows what would happen. So we embarked on a mission to find and purchase triple A batteries.

"Easy" you say? Not as easy as you would think.... but, eventually we found some. The salesperson was kind enough to open the little device - it was screwed shut, and we didn't have a screwdriver - and put the batteries in. 'Click, click'... nothing happened. You could see my daughter's disappointment take over her face, and cause for her jaw to drop and let out an involuntary *sigh* and a stern stomp of the foot on the floor. The young woman helping us, opened the fan again, and looked around the area where the batteries normally sit, as if she was a luxury car mechanic investigating a 'funny' noise under the hood. 'Click, click' she attempted to turn the fan on again, but to no avail. "Ahhh, here's the problem" she commented, "the batteries corroded and the connection does not work," she finally concluded. "You should buy some alcohol, and with a cotton ball wipe the connectors, and install the batteries again. It will work for sure."

We thanked her, and went on our way to buy a bottle of simple, household rubbing alcohol.

I knew of a drugstore just around the corner; surely they would have it. "No!" Said the woman at the cash register. "Try a chemist." (That's a Pharmacy for us Yanks).

As I know very well my daughter's passionate need to get what she wants (actually all three are quite determined, when they set their minds to something), I knew that by sunset, I'd better have bought some rubbing alcohol or I would not hear the end of it from her.

In search of a chemist we went.

Close to home... a good four, or so miles away from where we began our journey, and about four dozen "are we there yet?" later, we finally walked through the automatic doors of our local pharmacist.

Immediately, a smiling young woman approached us and offered to steer us in the direction of the item we were after. I expressed a wish to purchase a simple, and small bottle of rubbing alcohol. The smile became a slightly concerned look. Then she turned to her manager, and asked what she should do? He in turn looked equally as concerned, and... I guess... having heard our American accents, assumed we were looking to buy rubbing alcohol for 'normal' reasons. He then explained that they did not carry bottles of alcohol... as a matter of fact it was probably not going to be something we could just pick up at the local pharmacy or grocery store, instead we could purchase alcohol wipes, in packs of 50.

It took me a moment, to process this. (Years of bleaching my hair must have finally taken its toll on my brain... sigh.) I turned to the manager and asked: "Is it because people drink it?" He didn't reply, but his head nodded in agreement, to which my middle daughter let out a loud: "People drink it?!?" I explained to her later, why this would be the case.

So, a simple journey to buy batteries became yet another learning experience for us, in the land of Oz. Rubbing alcohol is considered "not safe" to have around the house and easily accessible, but Codeine is perfectly OK to sell over the counter... whereas in the US, we need a prescription for it. I need to do a bit of research and find what else is legal, or not. It should be fun. I will report later.

And just as the office got warm...

The office I work in is very eclectic, cool, out of the ordinary... it's a top floor loft in the center of Melbourne, surrounded by cute cobble stone paved lanes, and graffiti-ed brick walls. From our windows we have watched as films and commercials (Melbourne is a 'little Hollywood' down under... lots of films are filmed here - apparently Robert De Niro was here filming not too long ago) have been shot below, and we have also watched in amazement as drug addicts shoot up a fix in a doorway. All in all, it's a wonderful and dreadful place... one could say it's a Yin /Yang type of environment to work in.

The same can be said of the inside of the office. The light which comes through the large windows is inviting and bright, yet the same large windows are where the majority of the warmth escapes during winter. We have been in full blown winter mode for what seems like forever (the past 5 months), and have become quite accustomed to wearing coats and scarves indoors all of the time, in order to keep even moderately warm. Blue fingernails, and runny noses are the "new trend" among the office staff.

I have found the positive in this situation though: I think it's easier to get dressed in the morning because of this. I have adopted a new look... the 'winter uniform.' There is no major planning for this style... a pair of pants, a long sleeved shirt and then on top of it a big warm coat and scarf. Actually, the scarf has been the 'creative' part of the ensemble and its saving grace. I change it according to my mood and makeup choice for the day.

One day I will opt to wear a leopard print scarf, another day a lovely red, orange and pink silk number looking like something I may have picked up while trekking in the Himalayas. Ahh, the options are limitless, as I have an abundance of scarves which my aunts have given me throughout the years. I never got rid of them, as I felt guilty in doing so, they stayed folded up in one of my drawers, ever the source of an argument between my hubby and I, as he always thought them to be useless. I mean... he has a point... "if you don't use it, lose it", but I'm now using it.

Today, I was ill prepared with my layers of clothing. I don't know what possessed me, but I wore a rather sheer black cotton blouse, which really should be worn in Spring or Summer, under my coat and a light purple plaid scarf with a fringe all around its perimeter... a birthday gift from my aunt in Canada. I thought I'd surely freeze my buns off. Much to my surprise, I walked into a warmer office. It seems that the boss, had several new heaters installed over the weekend. Yippiii!!!! It's only taken five months, and several colds later. But hey! My immune system is stronger because of it, I'm sure of it. One's got to look at the positives in life.

Just as the office has become a nice warm environment to work in, a co-worker reminded me that around the corner is the warm weather waiting to hit our tin roofed office, with the large windows. Oh yes, I remember THAT hell, from last summer. Hot beyond belief, and because we kept the back door of the office open to keep a constant draft going, we were 'blessed' with the stale smell of urine coming from the bathroom next door. Maybe this year, we'll find a solution for that little pesky smell.

Life is truly a Yin and Yang, isn't it? I will concentrate on the good... "we got heat, we got heat, we got heat". I'll worry about the "OMG it's hot, OMG it's hot" later. Make the best of it, now.

Flat out like a lizard drinking

It took me a while to get used to the Aussie accent. When one listens to it in a film, what is spoken is a more 'pure' type of accent, but in real life... depending on the individual who is speaking; you can find yourself squinting, and turning your ear toward the person, in attempt of somehow activating the universal translator you think you have in your head, which will aid in the fine tuning of the gibberish which is being uttered in your direction.

Once I acclimated and became comfortable with holding long conversations with Australians, I began hitting another social wall. Sayings... everyday expressions describing a situation with slang. The first one my husband and I were privy in hearing, even before stepping foot on Australian soil, was on i.m. with a future co-worker, who commented on the rarity of a good Chardonnay in the land down under. He wrote: "A good Chardonnay is rarer than hen's teeth." We chuckled at this statement, and even analyzed it a bit. Yes, it is true that hens/chickens do not have teeth, therefore his statement indicated that Chardonnay is VERY rare, one may even venture in stating that it is IMPOSSIBLE to find a good Chardonnay in Australia.

As time progressed, we would compare notes with each other, about who had heard the funniest or most creative expression to date. My husband came home with a good one (in our opinion... but Aussies thought it nothing special); spoken by a re-location expert when my husband stated that we would be interested in either an apartment or a house to rent: "Well! That's just chalk and cheese then." Which left him speechless. Unable to figure out what she meant by the statement, he finally gave in, and asked the woman to explain... she wasn't amused, but explain she did. Apparently it means: "Well! Those are two totally different things." Meaning, CHALK may look like CHEESE but once tasted, you can tell that they're different things.

Though the creative expressions are-a-plenty, it seems that they are considered an endangered species of sorts. TV programs and films from abroad, particularly from the US have become favorites among the masses, and especially the youth; consequently influencing the local language.

The word MATE means BUDDY, but one can hear the ladder just as much as MATE spoken by young people. This has some individuals upset, as they feel that their language is special and merits to be preserved just the way it is. I think this is a valid point, but do think it's also funny that, at the same time as they are demanding to keep their saying alive, they frown upon the people who speak in that manner.

A perfect example is Paul Hogan's character Crocodile Dundee's accent and manner of speaking. The moment that an Ozzie (generally speaking) is reminded of this character from the popular movie by the same name from the 80s, they cringe and scoff at the fact that anyone may think that Australians speak like that in real life. Their attitude toward this world-loved character, who has brought more tourists to this continent than anyone else in its history, is shame. It's sad, but true. Shame, that he is the 'poster child' for Australia. Well, I still like you Crocodile Dundee, and I still say... "That's not a noyf (knife)! THIS is a noyf!" as I start chopping my herbs before cooking with my gigantic butcher knife.

I have adopted another beauty of a saying: "I'm flat out like a lizard drinking" meaning "I'm soooooo busy!" Aussies get it, and I feel as if I have just made a statement in Mandarin, and native Chinese people have understood me.

Click below to read more about some great expressions, and what people are saying about the endangered Aussie lingo.

Last hurrah for Australian lingo from long ago

Outrageous Aussie Sayings

I read somewhere that you should not make excuses as to why you can't blog; that blogging can be done in 15 minutes. So I thought I'd take their statement as a personal challenge, and attempt to write an interesting blog in a quarter of an hour.... starting... NOW!

Australia being my home for a little over two years now, and my most memorable impression of this large island continent, is that I seem to be always sick. I paid this no major attention when I first arrived as I accredited my ailments to the fact that my body was still getting used to all the new bacteria, viruses etc. Not particularly happy to be inviting these pests into my body, but resigned to the idea that 'what does not kill you, will make you stronger'. It is now officially something which pisses me off... getting sick. I mean, really! How many times is considered normal? When should one say to their family phisician... "what the hell is wrong with this picture? Should I be sick this often?

I don't know... maybe it's because my mother was (and is) the type of person that, unless your arm is hanging by a thread, she does not take you to the doctor. Side Note: True story... I broke my ankle in High School, and I was not taken to see a doctor until a month after the incident; by then the ankle had healed itself... badly. My mother complained all the way home, at the fact that she had to pay for the pricey X-rays, to only be dissapointed by the final outcome. The doctor said - "we can't do anything about it, except re-break the ankle, without anestesia" to which suggestion I strongly opposed... imagine that! So, back to my reason for not going to the doctor's office when I'm sick... ah yes, it's all my mother's fault. I get a cough, and I think to myself, "it's not a big deal". The bad thing though, is that it could indeed be a serious matter, and if not taken care of it could result in catastrophy.

The dillema begins. If I go to the doctor for every little thing, I am labelled a hipochondriac. If I don't go to the doctor at all, I'm labelled as... as... I don't know exactly, what I'm labelled as; perhaps a strong person? Yes, but... if I should suffer a tragic misfortune and lose my life due to a terrible illness, then I will be judged by the people coming to my wake. "Why didn't she seek help?" they will wave their fist to the sky, almost expecting God to give them a reply. (Perhaps I'm being a little melo-dramatic). Go. Don't go. Go. Don't go. What is the right answer?

The moral to this story?

1. I managed to write something in 15 minutes to post on my blog.

2. I am a tortured soul, who cannot make up her own mind to save her life.

3. Perhaps I should see a doctor for this persistent and annoying cough. What do you think? Lets vote, why don't we?

To HAMA, or not to HAMA

If you have children under the age of 10 you might be familiar with these little guys, the HAMA beads. These are little plastic coloured beads resembling tiny macaroni, which come in a few bright colours (red, orange, yellow, pink, violet, blue, green, brown, white and black).

These colourful beads are sold in tubs of... oh... a gazillion, and are guaranteed to escape the container they initially entered your home in, and feel free to explore your apartment/house from the hidden crevices of your sofa to the bathtub (still can't explain that one).

My children initially brought home from school small resin-like works of art, which resembled a plastic mosaic. These began as odd shaped monsters, though my kids insisted they were flowers, cats, fish etc. As I am the 'creative guru' in our family, I try to encourage my off springs to tap into their creative side as much as possible, so even when they bring me smudges of plastic, I 'oooh' and 'aaahhh' over them with great parental support. By-the-way: I also psycho-analise my children via their art; if they bring home smiling, happy, colourful creations, I know they are happy too.

The little plastic 'monsters' evolved into stars, cars, even jaguars. I got curious as to, how the children created the mosaics, so I asked them to show me, and as they love to teach their parents for a change, they gave me the full tutorial.

The plastic pieces used in the children's creations are the HAMA beads... 'explorers of the sofa' and 'bathtub archeologists' which I mentioned at the beginning of this particular blog.

Naively, I agreed to buy a tub of these beads, the trays one uses to compose the 'masterpiece' on - it looks a bit like a miniature fachir's bed of nails - and we would make amazing art, as a family, therefore promoting unity and collaboration.

Once in the house, the HAMAs were put in a tray, and we began to create colourful shapes. My three girls, each working hard on their own tray, and I on my own. My 'mother's heart' swelled with pride and joy.

A half hour into our project, the girls became bored with the project, and abandoned me with 4 trays to complete (I couldn't dismantle them, the kids would have cried for weeks over them). The projects - yes, all four - took about 3 hours to complete. By the last one - mine of course - I was quite the expert (see photo) and became so enamored by the new art form I had come across accidentally, that now I'm thinking of different ways of further expand the possibilities of this magic HAMA bead.

The children have proceeded to play with the beads throughout the apartment, stringing them as necklaces and tossing them at each other like pebbles, and thus brings us to how the beads have managed to find their way into the sofa, sock drawer, kitchen sink, pillow case and of course the bathtub. Evil, EVIL HAMA beads! They're taking over my homeeeee.

Actually, I'm addicted to them now, I can't stop creating with them. They're heaps of fun. Even for us grownups.

Australian's on Lent?

My family and I have been in Australia almost a year. One of the things we noticed since we arrived that, most Ozzies don't go to church. Nothing wrong with that, each person has the right to attend Sunday services or not.

What's more, we were told by a realtor that, there are a lot of churches which are closing down, and individuals have taken to purchasing these sacred buildings and adapting them for family living. THAT was a bit odd to me, as I am a preacher's daughter - and all. I mean... I guess a church is 'just a building' per se, but... I have a hard time accepting the idea of a church or temple being used as a house. Or, being converted into a disco (in NY).

So, understanding that Australia is not a church going country, was not a far fetch for me. The same realtor who explained that churches were being made into homes, said that this was because of the fact that Australia was a penal colony, therefore people were much more keen on building pubs than churches. There are A LOT of pubs down under, I can assure you. Also, pubs or bars are also called 'hotels' here, so you can imagine the confusion which happens, every time someone says "Lets go to the hotel for a drink." As I mill things over in my head "Hmmm... are they asking me to go to a hotel with them? How dare they?" Nope, their intent was to just go to the bar/pub.

Ever learning the terms and slang. I finally understand their accents, now the weird words have me spinning.

Church-going they are not. Pub-going they are! Imagine my surprise when I went into my local supermarket to purchase the kids' snaks and lunch items, and at the fish counter I see an advertisement strip adorning the fresh shrimp ('prawns' in Oz), flounder and salmon, stating 'Especially for Lent'. LENT? I know a handful of people who still observe lent, and most are Orthodox Christians. Even the Catholics have relaxed on Lent. One can pick and choose what they'll give up for Lent. You can give up candy ('loolie' in Oz) or the internet (I couldn't believe this one either) in observance of the 6 week period before Easter, according to the Catholics whom I have 'drilled' on the subject.

For one reason or another, the Australians still mention Lent... though I hardly believe they observe it. Interesting, don't you think? I intend on giving up high heel shoes for Lent this year. ;)