More language. Some other differences:

Entrée -- here, it means "appetizer" as opposed to main course. This is actually truer to the French meaning, I think.

Reckon, as "I reckon it's dinner time" -- actually this means the same thing back in the states, but it's considered more of a redneck term there. Here, everyone uses it. Except me; I can't bring myself to.

Fillet or filet -- this means the same thing too, but they pronounce it "fill-it" here, instead of "fil-ay".

Slab of beer -- means, a case of beer. I like this.

I also like the official country cheer at sporting events. America's is just "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" which generally gets derisive laughs from other country's fans for its simple-mindedness. But Australia's is just so silly that it practically makes fun of itself: "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oy Oy Oy!"

The dingo ate my sunglasses. Laika did that yesterday when she was left alone in the house for an hour when I returned our rental car. She also has a tendency to nip at hands and sleeves when she's overexcited. But in general she's a good girl. She's walking fairly well on her leash with the help of her "halti" a mouth harness that works like a choker chain, but more humanely and more effectively. She's funny too. She likes to attack her leash when she's excited on walkies, and in an attempt to remove her halti (which she hates) she's turned more than one somersault in the grass. Inside she has a fondness for flipping her bed over and pulling it to other parts of the room. She's not perfect, but she's got the potential to be a very good dog.
In other news: I found both Kasari cheese and salt bagels here recently. Two items I love but couldn't find in Singapore. Now I just need a job.

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." (Groucho Marx)

Laika had her first trip into the Albert Park Library today. Yes, into. I tied her up outside -- her first time being left like this -- and went in to get something to read. I was well inside when she broke her leash and came bounding into the library after me. Apparently she has some abandonment issues.

She's a funny girl. She keeps grabbing the side of her bed and dragging it and flipping it over, or sometimes just holding it, or thrashing it around.

All in all, though, not many behavior issues. She nips at you if she's excited by play, and pulls a little on the leash, but for a pound dog, if those are the only problems, that's pretty good. Even those problems should be fixed with the help of obedience class in a few weeks.

Laika came home today. She's two years old (almost) and was surrendered to the pound because her last people had young children and apparently not enough time or patience for her. She's a little unsure of herself here, but she's becoming more confident. We're a little freaked out too- we've waited so long to get a dog that it seems a little unreal that she's actually here and ours.

Her name, Laika, is an homage to the little Russian astronaut dog that went to space on Sputnik 2. Laika (the original) has figured into our thoughts on dogs for quite awhile and we toyed around with the name Sputnik, but Laika fits our girl better.

TV. We have satellite here now. We're not disappointed; many of our favorite shows are in heavy rotation. At any given time, the Simpsons, Frazier, or Seinfeld are on. Marjorie gets a lot of her shows which I don't like; I get a lot of the sports and such that she doesn't (NFL football, English Premier League soccer, etc.).

There's only one Australian show we've latched onto -- Kath and Kim. We actually discovered it while in Singapore though.

Weeknights at 11:30 we get The Naked News, in which women newscasters read the news while they take off their clothes. Full frontal. The news seems to be two weeks old, at least, but no one seems to be complaining. It's actually the least sexy thing you could imagine. Especially when they cover US election news.

For the second time in a month, I am wigging from an intense episode of Six Feet Under. It was the one where David helps the guy who runs out of gas. I had bad dreams about it all last night, and couldn't get it out of my head all day. Is this the best show on TV? Definitely the best acted.

Our new dog--

...is still out there somewhere. We visited the no-kill pound and the RSPCA today, but came home dogless. In a big city like this you'd think there'd be hundreds of dogs available, but there were maybe 20 combined at both places, and none of them were our dog. One at the first place almost was -- a very sweet black lab that was a little gimpy in his hind legs, they think from being crated too long as a puppy. We left to think about it, and later they called us and told us that they decided our living situation wasn't right for the dog, so there you go. We were kind of glad that they resolved it for us.

Vernacular. I've started incorporating some local phrases in my daily speech patterns. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unconciously. A brief rundown of the more common ones:

"No worries." (Translation: "No problem" or "That's okay" or "You're welcome") Probably the most commonly used Aussie phrase. I've fully assimilated this now, and use it without thinking.

"How are you going?" (Translation: "How are you doing?" or "How is it going?") I say this now pretty commonly too. (Marjorie wondered aloud the other day why the remaining permutation, "How is it doing?" is never used anywhere. Maybe we can start a trend.)

"G'day." (Translation: "Hello") Relatively common. I've never been able to say this.

"Ta." (Translation: "Thank you") I've tried this a few times, but it always feels like I'm saying goodbye, as I think it means in England. It feels almost dismissive to say, especially when you're trying to thank somebody.

"Nice" (Translation: "Good") This still seems odd to me; I'm used to "nice" meaning "friendly". It's odd to be asked if the lunch you had was "nice". To pronounce it in true Kath-and-Kim Aussie style, say "noice".

"Haitch" (Translation: "Aitch", i.e. the letter H) I was advised that this is "low" Australian, but I have yet to encounter an Australian who DOESN'T say it this way.

"Mate" (Translation: "Friend") Marjorie doesn't like this one. I do, but I can't seem to describe my friends as my "mates". It sounds too British to me.

"Good on ya." (Translation: "Well done") I think I've used this a few times.

"Crook" (Translation: "Sick", as in "Mary is crook and will not be in today.") A more obscure one, that I've never used.

One other note about the cold house --

When Marjorie was gone, I found the perfect antidote to sitting around a old, cold, drafty, half-empty house, feeling a little bit lonely: Tom Waits. Specifically, "Alice". The last five songs had me just staring at a wall; I haven't been captivated like that in a while.

Internet at last. Dialup, at least. We got our phone line connected, at last.

The house is still quite lacking in soft edges. Hardwood and tile floors, wooden chairs, and still only an air mattress (we're still waiting for our bed to be delivered). It had never before occurred to me that cushions are a modern necessity.

Last night we escaped up to the bar at the Albert Park to play trivia. Marjorie nailed a bonus question before the whole rest of the bar (Announcer: "Who am I? I was born in 1967 in Smyrna, Georgia..." Marjorie: "Oy! Julia Roberts." The prize: three CDs of DJ mixes of songs by artists we've never heard of.) We did only average overall, but I met a couple of guys who play soccer in the area. The season doesn't start until March, but they might be doing a pick-up game or two soon.

There will be some new softness in the house very soon -- on Saturday we're getting a dog. Marjorie wanted to get this one until she realized that it's in a totally different area of the country. I have no doubt, though, that we'll walk out of the dog adoption place with the dog with the biggest ears.

Unbelievably, my parents and pretty much all of my extended family are busy dodging their fourth hurricane in a month.

My theory is that it's a warning from God not to let the state go Republican again.

Where we've been. No internet access at home means no regular updates. We'll have it hooked up soon, though, I hope.

We're just trying to set up house at the moment. It'll be another two months before our stuff arrives from the states, but in the meanwhile, we have to make the place more livable. It's a great house in a great neighborhood.

Job is going exceedingly well. I've managed to solve some problems that had been plaguing them for weeks, and it looks like there's every chance I'll be hired on at the end of it. We're building an application that ambulance drivers ("ambos", in the local parlance) will run on their tablet computers to enter all the information about the vital signs, treatments, and procedures followed for each case.

I had a good Friday night happy hour last week with about thirty people from work, and chatted with just about everybody. Good buncha folk.

Today the AFL (footy) Grand Final is going on, which is the equivalent of Super Bowl Sunday back home. Strange, but they only had about an hour of pre-game shows. Still, it is quite obvious a HUGE deal here. The town was overrun with people from Adelaide and Brisbane, all wearing their colors. I suppose we should have watched, just as part of our cultural indoctrination.

Camping. The house is empty and cold, and not because there's no furniture. Where is that girl o' mine? I'm hoping for a big strong tailwind for her flight home.

My time at home passes either sleeping on an air mattress on the floor, or huddling on a tiny little canvas chair in front of the TV. There's no point in unpacking our Singapore boxes, since there's no furniture to put anything in. I've turned on the oven once, to toast some bread.

I'm in LA again. Today, walking around the neighborhood where my friends live, I saw Sydney Pottier pulling onto Melrose Avenue (he was driving a black Mercedes sedan). How cool is that?

"Home is where the heart is." Indeed.
There's a Coldplay song (I believe it's "clocks") with the lyrics "you are" followed by the line "home, home where I wanted to go". Until recently I had always heard it as "you are....(some unsaid sentiment)", but then Song Epiphany! and I heard it "you are home, where I wanted to go" and I totally understood. Because in all the chaos and fragmentation that we've experienced in the last two years, Mark has become home to me. Home is wherever he is. And I'm ready to go home.

Spent last night in the new place. It was BITTER COLD.

Of course, it was (I think) the coldest night of the year. I couldn't get the main heater to work, so I only had a small little space heater. And I'm sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. I woke up at about 2:30am, just from the cold. I draped my blankets over the heater, so it was blowing directly underneath, and after five minutes, the heater STOPPED. Panic. Luckily, it came back on after five minutes. But I was still cold. I thrashed around and cocooned myself for a bit, then began to realize that whatever part of me was against the bed was what was getting cold. So if I was lying on my left hip, my left hip would get cold. Strange. I finally figured it out, that, being on (hardwood) floor, my left hip was basically three inches from the bitter-cold crawlspace. I made an effort to spread out my weight, and everything was okay. I need to lay down a layer of insulation or something though.

Today I bought a fridge and a washing machine, all by myself. I'm a big boy!

The packing part of the move is over, at least on the Atlanta end. The movers came yesterday and packed everything up under my watchful, and very stressed out, eyes. It's really hard watching someone wrap up your treasured possesions without the care and eight layers of bubble wrap that you might be inclined to use. Now we just need to wait until mid-November to receive our things on the other side.
Now that the move is over I'm free to follow up on any number of tasks I need to complete, such as updating my resume and contacting my old University for some missing information in order to get a job when I get home. I should also have time to play with my friends who I've missed while away. And watch TV. The strangest thing I've seen since I got here is "The Surreal Life" which is indeed surreal. It's a "real world" take off with celebrities, including Brigette Nielsen, Flava Flav, and Charo, amoung others. Bridgette spends a lot of time drunk and nude, and Flava Flav is a very strange fellow. Apparently there was another season with Ron Jeremy, Tammy FayeBaker, and Vanilla Ice (amoung others) which I'm very sad I missed.
I miss my boy. I'll be more than ready to head back to Melbourne in a week.

Frances. The family is okay, apparently, but no word yet on how the houses in Cocoa Beach and Cape Canaveral fared.

Was glad to see that they have Six Feet Under here on regular TV. Totally unedited, too. I am still wigging from last night's episode.

The bulk of our packages mailed from Singapore have arrive, after nine weeks. They promised five to seven, but we're more relieved than angry. Still three more on the way. There are now twenty-seven boxes in this little studio rathole apartment I'm staying in until the end of the week. Then I get to move them all myself. What fun.

A different world.

In the US, there are commercials imploring adolescents who've turned 18 that they are now adults, and they have a civic duty, required by law, and it is to sign up for the draft.

In Australia, there are commercials imploring adolescents who've turned 18 that they are now adults, and they have a civic duty, required by law, and it is to sign up to vote.

Yikes! Hurricane Frances is bearing down on my family. It looks like it going to hit land right between where my brother's family lives and my parents and grandmother lives. Then it moves on towards my sister's family and my aunt and uncle on the west coast. My parents are in the process of evacuating. They're veteran hurricane dodgers, but there are others in Florida who aren't so smart. This thing is going to be nasty.

An 'A' for originality. Or maybe a 'B' as in 'Blaine'.

We're definitely not in Singapore anymore. In Federation Square, the busiest square in the heart of town, a band (the Regurgitators) have set up a bubble where they will live for three weeks, writing and recording an album.

On September 21, they will emerge and immediately play a concert of their new album, start to finish.

I don't know if they're any good or not. I haven't been by yet either, but I probably will go check it out this weekend.