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May 27th (The True 27th) to May 30th
05.30.04 (8:53 pm)   [edit]
Thursday, May 27th. Sunny, warm, 22C (look, I'm just guessing).

Okay--up early, mostly because I went to sleep so damn early. Packed my bags, did the dishes, and drove off with Patsy to Uni. Unusually, I engaged in an email frenzy... it was something I'd sworn not to do too often, seeing that it takes a who lot of time and not much else gets done, especially this journal, which was supposed to surplant any email action...

Today, let's try the po-mo method of non-linear reading/writing, with lots of ad hoc stylings. Sound legible? If not... be ready for more.

Thursday afternoon, I travelled to Mary's work in Freo--the General Practice unit attached to the Fremantle Hospital. Mary dropped me off at the Australasian Diving Academy on the way back to Subiaco, in western Perth.

As things turned out, the diving course was cancelled; yes, cancelled, and I'd already read 80 odd pages of the course manual. In any case, I now sort of understand why some of us float in the water and others (like Peter) sink. Do you want to know, too? Ok--the weight of the water displaced by the object immersed in it must, at the very least, be equal to the weight of the object--therefore, the force of the water pushing against the object is equal to the force of the object exerted downwards, hence buoyancy is achieved. Yeah, physics!

Notwithstanding the science, the basic fact that the course didn't have enough students enrolled really bummed me out. The instructor was very kind though: he found me another school to try out, up in Coral Bay, that was not only seventy bucks cheaper, but he recommended as offering a much diving experience (four boat dives off of the Ningaloo reef). He also added a whole lot of invective aimed at the Australasian diving academy and warned me repeatedly not to let them 'rip me off' when I tried to get my refund. He then drove me nearly all the way home, all the while taking dinner instructions from his girlfriend on his mobile, shifting gears, dodging immobile road objects, and telling me about his up and coming vacation in Queensland.

That night, I had a four and half hour dinner with Mary and Antony that consisted entirely of arguments about geo-politics, colonialism, and world economics. All this I did with a slight headache and a constant desire to not drink alcohol--countered by one doctor and a expat scotsman who said: 'you're young, you look alright--drink more of this good wine!'

Friday, May 28th, sunny warm, but I was feeling the cool chill of a slight fever.

I like my arguments, but damn, I woke up feeling pretty sickly the next day to see Mary off... and spent the whole day pretty much in a state of decommision... reading a military overview of Rommel and his African exploits.

I rented five movies from the local video shop for five bucks, which was a good thing. Saw 'The Jerk'--the best line of the movie is Steve Martin telling his adoptive black southern family "and the music we listen to just always makes me feel sad", the music being the blues.

I passed out from 5pm til' 11pm and then read more about Rommel and then at 2am, when I couldn't toss and turn no more, I watched "The Scorpion King," which was solid, entertaining, shlock.

Saturday the 29th--a nice sunny day. Which I could appreciate, because the fever broke.

Healthy--I walked around beautiful, bourgeosie-friendly, Subiaco, filled with cafe people and lots of shoppers, scarved fans heading to the Subiaco Bowl to support the West Coast Eagles.

I read the paper, had a coffee, bought some groceries, then came home, made some dinner, watched tv, read some more of Rommel, then watched the "Appleseed" anime. To bed, early.

Oh yes, I made myself a massive dinner--a baked rigatoni with ricotta and a some sort of Parmigianno that had no flavour, texture, or Parmigianno qualities, a tomato sauce, sweet roasted capsicums, and deboned chicken thighs pan seared with a black olive tapenade. It will last, and must, for days.

Sunday the 30th of May, 2004. Sunny, nice day, that later turned into heavy showers in the late night.

Lazy day--read the rest of saturday's paper, absolutely disgusted by the world news, and then watched "The Thin Man," which was really good, except that the murderer's motivation for killing the so-called thin man was never explained. It was enough, I suppose, that the murderer was a lawyer, so no explanation was needed...

I then made to Freo to watch, in theatre, "Les Invasions Barbares," which was excellent. It was nice to see a canadian film in Australia, and the theatre was nearly sold out (but there were only 25 seats available...).


I ate some sort of 'double meat' lamb kebab in a pita roll for dinner. It hurt my stomach, but I muscled it through with some sprite.

I then went to the FLy-by-night, a music venue, to see a concert organized to donate proceeds to a anti-logging organization. If the logging situation in Canada has its ridiculous absurdities, then the Australian is awfully similar, but ridiculously worse.

Case in point: in Tasmania, they chop down old-growth forests to make way for plantations--however, what they do with the old growth is spectacular: they turn 90% of it into woodchips! Woodchips! The policy is to clear land so as to make way for the plantations--does this make sense? Not really, seeing that they don't really capitalize on the true profit of the old-growth hardwood . In any case, the music was good--some good stuff, and then I made it back to the station to catch the last train into PErth. However, I was not only misinformed by my friends at the concert, but also by the night security guard at the station--'yes, he said, there is one more train, you just chill out and wait a few minutes'. When the train came, I was blocked from entering the train by the exiting train guards. Is this train going into PErth? Yes. Can I ride it? No. Are you serious?

In any case, the train driver's permission was needed, but I made it onto the train and got a direct trip to my station--where I was then soaked by a downpour. Nice.

End of stream of consciousness. I need to write in a new way, somehow....
 
May 27th
05.26.04 (8:45 pm)   [edit]
Wed. May 27th. Cool, but sunny, 18C.

Another nice nice day. Went to Uni, attended the EP class, then drove off to Nedlands in Perth to pay for my diving lessons. I received a polo shirt, a hat, a nylon zippered satchel, and a whole lot of reading--I'm apparently supposed to read 210 pages of material before tomorrow's first lesson.

Drove back to Uni, without mishap, and then spent the afternoon reading my 210 pages of diving material. I nearly made it through section one (73 pages), but didn't... dum de dum.

Drove home with Patsy, had a great meal with Peter, and then watched the news and a video about the Endurance, a ship that carried the first crew to attempt a crossing of Antartica. I fell asleep watching this video, as I was feeling a bit sick--caught something that Patsy had.
 
05.26.04 (3:49 pm)   [edit]
May 21st, 2004. Continued.

Right. Where was I? Oh yes—lunch. I had lunch, in the Bella Roma pizzeria. Eating by yourself is the usual experience: you eat lunch, you look at the crowd, you try not to eat sloppily and so avoid being labelled as a depressed and lonely fellow. The good thing about eating by yourself in Australia is that you don’t fret about how much to tip… because you don’t tip, period.

You have to understand my position: in the service industry, the single diner is the worst client to have: they waste space at a two-top , they generally don’t tip very well, and they’re depressing to contemplate (who eats by themselves?). Consequently, the single eater doesn’t generally get the best service: spare chair is stolen, little small talk with the waiter (who avoids the lonely eater as a potentially lonely soul who desperately desires human contact), and is usually hustled through the meal so as to quickly turn over the table.

Following my good pizza experience, I walked back to the apartment. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was out, so I decided to hit the beach. South beach was supposed to be only a few blocks down the road, so off I went, towel under my arm, trunks over my loins.

Ten minutes later, I made it to a windswept and deserted beach, where the surf was rolling and boiling: at that point I remembered hearing how the beach culture in Western Australia (WA) took place early in the morning, so as to avoid the rougher surf of the later day.

Daunted, I shed my sweater, my shirt, my shoes, my towel, and my greatest tool, my glasses. Lost of my equipment, I stared into the ocean, my bare skin whipped by a rapidly cooling wind. I walked into the ocean, took many deep breaths, and relunctantly plunged into the water.

….

Michael Kerr’s “Dispatches” is all about the correspondent’s experience in Vietnam, and like my emergence from the frothing water s of South Beach, finishing this book was like breathing a breath of fresh shore air, body still shaking off the salt water, feet and toes jammed into the wet sand. It was a very good book, but like my short swim, it was a pretty intense experience, to say the least.

Broken bodies and broken souls; this book seemed to prelude what later happened in the evening. As I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I placed the leftovers in the fridge, leaving them in the pot in which they were cooked. Minutes later, I heard a crack: the pot had cracked the glass shelf in the fridge… damages were due to a thick bottomed pot that retained heat two hours after it was taken off the stove. I swore a bit and, goddamnit, for good reason. I’ve done this before, although I still can’t recall when or where. A lesson well learned, indeed.

So I had a quiet night at home—I found the apartment television hidden behind one of the couches, and once hooked up, watched the Australian reality tv show hit, ballroom dancing, and the horrible movie Coyote Ugly.

Sullied by my hours in front of the television freak show, I went for a late night walk, and saw the drunks roll out of the bars, only I didn’t attack the Hungry Jacks for no particular reason other than that they have roll up windows. They did their thing, I did mine: patrolling the streets with no particular aim. I walked around the Fremantle prison (which I’m not sure if it’s still open or just open to tourists… perhaps a bit of both, maybe?), and then back to the apartment.

Saturday , May 22nd, 2004. 10-17C. Very cool out!

I slept in today—then got up. I had an appointment at the Central Medical Centre in Perth for 1140am to get my AS 4001.5 13 certification—in other words, my scuba diving medical. It was a pretty cool experience: your hearing in tested, your blood pressure (82/128), heart rate (62), your vision, your height is measure (193cm—which, according to the nurse, makes me 6’4” and a half. Last I heard, I was 6’3 and 3/4. Apparently puberty hasn’t yet ended.) Lung capacity checked (very good! She exclaimed. What does that mean, I asked? It’s just good, that’s all, she told me. Good, I said.)

The doctor then ran me through the quickest science lesson ever: okay, bub, here’s how pressure works: at the surface of the earth, pressure is at one atmosphere. When at ten meters below , you’re at two atmospheres. Consequently, volume in your sinuses and other open areas in your body is reduced while the mass of air remains the same. Thus, your body is put through many stresses. Let me check your ears. Sit here. Okay, turn your head… very good, no, wait, lie down, you’re a bit too tall, ok, that’s good, can you equalize, please… oh! Gosh! That was nearly very dangerous! Oh dear, please sit up…

As he had asked me to equalize, I brought up my arm to squeeze my nose shut. My arm, though, struck his arm, and this drove his instrument deep into my ear… I was very apologetic , saying many mea culpas, accidents happen, etc. Meanwhile, the doctor, who had been previously very genial and kind, was now very nervous and upset. What then happened was the quickest ear exam ever… he didn’t even really look into my other ear.

Right—77$ bucks later, I was in possession of my AS 4001.5 13. As a sidenote, I’d finally gotten money sent into my new account here in Australia, so I now had a bank card, and a ready source of cash (one month into the trip). No more bumming money off of my aunt or, more sadly, her students.

The Australian dollar has been fluctuating a fair bit lately –when I arrived in the country, it was kicking up at around US$0.75, a cent or so higher than the Canadian. However, when I brought me monies over, it was at about US$0.68. 2.5 % commission by the Royal Bank of Canada, $5AS on an account transfer. Incidentally, the press reported that Australian banks had increased their profits from user fees by $10.7 billion dollars last year. One bank posted a 17.5% increase in this area; my new bank, the Commonwealth Bank of Australia, saw their user fee profits increase by 10.2%. Only one bank saw their profits in this area grow by less than one percent—and their spokesman said things would change.

Yeah! It costs money to earn interest on the money you place in the bank vaults, n’est-ce pas, Graeme et Matt? I’m not usually on the banks about their practices, but I will point out that the big six banks in Canada, like the big six or seven here in Australia, have all posted overall increased profits, continuously, for the last 25 years. Cheers to 100 succesive ly successful quarters! This happened despite recessions, despite unspecif icbut oft sited economic variables such as market uncertainty, drops in commodity sales, strange waxing and wanning of demand for raw materials and natural resources, unknown fluctuations in world markets, the Asian Tiger, China, the Wars, the Dictators, Al-Quaeda, and the World Economy…

…Mid day, I went for a long bike ride, out west to Murdoch (due east of Freo) and then up and back to Freo in a giant loop. It went well, although riding along South Street at one point was a bit hectic, what with the hecklers and cars that pass by your arm with only millimeters to spare…

In other news, where’s Enemy Number One? It will soon by four years since the bombing of the World Trade Center and Cobra Commander is still doing his thing, hiding out, earning interest on his personal savings (which have not yet been frozen or seized), probably not accruing much in the way of service fees. I think that he’s most likely in Pakistan, but be buggered if the US will be able to do anything about that: consider that Pakistan was just readmitted to the Commonwealth, although it is still just as wicked as when it was kicked out of the Commonwealth, a few years back. It just goes to show: having the Bomb makes people respect you! Even when it is clear that senior government an dmilitary figures in Pakistan were receiving money from the Taliban and Al-Quaeda t to turn a blind eye to their border dealings… What’s funny is that this is pretty much as much that the CIA knows… however, if you’re an American, they probably have a big fat file on you, because you voted in the last election (unlike the 65% of those who didn’t) or spoke out against war in Iraq… but they still can’t catch the damn man.

…anyway, on Saturday night, I was taken by Kat to the Solomon Street Party. It only got going at about midnight, so the first hour and half was kind of slow, although the house was super large and well laid out. It was a good party, with several djs at the turntable, a good crowd that wanted to party, and I had a whole cask of white wine to drink. 2l for only 12 bucks!

Sunday, 23rd of May, 2004. Nice day, 15-17C. Sunny and cloudy, classic‘winter weather,’ as I’m told. Whatever. The weathe here is very good, thank you, and I’m still getting a tan.

I was hungover. The white wine cask stuff is called ‘goon’ here—and I’m calling it the ‘Goonies’ from now on. Man. A lot of confusion this morning.

I ate breakfast, omelette with lotso instant coffee, rot gut stuff, and read the rest of the Saturday paper. I took a nap.

That evening I made it to Subiaco for Mary Roche’s 60th birthday dinner—a surprise affair held at a restaurant with the dubious name of Brown’s.

Dinner was… it was a fun night, and Mary had a very good time. The people there were all super healthy—all kayakers, the lot, and they looked pretty healthy. For a group who were, for the most part, in their sixties, everyone looked pretty damn healthy. Can I say it again? Sure—can you imagine: these guys will live to their nineties, unless Cobra Commander has anything left to say.

I was given a ride back to Freo by a very nice couple in attendance but whom I hadn’t met until they offered me a ride.

Monday the 24th of May, 2004. Clear day, sunny, 16C, no clouds.

Got up, did some serious errands: laundry, clean the kitchen, garbage, recycling, restock the groceries, got money from the bank, found out that a glass shelf costs 60 bucks to replace, and then I was off on the bus to Murdoch. I’m figuring out the bus system here, as it deals in the Zone sort of system: you pay for the number of zones you travel through. Two zones for Freo to Perth; one for Freo to Murdoch….

Once at Murdoch, I signed up and paid for my weekend of tree planting on Rottnest (you’ll hear about this when it happens), and registered for a diving class in Nedlands.

Monday night, all the EP students came over and got drunk at Good Camp. Peter has made a beautiful new centre island table for the kitchen, and it was put to good use this evening. Much food was prepared on it and many people leaned on it. A very nice surface to work and eat off of.

Stayed up late and drank too much.

Tuesday the 25th of May, 2004. Sunny, clear, 17C, no clouds.

Woke up with some fur on my tongue, but that cleared up around noon.

We went for a sail on Sky after breakfast—and it was a nice sail. Similar to my first trip out (exactly one month ago), we travelled out of the Peel Inlet and then out onto the Indian ocean and then toured about near the coast. There wasn’t much in the way of wind, but that was fine—I got a bit seasick, but managed to hold my cookies in. On the way back into the inlet, a pod of three bottlenose dolphins swam up to Sky and then followed up for several hundred meters, zooming fast across and beside the stern of the catamaran, sliding up and across the two pontoons, turning their eyes and bodies towards us for a better view.

Dolphins have sonar and can thus see our hearts pound in excitement if, and when, we do have close contact with us. If we are sleeping inside the ship, they can see us—and so they respond to our presence in a very sensitive way. They also respond very well to the company of children… which we had, Anthony’s daughters were on board, although they are not young children, per se. Whatever the case, this was the icing on the party cake, for sure.

We got back to land in the afternoon and the students took off quickly because of the hour drive back to Perth and Freo and their pressing desire to do homework (it is pre-exam crunch time). We then spent the late afternoon and evening cleaning up and eating dinner. And now, I’ve been typing for near to a damn hour, but I’m back on top, baby! Back on top!
 
May 19th to the 23rd
05.23.04 (8:33 pm)   [edit]
Wednesday, May 19th. 16 to 18C, partially overcast with sunny breaks. Eat that, weatherman.

Mr. Slattery made his way to Murdoch, again, to attend the morning Eco-Philosophy class. The class was held indoors due to the cool weather--and it was an interesting one.

Each class, one or two students make a presentation of the day's readings. The presentation then involves a group discussion or activity that relates directly to the readings. In today's presentation, the presenter divided the class into two groups and asked them to come up with a list of as many dualities as possible.

Dualities equal diametric opposites--such as black and white, heaven and earth, sea and sky, fact and myth... with increasing complexity.

The two groups were then brought together for a comparison of lists; one group, not Mr. Slattery's, was much more successful and prolific in their list making. Before the lists were read out, the presenter had laid out a treat for each of the other students; however, after the lists had been read out, the group that had produced the least number of dualities was penalized by having their treats removed from before them and given to the other group. This process of reward and punishment (another duality), however, was not explained to the participants, and simply done.

Mr. Slattery seemed amused by this turn of events, although he was probably just confused because he hadn't done the course readings.

In any case, the presentation moved onwards--the overall theme was an examination of how people, processes, and the environment are categorized, and thus, subjected to stigma, prejudice, condescencion, and disregard while largely ignoring the actual quality and needs of the subject. For instance: an apparently empty (of human influence) parcel of land is a passive commodity--it should be developed, or have something done to it that would increase its economic standing. Question: does this reflect the actual quality of the land? Why must it be developed? Isn't it fine to just leave as it is, pristine and beautiful?

Simply said, the goal of the presentation was to increase awareness of how fixed ideas can affect our perception--of relationships (men and women are a couple; men and men aren't), of nature (it should be preserved in a park; why aren't we more integrated with our environment?), of economics and philosophy (economic growth is good; what does economic growth mean in relation to humanity as a civilization?). In other words, question all perspectives and pursue alternatives.

Following class, Mr. Slattery did some email action and then read all day.

Mr. Slattery drove back from Murdoch in the evening, doing well on the left side of the road, except for when he zoomed through a roundabout at roughly 70km/hr.

Patsy and Mr. Slattery arrived home famished--and Peter had prepared a surprise: an excellent roast pork loin for dinner!


Thursday, May 20th. 20-22C Nice sun, some cloud.

Mr. Slattery drove to school--wanting to increase his ability to rage through roundabouts. He did some email action in Patsy's office, read the paper, and book before attending the EP class. Mr. Slattery then went to the pub for a few rounds, and met a couple of American exchange students from Penn State and had some discussion regarding the insiduous practice of urine testing in the US. Employees are tested monthly or even weekly for narcotic substances, such as marijuana. Such an infringement of an individual's freedoms is unparalleled in the western world... and also just ridiculous in general. Sadly, this is all part of the US government's War On Drugs--an out of date, idiotic program that does little to actually diminish illegal drug trafficking while simultaneously creating an underclass of citizenry who have done hard time for smoking a few too many joints (especially in states that have Three Strike programs).

That evening, Mr. Slattery went to dinner with P+P in Freo to meet their good friends Hanni and Tony. Hanni is originally from Switzerland and Tony is a native Perthian. The couple currently organize a backpacking club that runs week long treks in the Pilbarra and Kimberley and pretty much here and there. Tony is also someone who has hand built a catamaran, making him, Peter, and Kurt a triumvirate of shipbuilders. Quite a club.

Michael was then deposited at Anthony Weston's apartment in South Fremantle--while Anthony and his family were away backpacking for the weekend.

What a spread! Two bedrooms, a giant bathroom, a terracotta tiled patio, a large and well equipped kitchen, track lighting, a large living room, bicycles, a tv, and great location to central Freo.

Friday, May 21st. 18C or so, with so-so weather, rain and sunny breaks.

Mr. Slattery walked around Freo after breakfast and enjoyed the sights and sounds. He had lunch at Bella Roma pizzeria--ate the Quattro Gusto, a pizza that had four different sections to it. Mushroom, then ham, then green peper, and a super meaty ham-like section again. The crust was very good, deep dish, not greasy, and with a nice layer of cheese... a sinful delight.

To be continued in a few days... the computer needs to be used. Adios!
 
May 18th
05.19.04 (7:01 pm)   [edit]
May 18th, Tuesday. Sunny, warm, 20C.
South Yunderup, Good Camp.

Mr. Slattery spent most of the day writing up his blog; an onerous task, but it was his own fault if he had fallen behind.

The day started with some omelettes, then much furious typing, a miserable body hunched in front of the computer screen, while the sunshine shone outside on the canal.

For lunch, some BLTs--and a note on australian bacon: rib bacon, as it is known, consists of the northamerican strip of bacon with the attached round of pork that is known in canada as peameal bacon, or in the US, as canadian bacon. Whatever the nomenclature, Mr. Slattery is continually impressed by the sheer size of the bacon strips, which are pretty much as long as his forearm and hand put together. The BLTs looked big, scrumptious, and oh so good.

After lunch, Mr. Slattery continued his hero's task at the computer, swearing occasionally out loud.

Mid-afternoon, he was finished. So he repaired to the lawn with a book--Michael Herr's Vietnam book, called Dispatches--and Patsy's promotion application. He read a great deal of the application and a few pages of the book, lying there in the sun. The sun set and he entered the house... to find that Peter had decided to built an addition of Jarri wood to the kitchen island. This addition is made of two one-centimeter thick planks, set side by side, with rounded off corners. Mr. Slattery looked pretty turned on by the prospect of cooking and eating off of this island, although it will be a few days before the table is complete.

That evening, after a quick meal of leftovers, the three went into Mandurah to check out the new movie, Troy. As Mr. Slattery discovered, P+P love to sit about ten feet away from the wall sized screen. As Peter says: "Well, of course you should move your head to see things on the screen--that way it's just like real life."

To say the least, the $200,000,000.00 movie extravaganza was an intense experience--almost as intense as the time Mr. Slattery went to see Braveheart at the IMAX, only he arrived late and had to sit 7 feet away from the monstrous screen.

A walk along the Maudurah river capped off the night, and a short drive home.

End
 
May 5th-17th!!!!!
05.17.04 (10:43 pm)   [edit]
My apologies to the faithful. I've fallen behind, but here it is, in shortened glory. Now that I'm up to date, I'll be more complete. MS


May 5th, Wednesday. A super nice day, mild but still sunny, warm, and blue skied.

Today, Mr. Slattery went back to school; he watched a rather gruesome video about the persecution, torture, and eventual execution of witches in Europe, three hundred years ago.
This was part of Patsy’s eco-ethics (?) course; in commemoration of Mr. Slattery’s attendance of said course, Patsy had especially chosen a film made , in part, by the CBC.

He had started the day off by doing his usual email and such in Patsy’s office; he then walked around Murdoch campus, enjoying the sights and sounds of student life and attended the ecophilosophy class.

Perhaps because of exposure to the sun during his walkabout, Mr. Slattery t made it to the student affairs office and signed his name up to a voluntary tree plant meant to take place in the beginning of June out on Rottnest island.

Lunch was had at the self-proclaimed ‘Asian Food’ chip truck set next to the engineering building. He approached the said truck, observed the three sweaty asian women working inside, and swore that he had to buy something from then, so pitiful and hot did they look
He bought some soya chicken—cheap, plentiful, and it came with rice and a light vegetable curry.

Later, he attended the ecophilosophy lecture out in the courtyard beside the social sciences building—a nice lawn shade by bamboo growth and tall trees.

There was, however, more to this day than just two classes: an evening lecture by the ecophilosophy visiting scholar, Anthony Weston.

Along with several other ecophilosophy students, Mr. Slattery laid out cold-cuts, cheeses, sun-dried tomatoes, smoked salmon, mussels, toasted croissants, and much, much more. It was a goodly spread, and Mr. Slattery made sure he ate as much of it as possible—although there were students there who also had a similar ecophilosophy in mind.

Mr. Slattery attended the lecture—regarding the ability, necessity, and power of perspective. That is, observing the other point of view. An engaging and energetic speaker, Mr. Weston did a good job in presenting his ideas.

After the lecture, coffee and tea, and then a clean-up of the whole schebang—making for a long and fun day.

May 6th, Thursday
Another damn nice day, really.

Off he went, he did, went to school, again! Although, today, Mr. Slattery had a very leisurely sort of morning: he bought the Australian, a latte, and sat in an outside courtyard situated next to the student cafeteria, sheltered by an awning and a grove of trees. After this serious exercise , Mr. Slattery went for a walk and sat down under a tree… to do some homework. Yes—to do the readings for the day’s ecophilosophy course.

While only eight or nine pages long, Mr. Slattery took an hour to read the article, with much head scratching, soul-searching, and cursing. He then made it back to the Asian Food chip truck and was welcomed back with a smile (the reverse of his original reception). He tried the lamb curry—and boy, did he eat it fast. Mostly so as to make it in time

Once done, he then refreshed himself with some water and began a book given to him the night before by the visiting scholar—a science fiction novel regarding the colonisation of Mars, written, though, following the conventions of the epic poem, stanzas, meter, and all.

He attended anvery interesting ecophilosophy lecture, well-informed for the first time—and then made plans with two of the students for the weekend—to see a band on Friday in Perth, and hit up a party on Saturday…

May 7th, Friday
Another fine day, although somewhat blustery and coolish… an storm expected within a few days. First of the winter season.

Friday; Michael went down to Perth on this day. He left in the middle of the day, to shop in Mandurah with Peter. Errands done, Michael was left off at the bus terminal, and got on the express bus into town.

Once there, it took him five attempts to get in contact with the Ecophilosophy student, Seth, with whom he was supposed to spend the weekend. Seth, though, believed that Michael was only going to stay for one night, not two; Michael’s presented plan forget this one detail. In any case, the EcoPhil was easy about this change of plans, and readily accepted.

Friday, Michael listened to music and drank beer. He then went to a rotten bar called Paddington’s with Cat, another EcoPhil (EP) that had a lame crowd and a van halen cover band. Originally, they were supposed to see a live act that didin’t play van halen covers; however, they missed out on the show because they drank too late before leaving the house.

All the same, it looked like he had a good time, standing right at the front of the small, short-raised, stage, dancing to Jump and other great eighties hits. The trip home required a shopping cart and a lot of pushing and running around.

May 8th Saturday

Saturday, Michael slept in and had a headache. He did manage to get out and try a Mrs. Mac’s Meat Pie ™ which was made of pretty unidentifiable meat product. He also bought a paper; afterwhich, he made fast retreat to the safety of the apartment, out of the sun’s way.

When Seth came back to the apartment after his shift at the bike shop, Michael and Seth’s roommate, Kylie—who had spontaneously joined in last night’s revelry and was, as such, also recovering—were lazing around the apartment, watching Australian Saturday programming at its best. Lots of cooking shows, with a strong british theme behind most of them, except for the one hosted by a fat Italian man who loved his seafood and pasta, his many different kinds of fresh ingredients plus pasta.

The rest was apparently necessary, as Michael then went with Seth over to a house across town, in the fourth suburb south of the city core, so as to drink the four bottles of wine they carried with them.

A bbq—sausages and onions—a funnel, and a fire in a raised metal can, carved in half. A backyard party, hosted by a friend of Ellie’s, another EP. Later, Michael then went to a night club in East Perth for a drum and bass cd launch party . The music was good, it seemed, although there were no cds at all available for sale.


May 9th, Sunday, Rainy, 20C or less.

Michael made it into Fremantle—or Freo—getting a ride through torrential rainfall that threatened to blind the driver’s view of the road. The rain

Fremantle—or Freo, as it known—is a fine and chilled out place, with many restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques lining its streets. Most cafes and restaurants spill out onto the streets, shaded by large awnings. Much of the atmosphere, attitude, and style of the population on the streets made Michael think of Montreal, only Freo is found on a seashore, and the weather is clement, year round.

Now in town, Michael was to meet Patsy and Peter at a bookstore called New Editions. Michael, being new to town, went into the first second hand bookstore and confidently asked for the location of a “Second Edition” bookshop. The cashier looked at Michael like he was a piece of dirt, and told him that “New Editions” was located just down the street, around the corner.

Once reunited with Patsy and Peter, the three went off for lunch, at a place called Gino’s. there, Michael had the linguine Carbonara, Patsy a fettucineMarinara, and Peter a Greek salad that seemed to consist largely of tomatoes cut into quarters. While the food was good—Patsy’s pasta had the most amazingly fresh whole scallops, but like Michael’s pasta, the sauce was not quite on. All the same, the atmosphere of the restaurant was Mediterranean and overall, very nice.

A drive back to S. Yunderup, where Michael napped, and then awoke to be greeted by a roast for dinner—which P+P celebrate with dancing (to Elvis’s greatest hits), some cream sherry, and convivial conversation. This is a weekly event that is not missed, though, if it is, then instead held on Monday, Tuesday, or the next available day.

May 10th, Monday. A nice day, with a misting of rain now and then.

Michael went to Murdoch today, continuing his trend, and penchance, for free education. However, in attempting to print up some documents from Patsy’s email, he became possessed by the desire to clean up the computer’s desktop. As things turned out, emails were piled up 20, 30, or even 40 deep on the desktop. Patsy, it should be known, has never used the internet in her life, nor has the inclination to do so. In any case, Michael worked hard and successfully conquered the piles of unread emails.

He then retreated to the shaded courtyard where he has previously found himself, and read a great deal of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code.

At 530pm, he met up with Patsy and travelled home, where a dinner awaited them, prepared by the gracious Peter! The team then watched the news, and Michael then read the rest of the Da Vinci Code, and then slept.

May 11th, Tuesday. Another nice day, with no rain whatsoever.

Michael continued his decadent lifestyle today, sleeping in, then eating a leisurely breakfast, which he followed up by a good session with his guitar, torturing the local songbirds with his jangling, off-tone, string plucking.

He did, though, make a vegetable soup stock, which he then attempted to convert into a soup through perverse kind of alchemy. While lacking a blender or the necessary skills to make a soup, he persevered and produced something that was not quite good or very bad, and most definitely not gold. He redeemed himself, however, by making an acceptable pasta—a chili tomato sauce with sautéed sausage meat and green capsicum.

That evening, the group watched a hilarious video on Rex Hunt, fisher extraordinaire, and his fishing trip in the Kimberleys, the wild, rugged, landscape of northern western Australia. An overweight man with a penchant for dramatic one liners, skewed politics, and ardent environmentalism, he fished his way around in rivers, coral reefs, and croc infestedwaters.

This was the day, and Michael went to sleep having learned that the Australian fisherman, in certain areas, had to reel in his fish with great speed, competing with the circling sharks for a piece of the catch.

To bed at a reasonable hour.

May 12th, Wednesday. Cool, but nice out, sunny and pleasant, 15C.

Back to school he went, did Michael, yet again! Today, though, he did only a little follow up work on Patsy’s computer and spend the rest of the day hanging out, attending the EP class in themorning, then the Environmental Ethics class, where Mr. Weston lectured in his easy going but engaging manner, hands –a-flutter in the air. He then spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book by an Australian anthropologist , Tim Flannery, called ThrowimWay Leg, regarding the wildlife of crazy, cannibalistic, jungle ladenwestern New Guinea.

Peter had accompanied Michael and Patsy today to school; he, however, did something in the category of good fun, driving out into the hills east of Perth for some archery with his son, Damien.

The two men returned in the evening to pick up the two bookish people. The four then made their way back to Freo, picking up some chinese takeout along the ay. The group had dinner at Dami’s house , accompanied by friend Brie and son Indiana. Indi, who looks like a smaller version of a WWF wrestler, looked Michael over at first sight, then gave him a big, unreserved, hug. Indi also firmly identified himself as a “big kid,” and most certainly not a “child.”

The P+P+M team then made their way home—Michael worked some more on his guitar, remembering what he had been told: “You got to love your guitar regularly or it won’t love you back!”

May 13th, Thursday. Another nice day in paradise.

More school! Today, Michael read some more at school, then attended the EP class, but had to jet home immediately afterwards, forgoing the usual Thursday pub action .

The afternoon EP class was held on a sun soaked grassy knoll, and the discussion today was particularly engaging –Michael though, only listened, and did some stretches, basking in the warm light.

Patsy and Michael had to jet home –Anthony Weston and charming, friendly, family (Amy, his wife, and daughters Anna Ruth, and Molly)were coming over for dinner. Peter had prepared another great meal of vegetarian curry and some curried chicken—but, to Michael’s chagrin, the leftover ‘soup’ he had made earlier in the week was served… doctored, though, with great success, by Patsy, with some honey.

A very nice evening, with good conversation—all capped off by a bumbleberry pie (rhubarb, apple, and raspberries) made by Anna Ruth with vanilla ice cream. The group then closed down the night with a row along the canal, in Rosie, the pink dinghy. Michael fell asleep in the cool air, alone in the bow, a silent figure held under a star laden southern hemisphere, while Patsy rowed—green phosphorous t railing the oars’ arc through the water.

May 14th, Friday. A beautiful, warm, sunny day.

The day began well, with a pancake breakfast cooked over wood fire—on the front lawn of Good Camp (the home’s name) . Pancakes decorated with maple syrup, or fresh lime juic e and brown sugar crystals; the limes picked off of the lime tree set just beside the house.

The Habershmidt(-mass…?) –Westons had slept over and were given a tour of Sky following breakfast. Patsy’s dresser was investigated by delighted Anna and Molly, as it takes up half of P+P’s bedroom, and has every single style of dress dating back the last 70 years.

The day began late, and people had places to go, including Michael. Generously offered a ride into Freo by the W-Hs, Michael accepted. The three woman of the family crammed into the back of the rental while the brute-sized Michael got the passenger seat—feeling quite guilty because the rear of the car was crammed for space, as the driver’s seat was propped from behind by a child seat, thus using up half of the rear seating capacity.

The ride to Freo was excellent—conversation covered many topics, especially media representation of the events in Iraq. Anthony expressed a long time desire to teach a class on such a subject and was interested to hear about the Canadian press coverage of American international affairs—both Amy and Anthony are both university professors from the States.

Once in Freo, Michael was deposited at the train station—and off he went to Perth, to get some business done.

It being the 14th of May, Michael had been in the country for almost three weeks . However, he had yet to declare himself to the Department of Immigration… or, accordingly, open a bank account. Living off the fruits of the land (and the Royal Bank of Patsy and Peter), Michael decided that it was high time he brought some of his Canadian money into Australia.

As things turn out, Michael did get his work visa stuck into his passport , without ever having to show a single bank statement during the entire five minute process. This means that Michael could have come to Australia with no money whatsoever and still would have received his work visa. A thought that hits too close to home, really—because without a bank account, Michael really was without means.

So he opened a bank account, but hit a snag—the Commonwealth Bank of Australia could not import his money—apparently, the bank could not “act as a third party in such a transactionbecause it’s illegal”. Legality aside, this left Mr. Slattery with an empty bank account.

Still, he had a bank account—that was something in itself. Michael then went and purchased his first ever cheap cell phone using the magical VISA card—so he has his number, 0415181860, internation code 011. Call him only in emergency—as the longdisance, let alone the regular rates, is killer.

He then looked into buying a converter for his battery charger… as it turns out, a 3A converter costs more than the battery recharger, so Michael had carried this piece of equipment around uselessly . Relunctant to use the magical VISA card, Mr. Slattery held off from buying an Australian battery charger. A silly decision, as it turns out, because he still needs to charge his batteries and has no other way of charging them.

In any case, the highlight of the afternoon’s urban delights did not end on the floor of the electronic store DickSmiths. Mr. Slattery found, by pure accident, Tom’s Gentleman Barbershop on Hay St. in downtown Perth. This place looked like the classic barbershop: one barber, two red leather chairs, linoleum floors, two windows with faded blue and red lettering on them, a turning red spiral, and lots of large posters of naked women on the
walls. In fact, there were even large piles of porno magazines to read—back issues, too, organized by decade, and shelved for easy access!

This brought back memories to Mr. Slattery: the barbershop at the bottom of Margueretta street, where the old Portuguese barber, stubbled and grey, cut his hair while chatting to the permanently ensconced men at the back of the shop. A solitary calendar hung in the shadows, only visible to the patron, reflected just so in the mirror, with a naked woman highlighting the days of the month.

Tom’s barbershop was a souped up version the old kind Michael grew up in: four foot by three feet sized posters of naked nubians in high heels and giant afros was the theme.

Mr. Slattery fiddled with his gizmo phone while waiting for the red chair… and observed the barber’s skill. Tom looked Italian, which boded well—Mr. Slattery’s barber, Enrico, back in Toronto, was also Italian, and Mr. Slattery is biased in their favour.

When it came to Mr. Slattery, Tom asked him what he wanted. “What I want,” said Mr. Slattery, “is a lot off, everywhere.” And so Tom proceeded, with great speed, and skill, to give Mr. Slattery the exact same haircut that Enrico would give him. Mr. Slattery said “Nice,” a fair bit, and looked a fair bit nicer, too, by the end of the operation.

Clean cut in appearance, but not in soul, Mr. Slattery marched west to the suburb of Subiaco, where Mary Roche, his second cousin, lives. She prepared a beautiful lamb roast, roasted potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, thick cut celeriac, and was an excellent hostess, her cottage-like house the expression of her very refined tastes. Never having met this relative (his aunt’s cousin) before, Mr. Slattery enjoyed himself very much—as well he should, considering he was staying over at her house for the entire weekend.

There was much good wine consumed and people stayed up late.

May 15th, Saturday. Cloudy, threats of showers. Cool.

Breakfast was had in the garden behind the house: fresh fruit, yoghurt, cereal, fresh breads (walnut, and fruit), and two newspapers. It was decadent and excellent. Patsy and Peter had to go—other obligations called—and so Michael stayed on. Mary then took him kayaking on the Canning river, one of the tributaries of the Swan, which was fantastic, despite it being Michael’s second time ever in a kayak.

The Canning is public park, so once on the water, it is as if the waterway exists in some remote place, beyond humanity’s grasp. The only thing that disturbed this illusion was the sound of the occasional car passing by.

A lunch of bread and cheese on the river bank provided respite—then a return back down the river.

That evening, Mr. Slattery made it to the Rosemount with Seth, with whom he spent another night. They saw the Nordeens, a thrash guitar type band, that made Mr. Slattery think of George Reid’s playing style. While the Nordeens were the main act, there were three or four warm up bands, who varied from very poor to fair. All the same, the Rosemount was a good venue for live music, large, a good view from all points, and not overly loud.

A late night, a beery night.

May 16th, Sunday. Fine weather, no rain, just sun and a light breeze.

A late morning, that quickly moved over to make way for the afternoon. By 3pm, Mr. Slattery was down on Oxford Street, home to tony cafes, restaurants, and high end boutiques. As with the last Sunday, Michael witnessed the utter lack of open cornerstores—as Sunday shopping is the exception, not the rule in Western Australia. This fact makes Mr. Slattery wary of walking around the streets of Perth with a hangover with no water to drink, let alone buy.

From North Perth to Leederville, across the walking bridge and into West Leederville, and then down into Subiaco, Mr. Slattery walked, staggered, but did not fall.

He arrived back at Mary’s in decent shape, a bit hungry, dehydrated, but otherwise fine.

Mary and Anthony were out at a car show, riding around in a friend’s convertible Rolls-Royce. Michael read the rest of the Saturday papers until they came home.

For dinner, a very nice shrimp pasta that Mary whipped up out of nowhere, sauce made from scratch, served up with goat cheese and a nice white wine.

To bed Michael went, a bit pooped from his exertions.

May 17th, Monday. Sunny slightly overcast. Very nice.

Michael went out to buy croissants and chocolatine chez Jean-Claude Pattiserie, a French pattiserie found not far from Mary’s house. While expensive ($1.70 for croissants, $2.20 for the chocolatines) it was well worth the price; Michael made some omelettes and then bid adieu to Mary, going off to Freo for an evening encounter with Peter and Patsy and two of their close friends, Kurt and Miche.

Kurt and Miche, as it turns out, study blue whales, pigmy whales, and humped back whales for a living. Their 44 foot catamaran, Whalesong, is another hand built job—but this gets ahead of things. Kurt is Canadian, although Mr. Slattery failed to identify his accent, and Miche a Kiwi; they have two blond daughters, Mica (9) and Tasman(5), who are outgoing and confident children.

The family live on Whalesong year round, conducting scientific research on the habits of the whales—to say the least, a dream job. After dinner, the group went back to Whalesong, which was moured at the Fremantle Marina. Kurt and Miche were on their way up to Exmouth for the winter, moving from Pigmy to Blue whale study—they showed some recent photographs Miche had recently aken swimming with pigmy whales.

Vanilla coffee was offered, served, and consumed—a massive caffeine rush, for sure. Unformtunately, P+P+M had to make it home, so the visit was brief, but intense.
 
April 29-May 4th
05.04.04 (9:27 pm)   [edit]
One of the disavantages of the blog is that it requires a constant access to the internet; without it, days pass by, things occur, and there you go, nothing gets posted.

That being said, I'm now back at Murdoch, trying to do some email and blog action. Without the third person, sadly.

While Patsy has a computer back in South Yunderup, the computer has some issues connecting with the Murdoch server. Also, the dial-up is long distance, so prices add up quickly. For the time being, then, I'll just have to post every week until the situation changes. There is some talk of getting broadband installed, but that may take a while.

For the time being, a summary of events:

An action packed weekend that stemmed from going to school--some students in Patsy's ecophilosophy course invited me out for a 'doof' on friday (the 30th of April). A doof is an outdoor rave held in the bush--this one somewhere southeast of Perth, in Pinjarra (spelling may be off). So a whole night affair, really, that was then sequeled by a night of food and drink in Nedlands (Perth suburb) with two old friends of Patsy and Peter. Not having slept much at all the night before, I pretty much tried hard to stay awake, despite the excellent fresh seafood (mussels, giant jewfish) and quantities of australian wine. Then there was desert, coffee, and whiskey.

The next day, May 2nd, the seven of us (P+P, Helen, Jonathan, and two kids, Aidan and Rachel) went sailing in a mutually owned racer called 'Scorcher' in the Swan River. It was my first sight of Perth, and it was a beautiful day, sunny, windy, warm. We had lunch on a point in the river, bringing the sail boat into the shore and then pulling it up onto the sandy beach. A leisurely lunch of roast chicken, cheese, spreads, breads, ham, fruits, and the usual accoutrements.

We then sailed back to the marina, where the boat (18 feet or so), was hauled back out of the water, hosed down, derigged, and made proper for the next time. I fell, once again, into the water, after surviving a whole day in the boat, unscathed.

That evening, we went directly from Nedlands into Perth for Damian's birthday--Peter's son. We had a roast and drank some more. Then, back to S. Yunderup, for a super night's sleep.

The 3rd and 4th of May were spent in leisurely langour--sleeping in, doing little, and reading a bunch. I finally finished Midnight's Children and am glad to have killed the bastard. Down with Rushdie!

Yesterday afternoon, we went for a swim in the canal and some bottlenose dolphins were swimming with us--including a young one. A super experience.


End