A Week in the Life of Buddha Down Under

Happy Black Friday, everyone. I hope you all had an enjoyable Thanksgiving, and none of your relatives got their eyes taken out by the button on your pants shooting across the dinner table. I figured since some of you might have some downtime this weekend, I should seize the opportunity to make sure none of my attention is diverted to your friends and family. If the conversation you’re ever participating in takes a turn for the worse or becomes static silence, just talk about me.

Nothing I have done in the past two weeks (or past 20 years, for that matter) can even begin to measure up to the fun and excitement of my New Zealand and Fiji journeys, but I think it’s time to finally divulge some information on what a week in the life of an American in Australia is like. We’ll start with Monday, because that just makes sense. As I arise from my slumber to the sun reflecting off of the South Accommodation Center directly into my face, my ears are perked every day to the sound of some absurdly annoying birds having their daily water cooler conversations. After I begrudgingly roll out of bed and check my e-mail, I slap on some horribly ineffective Australian deodorant (Rexona) and head to class. Call me a pessimist, but there are some days I wake up and say a quick little prayer for some overcast skies. Apparently, such a luxury is overlooked at God and Mother Nature’s breakfast table. Maybe they’re too busy reading the Classifieds. Back to my day. On my way to class, you could find me ever-so-meticulously balancing in the small shroud of shade that is offered by the “Arch Building.” Class is no more than a mere three minute walk from my dorm, but I only need about three seconds and some crappy deodorant to really get the sweat glands goin’. My first class is a three hour lecture for Australian Pop Culture. If you saw the professor, or “teaching fellow,” as she is so called, you would assume she missed her calling as a Sturbridge village butter churner or cobbler. Dr. Emily Wilson is a gem. After about one hour of her flapping her gums about who knows what, she usually (and often unsuccessfully) pops in a movie pertaining to what was discussed during her rambling. This is when most people just leave. Myself, on the other hand, can never pass up a good chance to sit in a dark room that has air conditioning while watching people surf. In the wake of this new vampire business, I’m starting to reconsider the possibilities of my past life. At 2:00, we are released from the Cerum Theater and usually take the time to grab some lunch from Bond Café. My standard meal consists of a small Caesar salad, a chicken focaccia sandwich, and a nice, cold Lift (sparkling lemonade, don’t judge me). After the hunger is satisfied, I relish in the four hour break I have ahead of me before my next lecture, which is when I get the chance to swim and stalk all of you on Facebook. By 6:00, I am sitting in my International Relations lecture, drenched in the sweat I have accrued in my endeavor to muscle through three flights of stairs. This class was taught by Anne Cullen, but then she just stopped coming to lectures, so her teaching fellow, Jackson Ewing took over. He is a great guy. I think he is roughly 13 or 14 feet tall, and hales from the state of Tennessee. Member how boring Al Gore’s voice was? Somthin’ to think about. It is nice to hear an American voice at the head of the class though. At 8:00 I usually grab a light dinner and head back to my sub-Arctic temperature room for some YouTubing, more Facebooking, and Snickers eating. Side note: the Snickers here are awesome. There’s 10% more nuts in the bars. I don’t understand what that means, but I’m way into it.

Tuesday is after Monday, so we’ll go there next. No classes for this guy on Tuesdays. It’s a rough life. Here is what is rough about Tuesdays though: it’s cleaning day. By about 11:00 on Tuesday morning, you can usually count on the cleaning ladies and one cleaning guy (haha) to knock on the door, say “housekeeping,” and then barge in like they’re there to save you. In these types of situations, I always find a way to make it as awkward as possible for everyone involved, including myself. It often follows the storyline of me “pretending I was leaving anyways,” then doing that awkward face-to-face shuffle in deciding how the cleaning lady and I want to get around each other, followed by her making a joke that I don’t understand because Australians speak really fast and I have my iPod in. All this, while fervently trying to avoid face planting because I run the risk of tripping on her vacuum chord. It happens, I’m just saying. I usually head to Bond Café while they’re cleaning my room and eat the standard lunch. As the day goes by and the sun begins to set, I head to the pool for a dip in an effort to stay as ghostly white as humanly possible.

Hump Day: Wednesday. The third day of my week once again, begins at 11:00 with my tutorial for Australian Sport in the Modern Era. Tutorials, or “toots,” are basically a smaller meeting of the class to supplement the material covered in lectures. This class is led by Glen Tunks, a thirty-something surfer who could talk a dog off a meat wagon. The tangents this guy goes off on are insane in the membrane. He is a great guy, always fun to talk to walking around campus, but has less than stellar Power Point abilities. After we’re let out of the Health and Medical Sciences building, we make our way over to Lake Orr, the lake in the middle of campus with a very blunt fountain that spews water out all day. This is the “Wednesday by the Water Sizzle,” where veteran Bond Uni students grill up some burgers and dogs for everyone to enjoy, fo’ free. The food is exceptional, but you know what’s not? The fact that Australia has no buns conducive to what you’re eating. Call me a spoiled eater, but a hot dog on a piece of bread was something I gave up in third grade. It gets the job done though. There is also usually some guy singing some sing-a-long tunes while lunch is served. Last week they were playing the didgeridoo. Sweet stuff. At 2:00, I have my final class of the day: a lecture for Australian History. The class is pretty interesting, but the teacher is even more interesting. Dr. Shirleene Robinson is another thirty-something professor who loves her Red Bull. She takes the train from Brisbane (almost 2 hours) every morning at like 6:00, so it is a rare occasion to not see her indulging in some form of caffeine. Her frizzed hair and 8,000 words per minute reflect her energy every day. Gives her wings, I guess. After released by 4:00, Bond Café is on the menu again for a light meal before my night swim.

Thursdays, the only day I have to ever see a single digit time in Australia, unless I sleep past noon, which, I never do. 8:00 is my one hour toot for Australian history that is filled with silence you couldn’t buy. After passing in my weekly summaries of the class readings, I am off to the lecture version of Australian Sport in the Modern Era. This class is looooong. I take the opportunity to do some work on one of my favorite hobbies: making lists. Lists of current and previous members of SNL, lists of every teacher I have had since Ms. Hebert, or lists of food I want to eat… The options are endless. A 2 hour break is in store for me after this lecture before my 1:00 toot for Australian Pop Culture. Easy, laid-back class, I just sit in the back and watch everyone Skype their friends and write on other people’s walls. I’m learning a lot here. Finally, my last class meeting for the week is my toot for International Relations. It is the most intimidating class I have ever been a part of. I am, by a landslide, the dumbest person in the class. Don’t pity me, I embrace it. Everyone’s so interested and asks like, real questions about globalization and stuff. Everyone speaks in paragraph form and uses unnecessarily massive words, while I’m sittin’ in the back row doing that thing where you draw a house with an X through it without picking the pen off the paper or retracing any lines. Funny story here: each week there is a case study in this class where a student is to analyze it, present it to the class, and lead a class discussion about the case. Mine was last week. I was terrified. As luck would have it, “that guy” who participates way too much didn’t show up, so I was out before it even began. After 45 minutes of talking about I think the Bali bombings in 2002, I patted myself on the back for wearing a black shirt to class because I was sweating a lot. During my presentation, people were asking me questions about stuff, and then I would just answer with whatever I wanted to talk about and wasn’t really too concerned if the question was adequately answered or not. You ask me about global terrorism, don’t be surprised if I just start talkin’ about taxes. A meal and a swim is a good way to relieve the stress of being severely inferior to my international peers. See Steve? I mentioned swimming.

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving, in case none of you were aware. It also, coincidentally, marked the last day of toots. Some professors brought candy, but my professor brought the class three bottles of wine to down over a nice conversation about Australia and the Vietnam War. Most of my AustraLearn group and a few others celebrated by having a huge feast over at University Place, a 5 minute walk from campus. The meal was a special treat. We also played a game some broad introduced us to, in which you place a piece of turkey on your shoulder, and whoever keeps their turkey there the longest wins. You’re reading the blog of the winner of the Turkey Shoulder Championships of Thanksgiving 2009. Makin’ the ‘rents proud…

Thursday’s International Relations toot marks the end of my academic week and the beginning of my totally non-academic weekend. Don’s Tavern, the on-campus bar always offers a night for the students to enjoy some adult beverages and blow off some steam. Themes are also a common event at Don’s on Thursday nights, including Tight & Bright, Movember Awards, and Duct Tape Parties. Friday is another classless day for me. As the weekends draw near, there are usually plans made to head to Surfers Paradise for some nightlife. The favored music usually tends to sway towards the techno end of the spectrum, lights flash as if everywhere you go is a haunted house, and the fashion statements are usually more along the lines of fashion exclamations. Some of the jeans the guys wear here are grossly absurd. Painted on. But once again, as I’ve said before, the kebabs make it all worth it.

The kebabs provide me with a nice segue for me to discuss my favorite topic: food. Australian cuisine is interesting. My infamous chicken focaccia sandwich is, shockingly enough, served on focaccia bread. In between the slabs of bread, you’ll find a wonderful combination of chicken, cheese, lettuce, cucumbers, and carrots. Get it toasted, too. You won’t regret it. As is similar to my life at home, a week without Mexican food is unacceptable. So a quesadilla at least once a week at Los Hombres Mexican Restaurant is always an option. No onions, extra sour cream. I still have yet to try any authentic “Australian” cuisine, as the Indian, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese influences on the food seem to be overwhelming. I have, however, found a restaurant that I am excited to go to so I can get my first helping of kangaroo, crocodile, and emu meat. Should be interesting. And finally, back to the kebabs. I just want to share with you my perfect kebab. I go for the large combo kebab that includes chicken and lamb as the base meats. Lettuce, and tomatoes are the next ingredient, not onions. Garlic yoghurt sauce is the preferred option after a heaping pile of cheese and jalapenos are added to the mix. Grilled up to perfection and served in a wrapper, you got yourself the Brendan kebab. Serves 3-4. Enjoy.

For now, that’s all I got for you. Just under a month left here in Australia. It is flying by. Hopefully I will be able to get to Sydney next week. Thanksgiving’s over, Black Friday’s getting there… Next stop: Christmas.

I miss you and love you all! See you soon! Keep giving me attention!

-Brendan/Bren/Sully/Dangy/Buddha