Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Loyola vs Monash
Now that the first couple weeks are over, we've had Orientation Week, we've settled into our halls and we've ventured out to the city a couple times. In order to sum it all up I thought it'd be appropiate to compare it to Loyola, let the battle commence
Round 1:
Evergreens vs. MSA leaders
This first round is dedicated to those selfless martyrs who sacrifice their first week at Uni in order to help assimilate the newcomers onto campus and make them feel welcome and accustomed to the culture of campus life. The Evergreens at Loyola are comparable to camp counselors. Adorned in their green t-shirts they lead their group of "shrubs" through orientation week by getting to know their group on a very intimate level. They give you their cell phone numbers, share their stories about their first week away from home in the hopes you'll learn from their mistakes and be comfortable enough with them to give them a call in case you make any regardless. This level of comfort is attained through doing literally every ice breaker in the book: two truths and a lie, the human knot, the question ball, and speed dating are only the beginning. For the most part they don't discuss nightlife with their "shrubs" or encourage reckless debauchery or alcohol circulated shenanigans. The same can not be said for the MSA leaders..allow me to explain.
We first met our MSA leaders at the campus bus stop where they were to take us out to the city for dinner and drinks and officially kickstart the week that we who now know better like to call "the week we were not real people." Pretty much the agenda for that entire week was meet at the bus stop at 5:45 go out to dinner, go out to a bar, go out to a club, find your way home and attempt to get any sort of sleep cause your doing it again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that...
They didn't really formally introduce themselves or explain the rules of the school we pretty much followed them around like lost puppies across Melbourne. But we didn't need the icebreakers to get to know one another. That was achieved over a pint as they taught us Australian drinking chants (and once we learned we refused to stop shouting them) and showed us the best spots to go out.
When it comes down to it, I'll take chanting "Here's to (insert name here) he's true blue, he's a piss pot through and through.." over two truths and a lie any day
Monash 1 Loyola 0
Round 2:
School Motto
Strong Truths Well Lived vs. Ancora Imparo
Strong Truths well lived are based on past Jesuit ideas praising students to become a well-rounded person through the fundamental values of education that the school was founded on. Ancoro Imparo translates to I am still learning. It accentuates the importance of our education on the future, not venerating concrete archaic ideals. The children are the future are we not?
Monash 2 Loyola 0
Round 3:
The Mandatory School Orientations
From what I can remember of Loyola's orientation it involved a bunch of mandatory meetings in stuffy rooms where staff and faculty and priests introduced us to the campus, its policies and procedures. We had to attend meeting after meeting that felt like lectures, one even circulated around the statistics of students who drank, smoked and went out, what the presumption was and what the reality was. It all seemed as skewed as it was boring.
At Monash our mandatory Orientation meeting involved a shockingly lively powerpoint and presenters for eight o' clock in the morning. They were sharing inside jokes, casually dressed, gave out boomerangs, we played country trivia, they showed us Youtube clips, played songs, and encouraged us to go on Facebook and add them. Oh yeah and the day started off with pancakes with ice cream on top, the rounds been over since then.
Monash 3 Loyola 0
Round 4:
The O-Week Activities
All I remember from Loyola O-Week was an awkward casino night where we walked in confused and questioning why it was our first night out as college students and we were still sober.
At Monash, may I repeat, "the week we weren't real people."
Monash 4 Loyola 0
Round 5:
Club Fairs
Back at home, the club fair was held for one day as two or three representatives stood behind fold up. tables.
Monash's involved a tarmapoline, kegs, a shot ski, free food, free slushies, live bands, and a photographer to capture the madness of it all.
Monash 5 Loyola 0
Round 6:
Going out/Night Life
York Road vs. Melbourne
At school we are limited to the hole-in-the-wall bars that are fake ID's permit our entry in the 20 out of the dailyfinance.com's top 25 most dangerous neighborhoods. Your chance in becoming victim in one of the crimes committed annually? One in Nine.
Melbourne is rated one of the top most liveable cities, and for obvious reasons. Our first night out the streets were aligned with intriguing architecture, fountains, aesthetic lights and oh yeah, we're legal here!
Monash 6 Loyola 0
Round 7:
On Campus Hangout
The Quad vs. Lemon scented lawns
Similar to Loyola with its iconic "Quad" where students hangout in between class time, Monash has its Lemon scented lawns. So far I've never noticed the scnet of lemon, maybe its because the smell of the ceaseless on campus barbeques overpower it. Free food, need I say more..
Monash 7 Loyola 0
Round 8:
Sports
Greyhounds vs. ?!?!?
It's strange to me that Melbourne is the "sports capital of Australia" yet I still haven't figured out how that transcends to Uni. When I asked what the school mascot was no one knew, and most didn't even know what a mascot was, or even the school colors. There's no such thing here really as school teams that represent Monash Uni and compete against other Unis, as far as I can tell.
At Loyola we proudly wear our green and gray, we support our athletics through raging crowds at games across a whole range of sports and we even have a campus greyhound both mascot and an actual dog. Plus, I'm a cheerleader and this lack of school spirit is actually torture.
Monash 7 Loyola 1
Round 9:
Residence Halls
"Dorms like palaces" vs single rooms
At Monash you get a single room, but your not alone for long. Let me put it this way, my fear of spiders has officially been cured from them becoming my makeshift roommates. They're in my room, they're all over the bathroom and there's this peculiar green praying-mantis looking guy whose corpse has been stuck, completely in tact to the point where you'd still think it was alive and kicking on the hallway wall. Really, I would not even know it were dead if it weren't for the fact that I've been walking past him about five times a day for the past four months and he hasn't moved.
Back at Loyola our dorms alternate between being ranked number one and number two in the country. And nothing beats coming home to your adoring roommates after a long day of class, especially in a spiderless room.
Final Verdict:
Monash 7 Loyola 2
You can't rain on our parade: Mardis Gras in Sydney
People travel all across the world to witness the spectacle of Mardi Gras in Sydney, and for good reason. The city turns into an eccentric festival in celebration and support of gay rights. And even though the rain hadn't ceased since we arrived at Sydney , we would not let it "rain on our parade" as our group that signed up for this weekend trip with Extreme Adventures marched to join the party. Bystanders would see neon colors, tight tops and short shorts..oh and the girls dressed up too.
We left for the bar we would be V.I.P at around six o' clock and the sights we saw on our mass migration of Mardis Gras advocates only foreshadowed the flamboyance and bizarre things we were to encounter at the actual parade. The crowd was adorned in feather boas, sequin bra tops, high heels, obnoxious make-up ..and some of the girls dressed up too. Really though let me take this time out to reinstate that the more scandalous an outfit the greater chance it was on a guy.
The streets were a blinding sea of sequins, glitter, only allowing colors in their most brilliant shades to meander through the waves of onlookers. People watching was a sport. If you blinked too slow you missed a jaw-dropping outfit that completely outdid the one before.
The parade is set off annually by the "dikes on bikes." They were leather jacket-wearing, spikey-haired, stud embellished women confidently setting off the parade like they owned it. And by the looks of the size of some of them, I wouldn't dare to argue otherwise. They fiercley rode thorugh the rainy streets commanding the repsect and attention of every onlooker, whether out of fear, intimidation or just plain awe.Their opening was followed with crazy floats of all lights and colors calling for equal rights for gay marriage to support that love knows no boundaries or discrimination. People were crawling over each other to get a good look, as other retreated to the sidewalks where there were plenty of "Sausage Fests" and vendors selling food, stools to see the parade better, and accessories to further enhance costumes. The streets were swarmed with people who all seemed to be united for the cause.
Overall I'd say the day was just as rewarding as it was shocking. It was great to be a part of a Mardi Gras celebration that was about earning respect and recognition, opposed to earning a couple strands of shiny plastic beads.
We left for the bar we would be V.I.P at around six o' clock and the sights we saw on our mass migration of Mardis Gras advocates only foreshadowed the flamboyance and bizarre things we were to encounter at the actual parade. The crowd was adorned in feather boas, sequin bra tops, high heels, obnoxious make-up ..and some of the girls dressed up too. Really though let me take this time out to reinstate that the more scandalous an outfit the greater chance it was on a guy.
The streets were a blinding sea of sequins, glitter, only allowing colors in their most brilliant shades to meander through the waves of onlookers. People watching was a sport. If you blinked too slow you missed a jaw-dropping outfit that completely outdid the one before.
The parade is set off annually by the "dikes on bikes." They were leather jacket-wearing, spikey-haired, stud embellished women confidently setting off the parade like they owned it. And by the looks of the size of some of them, I wouldn't dare to argue otherwise. They fiercley rode thorugh the rainy streets commanding the repsect and attention of every onlooker, whether out of fear, intimidation or just plain awe.Their opening was followed with crazy floats of all lights and colors calling for equal rights for gay marriage to support that love knows no boundaries or discrimination. People were crawling over each other to get a good look, as other retreated to the sidewalks where there were plenty of "Sausage Fests" and vendors selling food, stools to see the parade better, and accessories to further enhance costumes. The streets were swarmed with people who all seemed to be united for the cause.
Overall I'd say the day was just as rewarding as it was shocking. It was great to be a part of a Mardi Gras celebration that was about earning respect and recognition, opposed to earning a couple strands of shiny plastic beads.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
"Studying" Abroad
Allow yourself to delve deep into the memory before college, before adolescence, before your awkward stage in middle school, and even before your youth all the way back to childhood, specifically the first day of elementary school. You proudly wore your backpack (none will ever top my dancing Esmeralda one), showed off your new first day of school outfit, posed for a picture as you ascended the big yellow bus for the first time and shyly waved good-bye to mom as she held back tears at the bus-stop, anxiously awaiting for your return where she could ask "So what did you learn today?" Perhaps it was how to color in the lines. Perhaps it was the value of sharing. I can't say such things about my first day at school of school at Monash. But what I can say I learned is..
1. You don't need an alarm clock to tell you to get up for class in the morning, the screeching swooping magpies outside your window will do that job for you.
2. Coffee comes in a Flat White or Long Black. Try not to be the awkard American that asks what the difference is, or make a short black joke.
3. It's perfectly acceptable to call your professor by their first name, in fact they prefer it and encourage it.
4. "How are you going?" does not mean what mode of transportation did you take to get from point A to B, it means how are you.
5. It is impossible to go from class to class without being offered a free sausage, burger or beer. Literally there are BBQ's everywhere hosted by every society, its what Australia DOES.
6. Make sure you checked weather.com by the hour, a cold morning can mean a blazing hot afternoon, and then rain right after
7. People go crazy if you tell them your American, and surprisingly enough most Australians have either already been there on exchange or are planning a trip to do so in the future. If you tell them your from New York nine times out of ten you'll get asked if you have a gun or are in a gang.
8. "Australians are all about the bush," so says my History professor (or should I say Rob?) Interpret that as you will.
So now that your as enlightened as I am, remember the days of high school when you'd come home and mom and dad would ask "what'd you do in school today" to which you'd involuntarily respond with an apathetic "nothing" while avoiding making eye contact so you could easily slip away before they could ask you something else? If asked such a question about my day at Monash I could hardly say "nothing." I probably couldn't even say anything normal. The list includes, but is not limited to:
1. Ate my body weight in free BBQ food. What does the Med society, the Asian club, and the On Campus Travel Agency have in common? Free beer and BBQ for you.
2. Watched the engineering society create a cardboard castle in the middle of campus where they funneled on top, and then proceeded to destroy it by body slamming into it until it was a flat pile of cardboard debris which were then used as weapons to fight each other with.
3. Had the Asian Society grab me and my friend, told us to dress up amongst an assortment of bunny ears, feather boas, neon sunglasses and pirate hats and told us to pose as they snapped away pictures of us and then gave them to us on poloraids.
4. Casually got wrapped in a snake while visiting a reptile tent that was visiting campus.
5. Watched a foam scavenger hunt. Picture a moon bounce without the roof covered in foam as people, mostly Australian guys in their underwear (that's also very normal here), frantically digging through foam to find the most orange balls and win a prize, the event was sponsored by MTV.
All to which the regulars at Monash seem completely un-phased about. And if I ask them, which I've had to on several occasions "What the hell is going on?" and small talk proceeds they'll ask me why I'm here. I say I'm on exchange, or studying abroad. "Studying" abroad? Yeah, I have to keep reminding myself that..
1. You don't need an alarm clock to tell you to get up for class in the morning, the screeching swooping magpies outside your window will do that job for you.
2. Coffee comes in a Flat White or Long Black. Try not to be the awkard American that asks what the difference is, or make a short black joke.
3. It's perfectly acceptable to call your professor by their first name, in fact they prefer it and encourage it.
4. "How are you going?" does not mean what mode of transportation did you take to get from point A to B, it means how are you.
5. It is impossible to go from class to class without being offered a free sausage, burger or beer. Literally there are BBQ's everywhere hosted by every society, its what Australia DOES.
6. Make sure you checked weather.com by the hour, a cold morning can mean a blazing hot afternoon, and then rain right after
7. People go crazy if you tell them your American, and surprisingly enough most Australians have either already been there on exchange or are planning a trip to do so in the future. If you tell them your from New York nine times out of ten you'll get asked if you have a gun or are in a gang.
8. "Australians are all about the bush," so says my History professor (or should I say Rob?) Interpret that as you will.
So now that your as enlightened as I am, remember the days of high school when you'd come home and mom and dad would ask "what'd you do in school today" to which you'd involuntarily respond with an apathetic "nothing" while avoiding making eye contact so you could easily slip away before they could ask you something else? If asked such a question about my day at Monash I could hardly say "nothing." I probably couldn't even say anything normal. The list includes, but is not limited to:
1. Ate my body weight in free BBQ food. What does the Med society, the Asian club, and the On Campus Travel Agency have in common? Free beer and BBQ for you.
2. Watched the engineering society create a cardboard castle in the middle of campus where they funneled on top, and then proceeded to destroy it by body slamming into it until it was a flat pile of cardboard debris which were then used as weapons to fight each other with.
3. Had the Asian Society grab me and my friend, told us to dress up amongst an assortment of bunny ears, feather boas, neon sunglasses and pirate hats and told us to pose as they snapped away pictures of us and then gave them to us on poloraids.
4. Casually got wrapped in a snake while visiting a reptile tent that was visiting campus.
5. Watched a foam scavenger hunt. Picture a moon bounce without the roof covered in foam as people, mostly Australian guys in their underwear (that's also very normal here), frantically digging through foam to find the most orange balls and win a prize, the event was sponsored by MTV.
 |
| Casually in the middle of campus |
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
"But when do we get to hold a koala"
It seems that with every country where the opportunity to study abroad exists, there is a stereotypical study abroad picture that goes along with it. If you know someone who's studied abroad before there is a 100 percent chance that the evidence of their travels is preserved in their past Facebook defaults. You just may have to do some creepin' to get there, but you'll find it. Know someone who's currently studying abroad? Guarantee they've got one defaulted right now.
See if they're in Italy it'll be the classic look-at-me-I'm-so-strong-the-fate-of-Italy-relies-on-me-to-hold-up-the-leaning-tower-of-Pisa-Pic. That or it's a picture in front of the Colosseum or them enjoying a plate of spaghetti and meatballs made by their home-stay mom.
If they're in London it'll be the iconic phonebooth pic or capturing the time they harassed those guards with the weird hats.
In Ireland it'll be their first Guinness at a pub, and in Thailand they'll be riding an elephant.
And of course Australia is not immune to this stereotypical abroad picture epidemic. I'm guilty of about three of them already. So allow me to introduce them to you:
First there's the holding a koala one. No picture screams "I was in Australia" louder than this one. The posing next to a kangaroo one is a close second but doesn't make the statement with quite the same intensity. Personally, I haven't been fortunate to secure one of these..yet. But it looks like this:
We all went to the Healesville Sanctuary, a wildlife preserve, a couple weeks go with this vision of us hopping around with kangaroos, running free with the dingos and climbing trees with koalas. Our cameras were charged and ready to secure that we'd capture the standstill moment where we held one of them and could prove to all our friends and family miles away back in the states that we in fact Australia, we were immersed in the culture, and we were hanging out with koalas. Such was not the case. After about fifteen minutes of running straight for the koalas and preparing ourselves for this iconic moment it was destroyed by a fence, a cage, and a couple of over-sized koalas who I'm not even sure I had the strength to hold and could just as easily have been dead. So scratch that off the list for now. Instead,in an attempt to rectify our disappointment this is about as close as we got to a koala that day.
Reenacting the koala mating position as so graciously explained by the sign. Perhaps a new classic?
So since not being able to secure a koala interaction pic, simultaneously means not securing a kangaroo one, we'll go with the next best thing...posing with a kangaroo sign!
Lest we forget the crowd-pleasing goon chugging picture:
which comes in all sorts of variations, so get creative kids!
But now, moving away from the animals and alcohol and into the realm of serious, deep, self-reflection inducing sterotypical aussie pics is the "gazing off into the horizon and expressing how insignificant and small you are in the world in comparison to the magnitude of the aesthetic life-changing scenery before you by outstretching your arms into the distance" picture. You wasted your time in Australia if you didn't get one of these:
And your currently staring at my take on this one as you read my blog.
As for now I can admit, yes I am a shameless tourist and during the remainder of my stay in the land down under I will continue my relentless pursuit of capturing every iconic, and sometimes sterotypically touristy moment that comes along my way. And you will have to physically drag me back to America if I don't get one with a koala.
See if they're in Italy it'll be the classic look-at-me-I'm-so-strong-the-fate-of-Italy-relies-on-me-to-hold-up-the-leaning-tower-of-Pisa-Pic. That or it's a picture in front of the Colosseum or them enjoying a plate of spaghetti and meatballs made by their home-stay mom.
If they're in London it'll be the iconic phonebooth pic or capturing the time they harassed those guards with the weird hats.
In Ireland it'll be their first Guinness at a pub, and in Thailand they'll be riding an elephant.
And of course Australia is not immune to this stereotypical abroad picture epidemic. I'm guilty of about three of them already. So allow me to introduce them to you:
First there's the holding a koala one. No picture screams "I was in Australia" louder than this one. The posing next to a kangaroo one is a close second but doesn't make the statement with quite the same intensity. Personally, I haven't been fortunate to secure one of these..yet. But it looks like this:
We all went to the Healesville Sanctuary, a wildlife preserve, a couple weeks go with this vision of us hopping around with kangaroos, running free with the dingos and climbing trees with koalas. Our cameras were charged and ready to secure that we'd capture the standstill moment where we held one of them and could prove to all our friends and family miles away back in the states that we in fact Australia, we were immersed in the culture, and we were hanging out with koalas. Such was not the case. After about fifteen minutes of running straight for the koalas and preparing ourselves for this iconic moment it was destroyed by a fence, a cage, and a couple of over-sized koalas who I'm not even sure I had the strength to hold and could just as easily have been dead. So scratch that off the list for now. Instead,in an attempt to rectify our disappointment this is about as close as we got to a koala that day.
Reenacting the koala mating position as so graciously explained by the sign. Perhaps a new classic?
So since not being able to secure a koala interaction pic, simultaneously means not securing a kangaroo one, we'll go with the next best thing...posing with a kangaroo sign!
Lest we forget the crowd-pleasing goon chugging picture:
But now, moving away from the animals and alcohol and into the realm of serious, deep, self-reflection inducing sterotypical aussie pics is the "gazing off into the horizon and expressing how insignificant and small you are in the world in comparison to the magnitude of the aesthetic life-changing scenery before you by outstretching your arms into the distance" picture. You wasted your time in Australia if you didn't get one of these:
And your currently staring at my take on this one as you read my blog.
As for now I can admit, yes I am a shameless tourist and during the remainder of my stay in the land down under I will continue my relentless pursuit of capturing every iconic, and sometimes sterotypically touristy moment that comes along my way. And you will have to physically drag me back to America if I don't get one with a koala.
The Land of No Worries
The unavoidable, inescapable, omnipotent, inherently-implanted Australian ideology that serves as the universal acceptable answer to every potential problem, issue, or dilemma in this country are a simple two words: No worries.
Seriously. It's everywhere.
I started keeping track of the situations where I've received a "No Worries" whereas in New York I'd receive a WHAT THE F#*! BRO!?!?!
1. I slammed open my door to get out into the hallway and barely missed completely smacking a girl in the face by hardly an inch -- would have left one hell of a bruise. Upon profusely apologizing, she shrugged it off with a No Worries!
2. I was in a rush to buy colored socks for a themed party. After almost failing in my vigorous search up and down the mall for a green knee-high sock, I came across a sent-from-the-gods sock booth that sold every length, color, material and style of sock imaginable. So of course I had to be the most indecisive person in the world and sift through the innumerable socks for way too long, all the while harassing the poor lady who worked there; "No this is the wrong color green," "Do you have anything with a bow on it," "Why would I pay eighteen dollars for neon green tights I'm only gonna wear once in my life," "Do you have anything less halloween-ey?" This doesn't fly in New York. Patience such as the one exhibited by the sock lady does not exist in New York. But when I finally decided on a pair with two minutes to catch my bus and was struggling to figure out the right amount of coins I needed to pay for them, she took notice, said No Worries! and took whatever amount I had procured from the abyss in my bag. Pretty sure I was a solid seventy cents short.
3. Dumb American questions. Too many times have I been confronted with Australian slang and needed it translated for me "What's take-a-way is that like to-go?" "What's the difference between a flat white and a long black," and upon entering a fine wine store demanded to know "where's the goon?" And public transportations has lead to questions that have needed a solid five minute response "Where do we get off at?" "What zone are we in?" "Does this take us to the beach?"All explanations whether fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes all ended with a genuine No Worries!
4. And the last one I'll reveal was when I was hurtling down the stairs about to be late for my twelve-o-clock lecture, and almost completely took out the innocent cleaning lady who was carrying a vacuum up the stairs. Once again after apologizing for endangering someone's life it was settled with a No Worries!
Too many of my friends from home have threatened to shun me if I come back to the states with an Aussie accent. Such a situation seems highly unlikely thanks to my domineering New York one. And as far as the slang goes, I've refrained from calling any of my friends "mate," assimilating "keen" into everyday language, referring to the first meal of the day as "brekkie" or replacing what with "ehhhh?"
I've even, through much self-control, maintained that McDonalds is in fact McDonalds, and not this alleged "Mackers" (pronounced MACKAHHSSSS!)
But this no worries thing is like a virus. An infestation causing nothing more than a carefree attitude and a laid-back outlook on life. So why fight it?
Truth is I can't. I'm a goner. I want it tattooed on me (don't tell my dad). For further evidential support of this claim here's Exhibit A: (Don't let the fabulously-tacky Australian flag fanny packs avert your eyes from the best ten dollars I've ever spent.)
I cannot even begin to describe the scene we caused when we discovered that gem. You'd have thought we were crippled old ladies who'd discovered the fountain of youth. Of course this defining and monumental moment was documented thanks to the gift shop cashier guy who, in all honesty, may have been more excited about our purchase than we were as he provided us with an ample amount of accessories to complete our obnoxious tourist look:
Seriously. It's everywhere.
I started keeping track of the situations where I've received a "No Worries" whereas in New York I'd receive a WHAT THE F#*! BRO!?!?!
1. I slammed open my door to get out into the hallway and barely missed completely smacking a girl in the face by hardly an inch -- would have left one hell of a bruise. Upon profusely apologizing, she shrugged it off with a No Worries!
2. I was in a rush to buy colored socks for a themed party. After almost failing in my vigorous search up and down the mall for a green knee-high sock, I came across a sent-from-the-gods sock booth that sold every length, color, material and style of sock imaginable. So of course I had to be the most indecisive person in the world and sift through the innumerable socks for way too long, all the while harassing the poor lady who worked there; "No this is the wrong color green," "Do you have anything with a bow on it," "Why would I pay eighteen dollars for neon green tights I'm only gonna wear once in my life," "Do you have anything less halloween-ey?" This doesn't fly in New York. Patience such as the one exhibited by the sock lady does not exist in New York. But when I finally decided on a pair with two minutes to catch my bus and was struggling to figure out the right amount of coins I needed to pay for them, she took notice, said No Worries! and took whatever amount I had procured from the abyss in my bag. Pretty sure I was a solid seventy cents short.
3. Dumb American questions. Too many times have I been confronted with Australian slang and needed it translated for me "What's take-a-way is that like to-go?" "What's the difference between a flat white and a long black," and upon entering a fine wine store demanded to know "where's the goon?" And public transportations has lead to questions that have needed a solid five minute response "Where do we get off at?" "What zone are we in?" "Does this take us to the beach?"All explanations whether fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes all ended with a genuine No Worries!
4. And the last one I'll reveal was when I was hurtling down the stairs about to be late for my twelve-o-clock lecture, and almost completely took out the innocent cleaning lady who was carrying a vacuum up the stairs. Once again after apologizing for endangering someone's life it was settled with a No Worries!
Too many of my friends from home have threatened to shun me if I come back to the states with an Aussie accent. Such a situation seems highly unlikely thanks to my domineering New York one. And as far as the slang goes, I've refrained from calling any of my friends "mate," assimilating "keen" into everyday language, referring to the first meal of the day as "brekkie" or replacing what with "ehhhh?"
I've even, through much self-control, maintained that McDonalds is in fact McDonalds, and not this alleged "Mackers" (pronounced MACKAHHSSSS!)
But this no worries thing is like a virus. An infestation causing nothing more than a carefree attitude and a laid-back outlook on life. So why fight it?
Truth is I can't. I'm a goner. I want it tattooed on me (don't tell my dad). For further evidential support of this claim here's Exhibit A: (Don't let the fabulously-tacky Australian flag fanny packs avert your eyes from the best ten dollars I've ever spent.)
I cannot even begin to describe the scene we caused when we discovered that gem. You'd have thought we were crippled old ladies who'd discovered the fountain of youth. Of course this defining and monumental moment was documented thanks to the gift shop cashier guy who, in all honesty, may have been more excited about our purchase than we were as he provided us with an ample amount of accessories to complete our obnoxious tourist look:
The boomerangs and hats? All his idea.
We look like absolute idiots. But we were the happiest idiots in the world.
No worries!
37 hours to form a dysfunctional family
It started with a ukulele. That and some seventh-grade-cliche icebreaker along with our tyrannical raid of the airport duty-free shop (because what better way to bond with each other than debating over what tax-less liquor would best serve our economic and social interests) but after 37 hours of traveling alongside each other (maybe you can blame cabin fever) the dysfunctional family that was the Loyola Melbourne Study Abroad Group was formed .
After all, it was in the airport as I waved my dad and sister goodbye as they watched my transition from security to terminal, more so they could laugh at my horrible attempt to distort my helpless expression into one of excitement, that I dubbed myself an orphan for five months. Parent-less, without siblings and no real family for the duration of my stay down under. Or so I thought.
The first thing that would disprove my premonition was when we sat around in a circle in the terminal and one by one introduced ourselves; name, major hometown, the usual. Some even broke the timid confinements of this sphere to reveal a fun fact about themselves (I have a twin sister is always my go-to). I already knew the majority of the kids in our group, an inescapable side-effect of attending a school of 4,000, but there were some faces I had never seen before. And although the ice breaker was more of a joke to pass the time during our five hour layover before heading to New Zealand, the last stop impeding our final destination to Melbourne, its underlying purpose had been served as we all, through the most obvious and overused method possible, began to know each other a little bit better.
Once we boarded that flight we were anxious. We were excited. We were delirious from overdosing on sleeping pills. But together we upheld the title of "those obnoxious Americans" as (thanks to Alex who brought her ukulele) we provided the makeshift audience that were the passengers on the plane with ipromptu jam seshes with every landing, takeoff and bump on the plane ride. Improvising lyrics, strumming until someone jumped in with a verse, and playing for the sake of a boredom-induced desire to annoy the people around us was the soundtrack for the flights..of course, and much to our audience's pleasure, until the ambien kicked in.
You'd think that after 37 hours of attempted sleep in the awkward positions only an airplane seat can produce, dragging overstuffed carry-ons through terminals and gates, changing time-zones, planes, countries, hemispheres and crossing the date line all the while drifting in and out of a nomadic delirium that the first thing we'd do once we secured a key to our new home for five months was fall into a much deserved sleep. You clearly don't know us very well.
Does a saying exist such as You can take the hound out of college, but you can't take the college out of the hound even if said hounds finds themselves thousands of miles away from York Road? Whether it does or not, the events that ensued from that first night and the following week caused us to collectively question "Is this real life?" due to our inherent desire, as instilled through two and a half years of attending Loyola and taking full advantage of the underage alcoholic outlets it has so generously provided for us, for lack of a better term: rage.
Don't let the ties and smiles fool you. We clean-up nicely.
And rage we did. Together..as a -family? I guess this is where the dysfunctional part comes in. We were an overwhelming force of hounds on the loose every place we went leaving innocent pedestrians staring in our wake as the DJ played songs that were iconic to our beloved and dearly departed Craig's. We hugged each other and swayed with each lyric. We sang along like the words were our anthem. We introduced seemingly-choreographed dance routines that had previously' been reserved only for inside the walls of Craig's. And for sure we set the record for the longest Bernie Line ever.
A more accurate portrayal.
Through these nights of novel euphoria induced both by infatuation and intoxication, family roles became evident. Some secured patriarchal and matriarchal ones. They decided where we were going that night and made sure everyone got home in one piece. They declared family dinner which was always a culturally appropriate barbecue. Others, such as myself can be identified with the role of indifferent child. Sure I'll go there tonight if you guys say so, and even throwing in the occasional whiny are we there yet on our commute from campus to city to bar.
Along the way several other American exchange students have made this dysfunctional family an extended one, hailing from Wisconsin, Connecticut and Arizona to name a few. So sure our Christmas card might show twenty nine of us chugging goon straight from the bag, and our traditions may include belting out "big booty bitches" every time the DJ plays the song but our group, in all its dysfunctional glory, truly make this experience more memorable and enjoyable. If I ever feel homesick I have 28 relics from home that I didn't have to shove into my luggage.
After these five months are up, and all's said and done, I can truly appreciate what I have back at home, the opportunities this trip offers, and most importantly, the people I have alongside me to share it with.
After all, it was in the airport as I waved my dad and sister goodbye as they watched my transition from security to terminal, more so they could laugh at my horrible attempt to distort my helpless expression into one of excitement, that I dubbed myself an orphan for five months. Parent-less, without siblings and no real family for the duration of my stay down under. Or so I thought.
The first thing that would disprove my premonition was when we sat around in a circle in the terminal and one by one introduced ourselves; name, major hometown, the usual. Some even broke the timid confinements of this sphere to reveal a fun fact about themselves (I have a twin sister is always my go-to). I already knew the majority of the kids in our group, an inescapable side-effect of attending a school of 4,000, but there were some faces I had never seen before. And although the ice breaker was more of a joke to pass the time during our five hour layover before heading to New Zealand, the last stop impeding our final destination to Melbourne, its underlying purpose had been served as we all, through the most obvious and overused method possible, began to know each other a little bit better.
Once we boarded that flight we were anxious. We were excited. We were delirious from overdosing on sleeping pills. But together we upheld the title of "those obnoxious Americans" as (thanks to Alex who brought her ukulele) we provided the makeshift audience that were the passengers on the plane with ipromptu jam seshes with every landing, takeoff and bump on the plane ride. Improvising lyrics, strumming until someone jumped in with a verse, and playing for the sake of a boredom-induced desire to annoy the people around us was the soundtrack for the flights..of course, and much to our audience's pleasure, until the ambien kicked in.
You'd think that after 37 hours of attempted sleep in the awkward positions only an airplane seat can produce, dragging overstuffed carry-ons through terminals and gates, changing time-zones, planes, countries, hemispheres and crossing the date line all the while drifting in and out of a nomadic delirium that the first thing we'd do once we secured a key to our new home for five months was fall into a much deserved sleep. You clearly don't know us very well.
Does a saying exist such as You can take the hound out of college, but you can't take the college out of the hound even if said hounds finds themselves thousands of miles away from York Road? Whether it does or not, the events that ensued from that first night and the following week caused us to collectively question "Is this real life?" due to our inherent desire, as instilled through two and a half years of attending Loyola and taking full advantage of the underage alcoholic outlets it has so generously provided for us, for lack of a better term: rage.
And rage we did. Together..as a -family? I guess this is where the dysfunctional part comes in. We were an overwhelming force of hounds on the loose every place we went leaving innocent pedestrians staring in our wake as the DJ played songs that were iconic to our beloved and dearly departed Craig's. We hugged each other and swayed with each lyric. We sang along like the words were our anthem. We introduced seemingly-choreographed dance routines that had previously' been reserved only for inside the walls of Craig's. And for sure we set the record for the longest Bernie Line ever.
Through these nights of novel euphoria induced both by infatuation and intoxication, family roles became evident. Some secured patriarchal and matriarchal ones. They decided where we were going that night and made sure everyone got home in one piece. They declared family dinner which was always a culturally appropriate barbecue. Others, such as myself can be identified with the role of indifferent child. Sure I'll go there tonight if you guys say so, and even throwing in the occasional whiny are we there yet on our commute from campus to city to bar.
Along the way several other American exchange students have made this dysfunctional family an extended one, hailing from Wisconsin, Connecticut and Arizona to name a few. So sure our Christmas card might show twenty nine of us chugging goon straight from the bag, and our traditions may include belting out "big booty bitches" every time the DJ plays the song but our group, in all its dysfunctional glory, truly make this experience more memorable and enjoyable. If I ever feel homesick I have 28 relics from home that I didn't have to shove into my luggage.
After these five months are up, and all's said and done, I can truly appreciate what I have back at home, the opportunities this trip offers, and most importantly, the people I have alongside me to share it with.
Monday, March 19, 2012
"Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same."
I don't think I would ever describe a staff of professionals as cool. Attentive, yes. Helpful, definitely. And maybe once or twice there's been a waiter that a table of us girls had fought over who would victoriously leave their number on a napkin for. But the only word that does the purple-accessory-wearing, collectively-good-looking , surprisingly-hip, wait-I-actually-wanna-be-friends-with-you-inducing Air New Zealand staff justice, and perhaps the only word that efficiently sums them up is just that: cool. Led Zeppelin knows what I'm talking about.
Upon our arrival into the plane we handed our ticket to a stewardess, who after checking it and with one of the most overwhelmingly genuine smiles I've ever received said "Right this way Miss. Shelton." Miss Shelton? I could get used to this.
So once in our assigned places, seat-belts fastened and prepared for take-off, our personal television monitors displayed a safety video. And we've all seen these monotonous things before that reinstate rules of common sense like it was Moses revealing the ten commandments. But not on Air New Zealand. Throw Richard Simmons in there urging us to " Lose the baggage, fasten your safety belt, take a breather and let's GO!" as he performs an aerobics routine in his signature short shorts, a stewardess demonstrating how to use the air contraption after bumping into a beautiful and unidentified rugby player (I don't blame her), and top it off with plenty of neon and disco music and you have yourself ANZ's take on it. Hard to imagine, so here's some help:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgpYtJMQQjc
We basked in the glory of our leather reclining seats, personal TV's with remote, extensive selection of shows, movies, and music videos to watch; the perfect remedy for our recovery from possibly the most boring, bland and uncomfortable flight I had ever been on going from NY to California. Or perhaps now I was just biased. Blame it on the rugby player.
And then we really started living the good life once dinner rolled around. No longer were we bound to the confinements of the legal American drinking age and although at first we sheepishly smiled at the bottles of wine on the beverage cart, instead of being asked for ID we were asked red or white?
Thirteen hours of watching movies, sipping on wine, and napping in our reclining leather chairs lead the switch between country, hemisphere and day of the week fly by. Before I knew it I was woken up for breakfast and realized we only had about an hour to go before we started living the good life in Australia. But as I looked down at the mimosa I was casually sipping with breakfast, and looked around at the 28 others I was traveling with, about to embark on the journey of a lifetime I realized: I was already living it.
Upon our arrival into the plane we handed our ticket to a stewardess, who after checking it and with one of the most overwhelmingly genuine smiles I've ever received said "Right this way Miss. Shelton." Miss Shelton? I could get used to this.
So once in our assigned places, seat-belts fastened and prepared for take-off, our personal television monitors displayed a safety video. And we've all seen these monotonous things before that reinstate rules of common sense like it was Moses revealing the ten commandments. But not on Air New Zealand. Throw Richard Simmons in there urging us to " Lose the baggage, fasten your safety belt, take a breather and let's GO!" as he performs an aerobics routine in his signature short shorts, a stewardess demonstrating how to use the air contraption after bumping into a beautiful and unidentified rugby player (I don't blame her), and top it off with plenty of neon and disco music and you have yourself ANZ's take on it. Hard to imagine, so here's some help:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wgpYtJMQQjc
We basked in the glory of our leather reclining seats, personal TV's with remote, extensive selection of shows, movies, and music videos to watch; the perfect remedy for our recovery from possibly the most boring, bland and uncomfortable flight I had ever been on going from NY to California. Or perhaps now I was just biased. Blame it on the rugby player.
And then we really started living the good life once dinner rolled around. No longer were we bound to the confinements of the legal American drinking age and although at first we sheepishly smiled at the bottles of wine on the beverage cart, instead of being asked for ID we were asked red or white?
Thirteen hours of watching movies, sipping on wine, and napping in our reclining leather chairs lead the switch between country, hemisphere and day of the week fly by. Before I knew it I was woken up for breakfast and realized we only had about an hour to go before we started living the good life in Australia. But as I looked down at the mimosa I was casually sipping with breakfast, and looked around at the 28 others I was traveling with, about to embark on the journey of a lifetime I realized: I was already living it.
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