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

The sales lady at RedSpot, the auto rental company named for what may soon become in one of their cars, was incredibly helpful.  She was downright happy, in fact, to rent me a "newie," although she warned I should be careful about reckless "truckies" on my way up to "Briz."

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

These nicknames ("nickos") 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 a "brekkie" centered around a "chokko" "bikkie."  When I dropped my sunglasses, by the time they were returned, they had become "sunnies."  And the lady at my hotel front desk actually started calling me "Bobbo."  Although I think she was joking, because she'd heard me comment on the nickos.

Even the cricket team indulges: 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 surnames, but diminutives like "Punter," "Marto," and "Brecks." 

Not surprisingly, their uptight British opponents are frowning, which is to say (if I am getting the hang of this) that the uppy Brittos are all frowners.  (Actually, I'm not certain that's what any actual Australian would say, even at gunpointies.  But you get the idea.)

It's the sort of cheerful habit that could make even tragic news seem perfectly fine.  I wouldn't be surprised to hear some "fresher" home from "uni" who had forgotten to wear "screenie" on his "skinno" might breeze into the kitchen and lightly tell 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 mum would play rugby in the hall while eating meat pies.  

Then, after mum had won 25-24 by throwing an elbow on the last point, he would break the sad news that his "cance-o" would require "surgers" down at the "hospie" and that "dokkos" only gave 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.

Colin informs me that you might have noticed a little weirdness with the polls of late.

Damn, you can’t trust these Diebold machines.

He’s fixing everything, rest assured.  "Fixing"… hmm…

Please forgive the lack of bloggity goodness of late.  Been splitting my time evenly between too much work and too much fun.

Took a notebook out to the Sydney Cricket Ground today — imagine Wrigley Field, but older and rounder — working all day
while looking up every 25 seconds or so to watch a magnificent Day
5 of the third test against South Africa.  What I was lucky to see was only the greatest run-scoring chase
performance in the 130-year history of the building.  And the captain, Ricky
Ponting, made the damn thing look easy, batting for 3 hours and 20
minutes and scoring 143 runs not out, including the game-winning shot, almost single-handedly turning the match.  And if
that’s not climactic enough, his last swing also made him the greatest
individual run-scorer in the history of the SCG as well.

Lots of screaming and cheering.  And in between, lots of scribbling.  I wish I had more time to share it all, but eventually it will all be in books and stuff, I hope.

I met an American here today who married an Australian and has lived in Sydney for 5 years.  She was the single fattest person I’ve seen in my two weeks here.  I’m serious.  That’s the honest truth.  And
get this — she really doesn’t like Australia that much.  Guess why.  Go ahead, guess.  OK.  Ready?

Because these poor backward people don’t have Wal-Marts.

She noted this with a mixture of disdain and pitiful condescension.

Speaking of these so-unfortunate locals and their primitive ways, the broadcast here of a documentary questioning the
official version of 9-11 on a major network in prime time, strangely
enough, did not destroy the fabric of the civilization.  Curious, this.

In fact, Warren Beatty’s "Bulworth" was the Seven network
tonight, broadcast, major, prime time, same deal.  I’m not sure it has
ever been broadcast in the U.S. in prime time on one of the big three. 
I certainly don’t remember it; there probably would have been
significant fooferah.  (I’m also sure somebody will send an email in the next six minutes with the exact data, yes or no.  You guys rule.)

Oh — and here in Australia, the film went into living rooms unedited, complete with
every last S-word, F-word, 10-letter C-word, and 12-letter M-word.

Hmm.  And yet Oz has lower crime, poverty, and divorce rates than the
U.S.  How is this even possible?  I thought those words had magical
powers to destroy minds.  Hmm.  The very fact that one of Australia’s
major broadcast networks has no compunction about this, and yet I’m
expected even by many people who are open-minded by the standards back
home to bowdlerize my use of these words to the level of baby talk,
tells me that tomorrow Australia will be destroyed by America’s
powerful Republican god.

If not, then obviously all this decency shit is fucked.

So, basically, I am crazy about this country almost the way I used to be crazy about girls in
high school.  I’m almost surprised I haven’t tried to put my hand on
Adelaide.

Oh — and down here, the important Bill O’Reilly is the one who played cricket.

His speciality?  Spinning.  Honest.

This is the biggest headline on the top of the front page of this morning’s Sydney Morning Herald:

The story is exactly what it sounds like.

At risk are portions of Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, Tuvalu, the Marshall Islands, Kiribati, and Fiji.

This has been steadily building for years.  Thousands of people have already been forced to flee their homes, and some whole islands are already under water.

It must be nice to be a U.S. "conservative" and live in a dreamworld where this simply isn’t happening.