BobHarris.com - Greetos from Ozzazza

Books! Actual books!

"A rollicking ride of intellectual discovery and emotional growth... his comic timing never fails"

-- The Wall Street Journal

"Pulls you in like a good sports story"

-- The New York Times Book Review

"Endearingly frank... jubilant... lighthearted and fast-paced"

-- New York Newsday

"A surprisingly touching memoir"

-- Entertainment Weekly

"Snappy and informative"

-- Associated Press

"Effortlessly funny and informative... tender, human, and very wise... A must for anyone who loves Jeopardy!, or has ever seen it, or is breathing."

-- Joss Whedon, creator, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

"I haven't seen Jeopardy! since I was a kid, and yet I was charmed and amused by Bob Harris's fascinating and surprisingly suspenseful book. Through sheer force of personality, he takes this brainy TV show and makes it funny and easy to relate to."

-- Ira Glass, creator and host, This American Life

"A surprisingly intimate, entertaining book."

-- Orson Scott Card, 4-time Hugo Award winner, author of Ender's Game

"Funny, enlightening -- and just might help you win a million bucks on Jeopardy!"

-- A. J. Jacobs, author of The Know-It-All

"A masterful job of describing the feel of Jeopardy! in the heat of battle... I knew Bob was a great guy and a fantastic Jeopardy! player. Now I've found that he's also a wonderful writer. I think I'm starting to hate him."

-- Brad Rutter, top money-winner in Jeopardy! history

Books I'm Getting

Who Hates Whom:
Well-Armed Fanatics, Intractable Conflicts,
and Various Things Blowing Up —
A Woefully Incomplete Guide™

“Revelatory... Harris's sly wit and infectious curiosity make understanding world chaos fascinating... witty, horrific, and necessary.”

— Boston Globe

"Brave... irreverent... charges into the thick of the globe's myriad simmering wars... hilariously relaxed."

— New York Observer

"Only Bob could make a user’s guide to our increasingly hostile world this absorbing, this breezy, and—ultimately—this hopeful.”

— Ken Jennings, author of Brainiac: Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffs

“Fascinating, enlightening, and surprisingly: NOT TOTALLY DEPRESSING. A gimlet-eyed look at the world we endure that’s also suitable for enjoying with a gimlet.”

— John Hodgman, author of The Areas of My Expertise
and correspondent for The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

"All three [presidential] candidates should read all three of these [recommended] books, but McCain gets first crack at Bob Harris's "Who Hates Whom“... a lighthearted overview of the insurrections and civil wars in the world today."

— Steven Pinker, author of The Stuff of Thought, in the New York Times Book Review

Main

Rude Pundit

Greetos from Ozzazza

Tag it now -

Saturday, 07 January 2006

Rented a car this morning for the drive up to Brisbane. Turns out Hyundai makes the southern hemisphere equivalent of the Vauxhall Fighting Vehicle. So that'll be fun to wobble around in, assuming I survive the week.

The chipper lady at RedSpot, the rental company named for what I'm afraid I will probably become shortly in one of their cars, was incredibly fun and helpful. She was happy, in fact, to rent me a "newie," although she also warned I should be careful about reckless "truckies" on my way up to "Briz."

Australians talk this way a lot. And it's actually not some sort of debilitating neural malfunction, nor the sad inability to pronounce the second half of their own words which so afflicts the French. It's actually a delightful habit of giving affectionate nicknames to every single thing in sight, constantly.

As far as I can tell, these nicknames (hereafter called "nickos" on this site) usually end in an "-ie" or an "-o" sound, but often include an "-er," "-s", or a bonus "-azza."

Thus, my first meal here was, in fact, a "brekkie," followed by a "chokko" "bikkie." When I dropped my sunglasses in the park, by the time they were returned to me, they had become "sunnies." And the lady at the front desk in my last hotel actually started calling me "Bobbo." Although I think she was joking, because she had heard me comment on the nickos.

Even the cricket team is in on the fun: for the next match, played at the "Gabba" (not to be confused with "Subi," the "Waca," or the "G"), players won't wear their own names, but happy little diminutives like "Punter," "Marto," and "Brecks." The only player whose name actually ends in an "-ie" sound, Mike Hussey, will be wearing the nicko "Mr Cricket." This is only to confuse you.

Perhaps not surprisingly, uptight Britons are frowning, which is to say (if I am getting the hang of this) that uppy Brittos are frowners. (Actually, I am certain that is not what any actual Australian would ever say, even at gunpointies. But you get the idea.)

It's a cheerful habit, frankly, the sort of thing that could make even tragic news seem perfectly fine. I wouldn't be surprised to hear some young "fresher" home from "uni" who had forgotten to wear "screenie" on his "skinno" might breeze into the kitchen and lightly tell his mum that he now has a large "melanomazza" which has gone all "maliggie," with smiles all around.

This would sink in somewhat. Then he and his mother would play rugby in the hallway while eating meat pies for a while. (I bet that happens a lot here.)

Then, after mum had won 25-24 in a hard-fought match, he would break the sad news that his "cance-o" would mean he would need "surgers" down at the "hospie" and that the "dokkos" were only giving him eight "weekies" to "liverazza."

After which, he would turn out to be fine. No worries. He'd be back on his feet, playing meat-pie hallway rugby with mummer again in no time.

Because it's like that down here.

You really, really have to spend some time in Australia.