Maclean Makes it a Month

Nope. Still haven't been deported yet. I can't believe it's been a month since I was rolled into this city. Speaking of which. Now go with me on this one, but it's the first trick Melbourne played on me. Okay so imagine having just gotten off your third connecting flight after days of traveling with two four hour energies and countless airplane mini bottles in your stomach. You're delirious, you can't see straight (as if I ever could), you're drunk, confused, and dazed. Basically you're Kristin Wright on any given night in the Grove. The first picture here on the left is the iconic "Batman Building" of downtown Nashville. It's the main landmark of the city. Now the second picture is of Melbourne Central.

Holy similarity is right. There was a good 20 seconds on the bus ride into the city where I thought I had just endured the worst joke ever. But luckily not even Heather Gaines could pull something over me of this magnitude. Regardless I had a horrified face that must have scared everyone on the bus, if my mammoth sized duffle bags that kept attacking people after every slightest turn hadn't already.  But it was the first of many tricks to come.  Next would be the 4 seasons in a day trick, basically the weather here suffers from multiple personality disorder. Followed by the trick of the goon...then the trick of the Simply Fucked. Everyone including myself is getting excited about what's going to happen in the Glee finale coming here in 10 days...oh wait...tricked again...I've already seen it...twice.

The most recent trick happened last Thursday morning. I turned on the tube and this little fox was waving at me as my new prime minister. Now I knew that Kevin Rudd was the PM when I got here, and I felt safe knowing that he was an old white guy. But son of a ranga out of what kitchen did this woman march?! Now I thought Obama was progressive...but I guess I was tricked again. The public did not actually vote for her; she was placed in power from within the party. I can't imagine if this had happened back home. If during the next presidential address suddenly Hilary Clinton popped from behind the podium screaming surprise, well, then maybe

I'd have more people come visit me in Australia. But I suppose I can handle a ginger who from Whoville as the prime mistress. Thank God she's against gay marriage, or we would have a real problem on our hands.
    So this disturbing little image to the right is what all the cigarette packs have on them. Yes. That is a dead baby in a pool of blood. How lovely that I see it daily. I find that the "shock factor" is hard to find here. After refusing to give

her money yesterday, I had a homeless woman call me a "povo slut" audibly in front of everyone on the tram. I quite appreciated it. I only wish the homeless back in Miami were so funny and witty.
    But in the category of things that do scare me are the skinny jeans for men. Thank God I can't afford to eat because they are a staple here. Everyone and their gay boyfriend wears them. I was convinced to try on a pair this weekend, but I screamed in the changing room because I thought I was turning into a Jonas brother. I'm not quite ready to look like an albino poor man's version of Josh Garcia just yet. Camel toe...more like Camel hoof, leg, and an oversized ass.

My favorite new Melbourne past time is definitely footy. My boys are the St. Kilda Saints. Never being graced with the sports gene myself, I'm amazed at how this sport combines every ball sport I know. It's intense, engaging, sometimes quick, sometimes long, and leaves you screaming...much like...umm...a good debate with your mates. But seriously it's got heaps of history and local rivalry. And since no one wants a popsicle in Winter it keeps

             me busy. Anyway. I really am trying to become adapted to the Aussie culture. This lovely beverage to the left is known as Victoria Bitter, and no I'm not talking about the lesbian next to me. But after a swallow it's definitely not something I want to put in my mouth again...I'll let you distinguish which one I'm talking about now. And yes the lovely new haircut was a result of a pregame gathering before we headed out to the pub. They think I am too "innocent" and "boyish", imagine that, so after a few drinks I handed over the scissors...and the innocence. So now I can continue to do my mating call by means of the single lady dance in style.

But being so povo I haven't been able to venture out more than to local attractions and pubs. But as Avatar is coming to the local theater here July 10th, I have plenty to which to look forward. And having traveled all the way from Nashville, I'm taking up the guitar and becoming a country singer. It's all part of the master plan to marry a lesbian and get a permanent residency. The band's name is Aretha and the Oompa. If you have to ask...

But as always I'm missing everyone...except Amar. And speaking of things with which you don't want around, it's so cold in the apartment I can see my breath. I hate the cold. Send the warmth my way...please. And Hurricane Alex. But keep the oil...and Justin Bieber.  Cheers!

Don't be stupid. Of course that's me...

Maclean Misses Middle Class

So. Being poor is amazing. It pushes you to be thrifty in ways you previously thought were impossible to maintain your lifestyle, but it honestly suits me quite well. This would be my polly pocket kitchen. It may look normal, but the top of the fridge comes up to about the middle chest. Being in the kitchen is now yet another activity requiring me on my knees. And yes if you can see right that is a bowl


of my secret sauce for everything I cook. Makes a great pasta sauce, chicken marinade, and an incredible egg omelet tbell surprise. Apparently the remnants of the greatest food chain ever to grace this planet still remain in this country under the alias of "Taco Bill". I still have yet to explore, even though it may be my biggest conquest to come. Regardless, meat and milk have become novelties, and heaven forbid if I splurge for a chocolate bar it's like 5 star dining. Trust me. Nothing gets your morning started like a glass of cold water and a bowl of dry oats.

Ahh the technological masterpiece known as the tram. This is the transportation gold in which I am chauffeured around Melbourne. I honestly say it's love. It is ALWAYS on time, doesn't drain my wallet, and even though I have to ride it for about 2 hours a day I can occupy myself with other activities during if I get bored...if only I could say that about some men. So speaking of these "other" activities. Since tv, advanced phones, restaurant dining, and movie theaters are out of the budget (although I hear Toy Story 3 is great, and I can't wait for it to open here...in a week), I find I now indulge myself in new areas.

I'm hesitant to admit I've joyfully discovered the massive romance novel collection of the local library. The eloquent pros and story lines cater to just about everything for which I look in a book. I never knew I could relate so well to a blond prostitute who falls in love with one of his clients, or a lonely college kid who finds magic in the locker room. I especially enjoy casually reading these books in plain sight of others while either on the tram or at Wash Wednesdays (half off the machines at the local laundromat). And I'll allow you to imagine how a certain tram conversation progressed that started with "Hey do you like that one? I've read it before...". But hey at least it's reading right?

However, my favorite pastime lies in Bikram Yoga. 26 pain staking postures done over the course of 90 minutes in a room heated to over 105 degrees. I am currently on my 7th consecutive day, and I am inching ever closer to my goal of looking like the man on the cover. But it now being Winter, I find it's a haven from the ice box where I live. I truly am proud of myself for doing it, and I've never been pushed in such a way. In the first 15 minutes I'm already shirtless, drenched( I mean we're talking somehow wetter than if I was swimming in a pool), and crying...kind of reminds me of drinking. But the real reason I do it is because of the first posture.

Who knew that a certain lesbian had been preparing me for this class for YEARS. Regarddddlesssssss. So one of my favorite aussie slangs (besides 'ranga', short for orangutans, being what they call gingers here), is the word bogan. It's what they call poor people in the country. It's basically your equivalent to a mullet loving hick, and boy did I get acquainted with it last weekend. Always being on the lookout for an adventure, I accompanied some mates up north to see a local band play at a pub. Now imagine if Precious had a family reunion, except it was the white trash version, and you weren't invited. My favorite moment was when I was approached by a group of young bogan males who looked fresh out of high school and asked if I

was a "lad". After further explaining, this meant they were asking if I was a hustler. Apparently me dressed in my typical polo getup meant that I was quite wealthy, and to the locals I was a pimp from the city. It was all truly intriguing and tragic at the same time. But I saw my first kangaroo, so it was all worth it.  And side note this is what ALL the urinals here look like and bogan town was no exception. I feel like every time I pee I'm getting a golden shower...too much too soon? If you have to ask...you'll never know.

There really isn't that much to report on from the week. I went to the ACMI (Aussie Centre for the Moving Image(free)) which was more like a shrine to Heath Ledger and Cate Blanchett. It was perfect for my 8 year old self as I got to ride in Batman's car and play on every game system made in history. And I may have pushed an asian school group out of the way while running to the Godzilla exhibit...but really.

I'm currently awake because the Socceroos are playing, and I heard the faint cry of a vuvupaininmyass outside my window.

I watched last Friday's games in a gay bar...how out of character I know. The best moment was the answer I received from a girl I questioned on how she had no idea of the bar's orientation. "Did you not see the huge rainbow flag when you came in?!"..."I thought it was a country's flag for the World Cup or something"...definitely bogan.

As always. Missing you all dearly. Except Amar. But especially Alex who has yet to show himself in the Tropics...I blame BP. Cheers!

Surviving My First Two Weeks

Soooo I made it. From Nashville...to LA...to Sydney...to Melbourne. 27 hours of traveling? More like 27 hours of creeping. Here's my plane...yayyy. Thanks again captain for dropping me off early, so I could grab this shot as you pulled in. But Dear Qantas, don't ever fool me again with your logo, "Spirit of Australia". You can't say that if there is a 5 bottle maximum of wine per person. Ahh but thanks Shalala for teaching me always to push the boundaries, troll.

Believe it or not the plane was surprisingly comfortable. Especially after five or six "spirits of australia" when I snuck upstairs and took pictures of rich people sleeping. And cue a Heather Gaines silent scream. The worst parts of the flight were the movies. Invictus, Alice in Shitland, and Valentine's Day. The flight attendant didn't find it amusing when I asked for my money back. In fact, they didn't find anything I did amusing.

So anyway. My first moments in Australia involved me breaking a cart because I had too much luggage, and having a French girl say to me "you like a girl". Great. I see there's no hiding things from you Australia.

So this is where I lived for a week. Well. Lived is a strong word for what went on in that room. Sleeping in a room with French, Italians, Germans, Brits, and Asians was like a United Nations session from Hell that I couldn't escape. I was on the left side. And thank God, for once in my life, choosing the bottom was the right choice.

I've never felt so uprooted as a Subway, KFC, Krispy Kreme, McDonalds, Hungry Jack's, and a 7/11 were all in walking distance. Honestly the week there was all a blur. Quite possibly because I was either jet lagged or drunk the whole time, or because I'm trying to block out the fact that at least 4 different nationalities saw me naked. But lets be honest, I know a bunch of homos with the same problem.

Ahh yes. My first job in Melbourne. How I ever thought that working for a company called "simply energy" was a great idea I'll never know. I have a hard time just "simply surviving" let alone selling electricity to Aussies at their doorstep. Wandering alone around foreign streets in the backcountry of an unfamiliar continent with nothing more than a yellow puff marketing retailer jacket, a folder with contracts, and a cell phone that had maybe 3 numbers in it turned out surprisingly not to be for me. Let alone the fact that the company was corrupt, dodgy, and made me lie to people. Simply energy? More like Simply Fucked. I quit after 2 days on the job. But good news, I met a spunky lesbian with a great dry sense of humor. Somehow I come off as straight here...Australia...shame on you.

Aghh the golden week. Saying goodbye to the Green Backpacker was not hard. Helloooo St Kilda West. I find new reasons to love this area more and more everyday. This is the park a block from my apartment where I scare innocent people as I attempt to run in my eight layers. It's like watching a marshmallow wobble around as if woken from hibernation too soon. But it's the effort that counts right? I have found that living around water is a necessity.

 I share a two bedroom, one bath apartment. No microwave, heat, washing machine, dish washer, or more than 5 channels on the box. It truly is forcing me to experience life at its best. I even checked out a book. Haven't done that since Richter...ahh...too soon. 

Side note. This is what death looks like. It's what they call "goon". I should have listened to my instincts when I saw the word fruity on it and thought nothing but of sin and blasphemy. Regardless. My roommate and myself decided to split a box and hit the town. Although the night was fun, every delayed hangover from every sip of alcohol I've ever had struck me with the force of an overly drunk John Nolan. It was obnoxious, I couldn't escape it, and I just wanted to lie down and cry. Seriously, Havens must have been boozin it during pregnancy cause I felt decades of pain. 

Wednesday night is "Bingo and Booze".  The host being a witty tranny who imitates an avid bingo player teamed with a slew of prizes all involving alcohol is a recipe for the best time of your life. Everyone is after the grand prizes of Disco Jesus and the Gauntlet of Grouge! Politically correct means nothing here. No one is safe from Anna Nicole Smith to Heath Ledger. 

And you can imagine their excitement when they found out an American was in the midst. Now forever known as "Tennessee", I was blamed for the oil spill and for a plot to lynch Obama. I ended up winning nothing. But mark my words Disco Jesus will be coming home with me before Spring. 

Regardless I can tell this is going to be an absolutely amazing time here. I do get homesick occasionally, but I brought some things to remind me of from where I come. So many things to be proud of in America. Missing all of you. Except Amar.