The Banal Chew

Australian Goodness

The list of things I will miss when I move back grows daily.

Sunday Arts is a weekly ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corp) program that sets the bar very high when it comes to comprehensive investigation of the many details that form the Australian artistic landscape. 

Today's episode contained interviews with k.d. lang and Nigel Kennedy, a diarization of a temporary public art installation within an abandoned bus depot in suburban Melbourne, Rufus Wainwright singing "The Art Teacher" live, and a close look at Dr. Neil McEwan's efforts to transcribe portions of the 14th-century Rimini Antiphonal. 

It's way overdue

... but at least it's finally happened.

Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's formal apology to the members of and those affected by the Stolen Generations can be found here.

Arachnorama

Caveat: Those afraid of spiders might want to turn away. 

Or not.  I, myself, am a self-confessed arachnophobe, but something happened earlier today that convinced me to buck up and pluck up. 

This morning, while dodging rain on the way to the recycling bins, I noticed something particularly unusual in the greenery that borders the walkway to the bin room in our parking garage.  Above the hedge and between the trees, a few curled leaves seemed mysteriously to hang suspended in mid-air.  As I looked more closely, I could see they were really attached to some spiderwebs, wet and glistening. 

Now the presence of spiders in the dense foliage around our townhouse is certainly nothing new.  There are at least seven to be seen on the way to the garage.  (Yes, I've counted them.)  And I'm sure that all of us who live in the fourteen units comprising our apartment block have experienced the mania induced by trailblazing through silky fibers while walking the various footpaths, especially after dark.

For a while now, I have had a love-hate relationship with these octopedal critters living in our homes and gardens.  I love that they pose no threat to people and pets and that they eat flying insects, but I also fear them.  Over time, I have come to admit that my fear of harmless spiders is irrational, most likely stemming from a memorable childhood encounter with what my parents thought was a brown recluse spider.  I think their panicked reaction, along with the unpleasant appearance of the creature that had crawled from its resting place on the handrail of our front porch onto the warm comfort of my 7-y/o hand, has had a lasting effect on me.  Brown recluses are bad news, there's no question about it, but chances are this wasn't one.  True to their eponym, these spiders don't normally live in highly exposed places. 

I used to stand and shiver for minutes when I saw any type of spider.  Now I only do that on occasion, like when I walk through a web a night, which used to result in a wicked dance and strip show to remove the offending creature that I was sure must be crawling up my back.  These days I simply shake and sputter for a few seconds and figure I'll just hit the hysterics when I actually feel it crawling on my neck.  Okay, I'm shivering now.

Anyway, back to this morning's encounter.  For some reason, these curly leaves I saw captured my attention.  Initially, I thought that perhaps a dead leaf had blown into the web and stuck there, but I saw a few more of them and realized that it must be something other than coincidence.  Then, with growing wonder, I suspected that the colorful garden spiders I was used to seeing had grown sick of the constant rain and snatched a box-hedge leaf to keep themselves dry.  Whatever it was, the geek in me found it fascinating and I welcomed the opportunity to forego Affable YouTube Monday for something a little different and potentially more interesting to post on TBC. 

I took advantage of a brief pause in the rain, grabbed the Canon Ixus and rushed back outside to take a few photos.  Afterward, I jumped on the 'Net to do a little research, and I discovered that what I'd seen wasn't really an umbrella for the garden spiders (aka, St. Andrew's cross spiders), but rather a typical home for completely different genus of spider, known commonly (and unsurprisingly) as a Leaf-curling spider.  In fact, after I read this, I reviewed the photos I had taken and realized that the St. Andrew's cross spiders were actually perched on their webs, fully exposed to the rain.

Intrigued?  There's some good info on Australian orb-weaving spiders here.

Disgusted?  Perhaps you'll find a soothing balm here.

The mystery begins   (Click pics to enlarge.)

Leaf-curling spider in its home

A St. Andrew's cross spider, enjoying the rain

Leaf-curling spider, safe from the rain

A-Day 2008

Yesterday, the 26th of January, was Australia Day.  Mark, and many other Australians of Aboriginal heritage, refer to it as Invasion Day, a term signifying commemoration of the event that led to demise of a huge amount of indigenous culture in Australia. 

On 26 January of 1788, the British flag was raised at Sydney Cove (very near where the Sydney Opera House stands today), and nearly 1400 people disembarked from eleven ships to establish a convict settlement.  That event marked the beginning of the detrimental colonization of yet another land-mass, resulting in one of the most scarring and disturbing sociologic phenomena in the history of man.  More than two-hundred years later, many Australian Aborigines continue to suffer from the egregious after-effects of European land mongering and false superiority. 

But don't let me rain on the parade.  In typical Aussie fashion, let's sigh and suck our teeth for a second, then move on to happier thoughts.

  Yesterday was also Kye's first birthday party.  It seems only a few months ago I was posting pictures of the newly born Kye on my blog.  Now he's a big boy with curls to die for.  Mark's sister hosted a pool party at her home in Wollongong.  It was a perfect day in many ways, although I got a really bad sunburn.  Yes, I've been thoroughly chastised for it.  And yes, I was wearing sunscreen, although obviously not enough.

Oh by the way, I just received a rejection e-mail from the job I interviewed for in the States a couple of months ago.  I was one of three candidates flown in for a two-day interview process, and they didn't even have the decency to call me to reject me.  You'd think that by the time I made it to that point in the competition, I'd get more than an informal, five-line e-mail.  Anyway, I'll assuage the pain with some Bombay Sapphire I acquired from the duty-free shops on the way back from that interview.  How twisted is that?

O Mighty Lycoperiscum

I rang my dad in Arkansas earlier today.  Aside from touching base and temporarily allaying any worries he might have about my wellbeing in a place so far away from his own zipcode, I wanted some advice.  About tomatoes.

So that everything is clear right up front:  I adore tomatoes.  Granted, I love most fresh fruits and vegies, but tomatoes during summer share the top spot with fresh seasonal blueberries.

Unfortunately, I cannot find any of these wonderful, red fruits that compares to the summer-fresh, vine-ripened ones back in the U.S.  Yesterday, on the way home from visiting a friend in Windsor, we passed a road-side vendor selling fresh sweet corn at dirt cheap prices.  To Mark's botheration, I suggested we turn around and get some.  We did, and five minutes and some charming small-talk later, I hopped back in the car with a triumphant glow.  Beaming, I announced that the farmer had asked me if I liked tomatoes and pulled from the plastic bag a littler transparent bag containing four fire-engine red, very plump tomatoes.  Imagine my excitement, having put up with miniscule, aberrantly crisp 'maters (as my grandma called them) from the local supermarket for over two years now. 

I just had one of these on a salad, and I was very disappointed.  It tasted a little bit sweeter, but nothing like the ones "back home."  I decided then that I should begin considering growing my own.  Sydney has a fairly temperate climate, so exercising my (pale) green thumb might prove successful.  But first I would have to fetch some advice from my own personal gardening guru...Dad.

Dad and Grandpa used to have big, magnificent gardens in the summers.  And I mean big.  Between the two of them, barring bad weather, they would usually produce reliably formidable crops of potatoes, beans of all kinds, squash, cucumbers, peanuts, watermelon, canteloupe, onion, okra, corn and tomatoes.  They were seed harvesters as well, and I can still fondly remember all the carefully labeled baby-food jars that contained the seeds from most yearly harvests. 

It's illegal to import agricultural products into Australia, so I can't ask him to mail me some seeds.  I can, however, get some good advice on which varieties he likes and hope to find the same ones here.  Otherwise I'll have to do some heavy research, experiment with seeds of different cultivars and hope for the best. 

Unfortunately, according to my little brother, Dad was in the barn when I called.  I asked Will to have Dad give me a ring back, and we continued to talk for a while, mostly about some confusion surrounding the two PS-2s they've been through since Christmas.  I love talking with my little brothers, and I look forward to Dad's call.  He will undoubtedly have some good tomato-growing advice to share.

Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!

We're off to camp at Tropical Fruits for a few days to relax and party. 

I hope everyone has a wonderful turn of the year!  Be safe and enjoy!

See you next week.

Live and Misgive

I'm sickened. 

This from a resident of Camden NSW (a bedroom community in Sydney's far southwest), in response to a proposal to build a 1200-student Islamic school in the rural enclave:   

If it does get approved, every ragger that walks up the street is going to get smashed up the arse by about 30 Aussies.  (source here)

If that's not offensive enough, consider the fact that currently in Camden there are the Macarthur Anglican School, St. Paul's Catholic Primary School and Mater Dei Catholic Co-educational School.  To my knowledge, no one raised objections to them when they were founded, the Anglican School as recently as 1984. 

Last month, someone dumped a number of severed pig heads on the site of the proposed school. 

Of the thousands of angry Camden residents, some raise (scapegoat) claims of overdevelopment and inappropriateness, the former due to the very rural setting and the latter to the lack of a substantial Islamic neighborhood in Camden itself.  Most critics of the dissenters agree it is really underlying racism and bigotry fueling the outcry.

We have a word for this in the U.S., nimbyism.  Actually, it's more of an acronym:

Not
In
My
Back-
Yard

I hated the attitude there, and as an outsider here (albeit extremely Anglo in appearance and therefore with a comparatively easier time acclimating), I hate it even more in Australia.  It's the age-old fear of difference raising its wretched head.

What is it with humankind?

And the Ernie goes to...

I love Australia for many reasons.  Now there's one more: The Ernie Awards. 

These trenchant accolades are bestowed upon those men, women or organizations who are voted as having uttered the year's most sexist remark on public record. 

This year the Golden Ernie goes to Liberal senator Bill Heffernan for accusing Julia Gillard of being "deliberately barren," and therefore unsuitable for political office as she is out of touch with the reality of everyday life.

My favorite runner-up (simply because it is so reprehensible) is former celebrity chaffeur, Gordon Wood, who upon identifying his girlfriend's body at the morgue, asked the attendant if he could have a quick look at her tits. 

God, the world is full of horrible people.

Full story here.

Marvelous Melbourne

I'm spoiled, I know.  Since my move to Australia in July 2005, I have made the journey from Sydney to Melbourne twice now.  Not only has the weather been sensational both times, but the friends with whom I've stayed there have lived in some pretty fab areas of the city. 

First there was Mark I., one of my dearest friends and housemate from Fulbright days in Amsterdam.  He lived in a warehousey apartment in the CBD.  Now, alas, he's working in Shanghai...good for him, bad for me.  I don't get to see him much these days.  Anyway, that was October 2005, and I fell in love with Melbourne.

Yesterday morning I returned from another trip to the former Australian capital city.  Alison and Ian were, as always, the best of hosts, offering not only the comfort of their house in Carlton, but also terrific food, wine and, of course, friendship. 

The contrast between Sydney and Melbourne is striking.  Many of us have heard the clichés:  "Melbourne = culture-central; Sydney = party-central", "In Melbourne, you get all four seasons in one day", "Sydneysiders prefer boardshorts, thongs (ie, flip-flops) and corner pubs, whereas Melburnians prefer skivvies (ie, mock turntlenecks), poetry and alley-way cafes".  All generalizations aside, the difference between these two largest Australian cities is so notable that it often feels as if you are in another country.

I won't go as far as to state a true preference, for that would be too difficult and unfair.  I adore Sydney and always will, but I would also like to give Melbourne a try.  Ever since I moved to Australia, everyone has told me that Melbourne is the place for me, as far as working in my field goes.  I am beginning to think they're right.  There definitely seems to be more going on in the arts there than here.  Aside from that, I simply feel more comfortable in Melbourne...in a holistic sense.  I'm an infrastructure kind of guy, and let's face it, Sydney could stand a lot of improvement in that regard.  Perhaps I am drawing an unfair comparison as someone who has a spoiled, semi-touristy view of what it's like to live in Melbourne, but with friends who have experienced both places enough to use what is, perhaps, better judgment on the issue, I feel confident in my opinion.  We shall see, but I am definitely retooling my daily job-search bulletins to focus on the Melbourne area as well.

At any rate, as promised to some who have been wondering if I've slipped from the earth's face, below are a few photos from our trip to show that we are all alive, well and overfed.

The Yarra River

Fun at Scienceworks

A view of Melbourne from the Rialto Towers observation deck. We also did The Edge at the new Eureka Tower, which you can see on the right.  In the rear of the photo is the Melbourne Cricket Ground. 

My first AFL footy game at the Melbourne Cricket Ground.

Zane and his spirit finger.  The Sydney Swans needed more than an inflatable finger to assist that night.  Collingwood trounced them.  Still, it was fun.

We all finished off our visit by doing some barefoot (lawn) bowling in Fitzroy. If you haven't tried this, do.

APEC Refugee Finds a Place in Melbourne

I've escaped the APEC hell in Sydney and am spending a few days in wonderful Melbourne.  I am staying with good friends in Carlton, a block from Lygon Street.  Doesn't get much better. 

Some things I have planned include Scienceworks, the Melbourne Planetarium, an AFL game at the MCG, Guggenheim exhibit at the NGV, and who knows what else! 

The weather is supposed to be splendid here.  If today is any indication, I am in for a treat in that regard.  It's sunny and warm, very unlike the typical Melbourne spring from what I hear.  It's raining on the Great Wall of Sydney and all the dignitaries.  Hehe.

HP, DC, PD and BG

Okay.  Today, c'est un mish-mash de la banalité.

First off, Bonnee is feeling much better and has stopped hacking away at her chin and neck.  Poor thing is still on Prednisone for another week to control the itching caused by the allergic dermatitis (the 3rd possible diagnosis, and seemingly the correct one this time), but she has finished her course of antibiotics and is now readily chowing down on her new, over-the-top-expensive kibble.  And she's actually playing again.  Getting back to her wonderful old self, thankfully, as this little video shows.

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In another escapade, this one not involving our creamy Scottish Fold, many of us went to see the new Harry Potter film at the IMAX cinema last night.  In a word, wow.  The 20 minutes of 3D were a nice balm to soothe the sting of the ticket prices.  Seriously, despite the occasional corniness (after all, it is a Harry Potter movie) and the "chaste kiss" that has enjoyed celebrity gossip status even in undeveloped countries, this was a treat to watch.  If you have a chance to see it in IMAX glory, I'd certainly encourage you to.  Otherwise, find the biggest screen around, hunker down, and enjoy.

By the way, y'all know Daniel Radcliffe recently starred in a London revival of Peter Shaffer's Equus, right?

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Tonight Mark and I are joining many Convicts for a production of Christopher Shinn's Dying City, presented by Gaiety Theatre.  Tonight's performance is, in part, a fundraiser to help finance the Convicts' trip to Dublin next year for the Bingham Cup competition.  From what I understand, a few of the players are presenting a short sketch before the play.  That will be fun, to be sure, but I am also looking forward to the play.  It has received very fine reviews during its London, New York, and Sydney runs.

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Finally, please remind me to stay out of rural Western Australia.  I found this image while blogtrekking.  Apparently, the folks running the Royal Mail Hotel in Meekatharra find it funny to refer to those who drink Bacardi Breezers in a derogatory way.  Funny, most of the fellow light-steppers I hang out with drink beer.

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ps -- A hearty gift from the Blow a Kiss Foundation goes to the lucky person who gets the initials in this post's header correct!

Kountry Kamping

Yeee-hawww.  This weekend Mark, Zane and I rugged up Roger, loaded up the car, and joined Brad, Dean and Ralph for some mid-winter camping fun!  And aside from 45 minutes of stressed-out hell while packing and repacking the car, it was just that. 

Through the benefice of Google, Brad had cleverly ferreted out a pet-friendly campground about 3 hours NNW of Sydney, near the Barrington Tops.  The camping area is part of an enormous country resort.  Not only are the tent-sites cheap as chips, the entire compound, including the higher-end cabins, cafe and restaurant, is completely pet-accessible.  Roger and Ralph were in canine heaven.  We camped on a grassy area riverside, and even though it was much too cold to even think about swimming, the presence of the water was calming.  It also meant we were blessed with the company of wild finches, lorikeets, and even some free-roaming (but not feral) horses. 

The weather held up well.  It wasn't too cold, and it only started raining the last 30 minutes we were there...while we were packing up, of course.

Brad and Dean are the best kind of camping buddies: easy-going, generously entertaining, Scrabble-loving and just all-around gents.  We took a break from camp chow on Saturday night to eat in the restaurant.  They were celebrating Christmas in July, which I always thought was just a marketing scheme for department stores and car dealerships to induce some mid-year consumerism.  But no.  This weekend, table-side violin serenades were replaced by visits from the big man in red.  And I don't mean the devil, unless you're a noisemaker.

It's funny.  When Brad and Dean called earlier in the week to ask if we wanted to join them on the weekend, Mark and I groaned to each other, nearly in unison, "Camping in winter?"  But then I thought, what the hell?  All my life I've wanted friends who love to go camping as much as I do.  And here they are, just around the corner.  Why wouldn't we want to go?  Mark, being an easy-going guy himself, agreed.  And as we suspected, when we brought our grimy selves home last night, loaded down with smelly wet laundry and campgear, we were smiling with a tired contentment that could only come from a time well-spent with each other and with good friends. 

Sydney Makes Me Smile

Pursuant to my previous post, let me just add that in many ways I very much like it here in Australia.  In particular, I love the area in which we live.  (I've said that before.) The address of our townhouse is technically in Waterloo. From what I understand, it used to be one of those areas you wouldn't want to be caught dead in, let alone display as your postcode. It has changed, however, and is now an area that is undergoing the vagaries of gentrification. I have to say, however, that despite the many problems with urban renewal endeavors, this one seems to abide by the Principles of Intelligent Urbanism to some degree. The very cool community block party we went to a few months ago is testament to that.

Waterloo is a very quick walk from the Surry Hills neighborhood. Historically settled by Asian immigrants, Surry Hills is now better known as one of the bohemian areas of Sydney. As in many larger cities in Westernized countries, this funky area was attractive to many gay men seeking lower-cost housing in a relatively welcoming urban environment. Although that demographic has changed somewhat, primarily due to the ridiculously elevated housing prices in Sydney that effectively shut many gay men out of the market, there are still A LOT OF gay men and other sexually inclined minorites in the area. Let's face it, though, there seem to be a disproportionate number of gay men in Sydney full stop! But make no mistake, I'm not complaining. I love it. I mean, where else would you routinely fall into conversation with a tranny with her Jack Russell as you both walk to the local supermarket? Or saunter past a veranda proudly sporting both the Aboriginal and Rainbow flags? What's not to love? As I say to folks back home, every day is Mardi Gras in our house! 

Our local shopping area, for better or worse, is Surry Hills Shopping Centre.  Not only does it house a fairly large supermarket, but Price Whore is there too.  (Okay, the shop is really named Price War.) It is similar to the Dollar Stores in America, only a bit better, primarily because they have pretty much what amounts to the inventory of a small Wal-Mart crammed into a space no bigger than our living room. And everything comes from China, so it's cheap and nasty budget-oriented and functional. Talk about serendipitous bliss!

We've put an offer on our townhouse, and it was accepted. It's all dependent on financing, however, and that's a horrifying, evil, villainous subject at the moment. Anyway, hopefully that dragon will soon be slain, and we'll get to stay in the environs we enjoy.

Splendor, but my ass!

My bum's sore. Zane and I went for a great bike ride yesterday along the Wollongong beaches. Unfortunately, I forgot my padded biking shorts, and my Mongoose saddle isn't the most comfy seat I've ever had. Regardless, it was one of the best ways to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Mark was tied up in film-making tutorials all day, so Zane and I loaded up my bike and set out for Wollongong early in the day. It's actually quite a nice drive, although the roads in Sydney are some of the worst ever. On a good day, the drive is roughly 1.5 hours. The scenery can be spectacular. And you get to drive under one of the Sydney Airport runways...a real treat for someone of any age, especially when the timing is such that a jumbo-jet happens to taxi over your head as you pass underneath.

You drive along a portion of Botany Bay, upon which the airport is situated.

Botany Bay (click to enlarge)

After that, you climb through the Shire and then pass through the Royal National Park.

Royal National Park

After passing through RNP, you meet up with the beginning of the south coast as you near the Gong.

First views of Wollongong from the highway

We stopped in the Gong long enough to retrieve Zane's new bike from Uncle Steve's new home. Steve and his family (Deanne, who is Mark's sister, and their children Jordanna and Blake) recently moved to Australia from New York and had the Harley-Davidson bicycle that we bought for Zane in America shipped with their household stuff. After some bike assembly (thanks, Steve!), Zane and I headed for Towradgi Beach, where we parked the car and jumped on the bike path.

Zane's first go on his new bike

From Towradgi, we cycled along the path through Fairy Meadow (or Poofter's Paddock, as some call it...for reasons I won't go into here), and up to Wollongong's City Beach.  The weather was perfect.

Towradgi Beach

Cricketers playing at Fairy Meadow

City Beach, Wollongong

Photo opportunity Number 527

After a quick breather at City Beach, we got back on the saddle and headed back to Towradgi.

No, Sandy, that's not a saddle.

The return journey begins

Although we had to retrace our steps, we didn't mind. Heading the opposite direction means you get to see things from a different angle. (Metaphor, anyone?) Plus, it meant I got the opportunity to snap a quick photo of Diggies, the beach-side cafe Mark and I used to frequent during the 6 months we lived in the Gong in 2005, just after I moved to Australia.

Dog-days at Diggies

Zane really likes his new bike, especially the fact that it has gears. Admittedly, it is a long-legged step up from the K-Mart "learner" bike we got for him last year.

Anyway, I'm glad he likes it. Cycling is one of my favorite things to do, and we live near some excellent bike routes. I look forward to exploring them with him.

 

Happy Birthday, BC...et al.

Guess what? 
The Banal Chew is one-month old! (Click the candle for a cheap thrill.)

Hey, who said I couldn't stick with anything for more than a week?

When I conceptualized this blog (oh, so many moons ago), I had the idea that I would use it as a means to diarize the process of my same-sex partner migration to Australia. It was (and still is) an arduous journey which I thought others might find at least interesting. I thought, too, that it might be of some support to others who are planning on embarking upon the same endeavor. While I did not achieve the purpose of documenting the process from the start, I can at least share some of what Mark and I have experienced along the way.

But first a brief, relevant historical overview:

• 2002/Jul -- Sandy moves from Vermont to Arizona to begin doctoral studies in music/theatre at the University of Arizona.
• 2003/Jul -- Mark moves from Australia to Arizona to begin graduate studies in law at the University of Arizona.
• 2003/Aug -- Mark and Sandy have their first date (thanks, gay.com!) and begin cohabitating within weeks.
• 2003/Dec -- Zane comes to Arizona to live with Mark and Sandy.
• 2004/Dec -- Mark completes his studies and, due to U.S. visa regulations, he and Zane must return to Australia.
• 2005/Apr -- Sandy lodges application for migration to Australia as Mark's partner.
• 2005/Jun -- Sandy arrives in Australia.  By December he, Mark and Zane are settled in Sydney.
• 2005/Oct -- Visa application is approved and temporary residency visa granted.
• 2007/Apr -- Permanent residency visa granted (forthcoming...all appendages crossed).

When Mark was obligated to return to Australia, upon expiration of his student visa,  we discussed where to go from there. It was obvious that our relationship was solid and committed, but the thought of keeping it intact in an inter-hemispheric [is that even a word?] way was daunting. In retrospect, it is amazing how very few times we actually questioned whether it was all too hard. A valid question, indeed, but our immediate responses were a resounding, "NO!"  So we wrestled with the limited ways in which we could all legally stay together. The immigration laws in the U.S. are antiquated, restrictive and cumbersome. Mark and I are not formally recognized by the U.S. government as partners in a way that opposite-sex couples are. Therefore, the avenue of migrating to the U.S. as my partner was closed to him, and applying as a skilled worker is a very lengthy process with no guarantees. And winning the Green Card lottery is, well, it's a lottery with very difficult odds.
Thankfully, even though Australia is currently in the grip of a very conservative government, there is a brightly shining piece of liberal-minded [notice the small "l"] legislation that potentially allows same-sex partners of Australian citizens to migrate to Australia on an "interdependency" visa. Although I also qualified for migration as a skilled worker, Mark and I decided to pursue the interdependency visa as a personal statement. It is, however, not a guarantee of residency, and the application process, cost and requirements are undoubtedly prohibitive for many people. Probably the biggest stumbling block for most international couples is the requirement that you must have lived together for 12 consecutive months prior to lodging the application. Let's face it, unless you have extenuating work or study circumstances (as we did), how many folks really can satisfy this requirement? Reportedly, there are exceptions to this rule, but I have never heard of anyone who successfully got past it. At any rate, Mark and I had lived together in Tucson for over a year and could provide a copy of our rental agreement that showed as much.  We had joint memberships in various organizations, joint bank accounts and a plethora of folks who could vouch for our committed, ongoing and interdependent relationship. As part of the application process, at least two people must submit statutory declarations that serve to further verify the relationship. We also hoped that our coparenting of Zane would be a decisive factor in the potential approval of the application. All in all, the application was huge and included copies of documents, photos, the stat dec's, and other materials that illustrated the interdependent nature of our relationship in a personal, social and financial way.
The application fee is steep. We're talking in the thousands. Lodging it outside of Australia saved us some money, but it also meant that I had to go out of Australia for the visa to be awarded. So, in October of 2005, when I received an e-mail from my migration officer that the visa had been approved, I immediately booked a flight to New Zealand and spent a week in Auckland while the paperwork was shuffled and the visa sticker affixed to my passport. I must say there was a good amount of pride swelling in my breast when I re-entered Australia, sauntered up to the C&I official at Sydney airport and flashed the sparkling new visa that proclaimed me to be an official temporary resident of my new home, Australia. As always in matters like this, however, the internal pomp and circumstance greatly outweighed the external. The dispassionate clerk rather UNceremoniously performed her glance, swipe & stamp, and then roughly waved me through the door.
In a couple of months, the two-year waiting period between the issuance of the temporary and permanent residency visas will be over. Will they congratulate me then? Probably not, but they don't have to. Mark, Zane and I are already planning the celebratory dinner at our local budget sushi restaurant. Hey, don't chuckle...now we have to pay off the credit-card debt accrued during this jolly process. OUCH!

Sticks and Stones

It is a sad fact, but insults are a common part of life nowadays. Just listen to election campaign rhetoric, a Jerry Springer episode, or an Eminem song. Everyone has heard insults at some point.  Those of us who are part of a marginalized group have heard them a lot, often directly. That hurts, to be sure, but when it is a lovely human with a kind heart who is unfairly castigated, the sting is even sharper.

I was directed today toward a post in the blog of Andrew Bolt, a right-wing conservative writer for the Herald Sun. Bolt's long-standing views opposing the historical veracity of Australia's stolen generation are hard to swallow. His comments in this particular post, in which he lambastes our friend, Larissa Behrendt, for choosing the name "Mr Howard" for a villain in her award-winning book, Home, are no less bitter. It is, however, the dozens of vitriolic comments that the blog post inspired that are profoundly troubling. The disparaging comments about Dr Behrendt largely have to do with her looks, specifically that she is too white to be an Indigenous Australian and, therefore, knows little about or has little right to discuss the subject matter contained in her book. The comments, some of which are from self-identified Aborigines themselves, reek of a kind of racial hatred I haven't seen since I left the States. There are laws in Australia that prohibit racial discrimination and hatred. I wonder if they might not apply here. At any rate, Dr Behrendt is a good friend of ours, and I respect her work in the field of the rights of indigenous peoples immensely. I am sure that she has developed a rather thick skin by now and certainly doesn't need me to defend her. With her dazzling intellect and enviable sense of tact, she will undoubtedly rise well above the detritus littering the Australian social landscape.

Some Statistics

As an American living abroad, I find it interesting to draw comparisons between my home country and my home-away-from-home country.

                                                           

	USA	Australia
Land mass	3,794,083 sq mi	2,967,909 sq mi
Population	just under 300 million	just over 20 million
No. of mobile phones	219 million	18 million
No. of airports	14,858	455
Population growth	0.91%	0.85%
Unemployment rate	4.60%	4.90%
HIV/AIDS-related deaths	approx. 14,000	approx. 200
% of population  living in the 10 largest cities	less than 10%	more than 60%
Indigenous   peoples as percentage of population	1.20%	2.40%

CIA World Factbook
Wikipedia