Part III: Language & Customs

I hope someone pointed out to Kallikrates that the utes we drive in Australia have no relationship at all with the Ute Indians. It's actually an abbreviation of the word 'utility'. Allegedly utes were invented in Australia by a guy who wanted something he could throw a bale of hay in the back of during the week and then drive to church on Sundays. Like you do.

Milesawaygirl noted the similarity between how Australians and Scousers speak. I think this has a lot to do with the fact that we were a British penal settlement (no Zoo, that's not what penal means, you naughty, naughty girl. Don't make me spank your fanny!) So we use a lot of Cockney rhyming slang and other peculiar quirks of English slang. Hope that clears it up, china plate. Now I'm off down the frog and toad to the rub a dub dub.

I am deeply afraid for fixingherhair. If everything she learned about Australia came from 'Priscilla, Queen of the Dessert', then she probably thinks we're all screaming queens with a hankering for ice cream sundaes and chocolate mud cake. (I reserve the right to mock spelling mistakes as well.) As for Fruity Pebbles, I have tried them, thank you very much, and the doctor predicts that the sugar buzz will leave my system in approximately 2005.

Part IV: Flora & Fauna

Thanks to VeryModern and Mosta (whose link I have lost) for reminding me that dingoes have bad PR people.

They have a reputation for being savage, having killed several small children. What people fail to realise is that most dingoes are afraid of humans. In locations where idiot humans have fed the dingoes, they have become less afraid of us and aggressive when they are not fed. Of course, they target the easiest prey, small children.

Like so many other things, dingoes cop a bad rap when, really, it's our own stupid fault. I've been to places where other animals such as emus (remember, eem-you, not eemoo!) will also attack people if they are not fed, so it's not just the dingoes. It's the stupid humans.

The next time you see a wild animal and think, "Awww! Isn't it cute! I'll give it some of my lunch!", I hope it eats you instead.

Part VI: Naming Conventions

Thank you to the divine deevaa for pointing out that almost nobody in Australia uses his or her actual name. Sometime in their lives, most Australians will be christened with the most unlikely moniker you can imagine.

If you are overweight, you'll be called Slim. If you're short, you'll be called Stretch. If you are a redhead, you'll be called Bluey. (I have a hypothesis that that last one relates to redheads having fierce tempers, because a fight is sometimes called a 'blue' over here. As in, "The wife and I had a bit of a blue about leaving the toilet seat up. I wish she'd stop doing that." But that could be complete crap.)

Similar to the 'ie' phenomenonie, if your name can be abbreviated and have an 'o' or an 'a' stuck on the end, it will be. For example:
Gibson: Gibbo
Robert: Robbo
James: Jimbo
Sharon: Shazza
Barry: Bazza
Warren: Wozza
(These are all pronounced with the same enthusiasm as "WHAZZZUP!" from the Budweiser commercials.)

I have no idea why this happens, but then any country that can get 'Chuck' from Charles hasn't got much to crow about, either.

Some names are changed more randomly. For example, Kylie will become Kyles (unless you are Kylie Minogue in which case you are 'Our Kyles'), Greg 'Greggles' and Claire 'Claire Bear'. I myself have been known over time as Tree-cle, Tree-bone, Tree-bum, Tree-tree and Tree-zle for no possible reason that I can fathom.

Many Australians have bizarre nicknames that have mutated over time, originally resulting from equally bizarre incidents. So if someone's nickname bears no resemblance to his or her christened name, ask for the story behind it. It will probably involve nudity and alcohol. All the best things do.

A couple of last final tips for not sounding like a complete knob when travelling in Australia. If you must refer to us as Aussies, then it is pronounced 'Ozzie'. The double 's' is pronounced hard, not soft as in 'kiss'. Pronouncing it soft will usually result in you being called a 'bloody tank'. 'Tank' is an abbreviation of 'septic tank', which is Cockney rhyming slang for 'Yank'. This is an insult.

Nobody in Australia actually drinks Fosters Lager. It's a running joke to see if we can convince other nations around the world to drink cat piss in a can. It's working and we're still laughing at you all.

If you need the toilet, please ask for it. In Australia, the toilet is usually separate from the bathroom. If you ask for the bathroom, you will be directed to a room with a bath in it. We would appreciate it if you could refrain from peeing or crapping in our bathtubs in the event of a misunderstanding. I think I speak on behalf of all Australians called 'John' in this matter, also.

I hope this has been enlightening. I'll probably be a bit quiet for the next week or so while I entertain my foreign visitor, but any other questions will happily be mocked when I have the time.

I have a dear friend coming to visit from San Francisco next week and it reminded me of how little most 'Merkins know about where I live. So, based on the many strange and, frankly, stupid questions I've been asked about my home, here's a little heads up on the land down under.

Part I: Geography

Australia is big.

No, not Texas big. I mean really fucking big.

Our largest state? Four times the size of Texas. Twice the size of Alaska. In fact, most of the continental US fits INSIDE the island of Australia. There would be a couple of bits hanging over, but I'm sure no one would miss them.

If you're planning a holiday and you're thinking that you can catch the sunrise at Uluru and then whip on over to the Great Barrier Reef for a quick snorkel and then dinner at Sydney Harbour, then be prepared to spend a metric fuckload (remember, we use the metric system, not imperial) on airfares because it's a really, REALLY long way to travel.

On the other hand, our population is only a fourteenth the size of yours. This does not mean that there are vast tracts of land waiting to be settled. What it means is that there are vast tracts of land that are completely inhospitable and you'd be mad to live there.

We're in the southern hemisphere. The bottom part of the globe. While this doesn't mean the water goes down the toilet the other way, it does mean that cyclones do and we use being in the southern hemisphere as an excuse for driving on the other side of the road and reversing light switches (yes, you flip them down to turn them on, not up).

Part II: Time Zone

As Charles Schultz once said, "Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia." We are 15 time zones ahead of the east coast of the US and 18 ahead of the west coast. New Yorkers calling at the perfectly reasonable hour of 10am will wake me at 2am the following morning (and make me very, VERY angry).

This also means that when you fly here, you travel forward in time. It takes about 15 hours to fly from LA to Melbourne. But if you leave Monday, you arrive Wednesday. So what happened to Tuesday? Welcome to the international dateline, the Bermuda Triangle of time.

Of course, you go back in time when you fly home. That same 15-hour flight will deposit you in LA about 2 hours after you left Melbourne. Confused yet? Excellent.

Part III: Language & Customs

I know I've ranted about this before, but here's something to keep in mind. Australia, like the US, was colonised by the British. This means that we have a lot in common. Yes, we speak English. Yes, we celebrate Christmas and Easter. Halloween never caught on the way you guys do it, but we are aware it exists. We do not celebrate Thanksgiving. Why would we celebrate Native American Indians saving the arses of a bunch of pilgrims on a completely different continent?

Our British heritage also means we are fairly civilised. We have electricity, running water, cars, television and most of the amenities that you enjoy in the US. As long as you won't go into catatonic schizophrenia if you don't eat at Olive Garden or consume Fruity Pebbles once a week, you should be fairly comfortable down here.

Outback Steak House, Steve Irwin (Crocodile Hunter) and Paul Hogan bear no resemblance to anything actually found in Australia. Nor does your attempt at an Australian accent. If Meryl Streep couldn't do one, what makes you think you can?

On the other hand, here is a quick guide to pronunciation:
Sydney -- Sid-knee (I'm only including this because the head of the Olympic committee seemed to think this had three syllables)
Melbourne -- Melb-n (say it as if there are no vowels after the 'b')
Brisbane -- Brisb-n (again, who needs those pesky vowels?)
Indooroopilly -- In-dra-pilly (see what I mean about vowels?)
G'day -- Run the 'g' and the 'd' together, there are no vowels (of course) or pauses between them
Emu -- eem-you. If it was pronounced 'emoo', we'd fucking spell it that way
Kookaburra -- the 'oo' is short as in cook, not long as in kooky
Koala -- notice the distinct lack of the word 'bear' on the end. Because they are not bears. Got it?

Nobody on this continent uses the following words: cobber, crikey, shrimp. It is a source of national embarrassment that our Prime Minister recently used the phrase 'fair dinkum' (meaning honest and genuine) to refer to Saddam Hussein's attempts at disarmament and while 'mate' is a common word (pronounced 'mAAAAAAAAYte!') we don't want it appearing in our constitution.

There are some peculiarities of language down here (and by this I do not mean the fact that colour is spelled with a 'u'). For example:
Bastard -- if someone calls you a bastard, it's probably a term of endearment ("He's a funny bastard!") so don't take offence.
Football -- football here means Australian Rules football, not American football. We call that gridiron. We call English football soccer. We also play rugby of various sorts, but that is as far as my knowledge of sport extends. This makes me extremely atypical in this country. Sport is a Very Big Deal.
Beer -- like the Eskimo and snow, we have many different words that mean beer: coldy, stubby, tinny, the list goes on. Alcohol is very important down here. We began as a prison colony that traded in rum instead of currency. Some things never change.
Pissed -- if you are pissed, it means that you have consumed too much beer. It has nothing to do with your anger management skills.
Biscuit -- cookie
Jam -- jelly
Jelly -- jello
Entrée -- starter or appetiser, not main course
First floor -- the floor above the ground floor
Croco-snacky -- this is not a word. I made it up. But it sounds good, doesn't it?
Budweiser (or any other brand of US beer for that matter) -- cat piss. Be aware that the alcohol content of most Australian beers far outweighs most US beers. We only have a reputation for being big drinkers in the US because it takes three times as much American beer to get us pissed as it does the local stuff.
Fanny -- do not, under any circumstances, use the word fanny. It means something quite different here. Threatening to spank a child's fanny will probably result in having Child Protection Services called. Asking to buy a fanny pack will probably get you referred to the feminine hygiene section of a chemist (or raucous laughter). Need I elaborate further?

Many words will be abbreviated and have 'ie' or 'y' tacked on the end.
Present -- pressie
Football -- footy
Christmas -- Chrissie
Biscuit -- bikkie
Lipstick - lippie
There is no known explanation for this phenomenonie.

Part IV: Flora & Fauna

Try to recall the last time you saw a bald eagle, buffalo or coyote wander down the main street of a city. That was probably the last time an emu, kangaroo or dingo wandered down one of ours. Do you keep any native animals as pets? No? Neither do we. However, unlike you, we do eat the animals on the national coat of arms and they are delicious.

Many of the most dangerous creatures on earth live right here in Australia. However, this does not mean that they will assault you the minute you walk out the door. You have to make a pretty concerted effort (and be monumentally stupid) to be bitten or eaten by anything down here and a remarkable number of tourists leave without even seeing anything remotely threatening.

Part V: Climate

Like the song said, wear sunscreen, even if it's pissing down rain outside. We have the highest incidence of skin cancer in the world. Children are not allowed out to play outside at school if they forget their hat, it's that bad. We don't worry about getting wrinkly in the sun, we worry about it killing us.

Neil Finn (ex Crowded House member) allegedly wrote the song 'Four Seasons in One Day' about Melbourne. He wasn't kidding. If you don't like the weather now, wait five minutes.

People in Sydney will try to tell you it rains more in Melbourne than in Sydney. They are lying.

Since we are in the southern hemisphere, the weather gets hotter the further north you get (upside down, remember?) In the tropical north, you have two seasons. The wet and the dry. They are fairly self-explanatory. Also remember that the seasons are reversed. So if you're planning a lovely summer holiday in Australia in July, you're fucked. It's winter down here.

There you have it. A beginner's guide to the more stupid questions asked about Australia. I hope it has been informative and faintly amusing. If you have any other questions (preferably NOT stupid), let me know and I'll do my best to answer them (and mock you if they are stupid).

Imagine yourself in this scenario and then choose the answer that suits you best.

You get up and go into the bathroom to take a shower. The washing machine and dryer are located in the bathroom. You take off your sweatpants and underwear and go to throw them in the washing machine as you usually do, despite your partner begging you not to because it only means they have to reload the washing machine to run it later on. When you open the washing machine, you find that your partner has already done a load of washing before you got up and it is lying in the bottom of the machine, waiting to be thrown in the dryer. You:

(A) Sigh heavily, go to close the lid and dump your clothes on top of the dryer (your partner HATES that) but then realise that your sports bra is in the washing machine and you need it for tomorrow's circuit class, so you throw the lot into the dryer before dumping your gear in the wash and taking your shower.

(B) Close the lid figuring you'll deal with it later, dump your clothes on the dryer (your partner HATES that) and promptly forget about it, leaving the wet washing to turn utterly skanky and require washing again. But your partner can take care of that.

(C) Go into emergency action mode, separating the delicates and hanging them out to dry on the clothes rack, putting the other clothes in the dryer only after checking the label first to make sure they are safe to be tumble dried, tutting all the while at how grey the whites are.

Let's check your answers.

If you answered (A) then, congratulations, you're a girl!

If you answered (B) then you're obviously a boy.

If you answered (C) then you are my mum and I wish you would stop reading my blog!

Many moons ago, when the UK comedian Julian Clary was all over the TV, he toured his stage show around Australia. Mum and I had adored 'Sticky Moments', so we went to see him live.

Here's something you might want to remember for future reference. When someone starts making jokes about amyl nitrate and fisting in front of your mum, pretend you have no idea what they mean. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT roll about in your seat laughing because the inevitable will happen.

"Tree, what's amyl nitrate and fisting? What is he talking about?"

I kid you not.

I had to explain the fine art of fisting and how amyl nitrate fits into the equation to my mother. And then I had to deal with the expression on her face that plainly said to me, "But how on earth did you know that?" quickly followed by the expression that said, "Dear God above, don't tell me how you know that."

You can try to explain that you've read it in a book or you learn an awful lot living in the gaybourhood, but it's as effective as saying, "This won't hurt a bit, of course I'll respect you in the morning and the cheque is in the mail."

That situation was bad enough. It took many years of therapy for me to recover and Mum doesn't delve too deeply into my personal life any more.

I thought it was a one-off situation. I thought I was pretty safe.

Let me tell you about Greg.

Greg is one of my work colleagues. He's a good Catholic boy from a staunch Catholic background. He's married to a lovely Catholic girl and they have a lovely little Catholic son. He's an upstanding citizen in the community, a paragon, a really nice guy.

So he's giving me a lift home Wednesday night and we're chatting about this and that. All of a sudden, he mentions a car he saw recently with an odd phrase painted on the side. "[Name] loves felching."

You can see it coming, can't you? Like a freight train. You're pinned in its inexorable headlight. There is nothing you can do. You cannot escape.

I feel so dirty.

(Note: If you don't know what the above terms mean, I'm not telling you. Go google them like a normal person!)