'Nam, Man

(Huzzuh! I’ve finally created a palindrome blog title! This attempt is pretty weak at 6 letters but my runners-up were 1) 'Nam Blog Odd, O' dog, Ol' B, Man, 2) Party 'Nam's Man-y Trap and 3) Noël in ‘Nam, man, Niles On. If there is an obvious one I missed, let me know). 

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam is just like I remember: Humid, chaotic and unimpressive. I had set the bar low, but arriving by plane doesn't provide much in the way of acclimatization. Here are a list of things I found immediately annoying.

1. Taxi drivers must, MUST, hassle any Western-looking individual if they need a ride -- no matter how many other taxi drivers this person has refused or ignored in their presence.
2. The noticeable absence of trash cans and a culture of disposing of trash wherever seems most disagreeable.  Poor cultural habit or thrifty solution to rising ocean levels??
3. The 20 million Vietnamese on scooters in a sprawling city mostly devoid of traffic signs, traffic laws, and order. Riding on the sidewalk. Yup. Wrong side of the road. Indeed. 6-person family on a scooter. Check. Bamboo poles slung like a medieval jouster. Check. Ignoring red lights, stopping in the middle of the highway, shooting a pregnant woman in the face. Check, check, er, I made that last one up.
4. Open sewers. They are gross and smell bad. Weird stuff grows in them. Rodents play around in them. Trash migrates into them, and then eventually that trash flows into to a stream, river, sea, or ocean near you. At least grates are good at hiding the truth.
5. I understand why it happens, but I wish the staring wasn’t so blatant for the first few minutes, especially in non-tourist areas. 

Fortunately, after a few days, 1, 2, 4, and 5 aren’t as noticeable. For 3, as a passenger in a bus, it’s somewhat amazing to watch as long as you don't have a strong sense of self-preservation for you or others. The vehicular chaos is a wreathing mass of scooters and bodies all obeying unspoken and unwritten rules of the road. The only obvious rule is to yield to the thing that is bigger and moving faster than you are.

To me, a bus in Asia is a magical hellhole where I’m only vulnerable to the unpleasantness inside the bus: long periods of sitting and deep vein thrombosis (Thanks Karen N.), bad smells from food and the occasional motion sickness, air-con that would kill a polar bear, the rare tactless guy trying to practice his English, my agonizing inability to sleep on bus rides shorter than 18 hours, the exposed upholstery nail in the seat, unintelligible karaoke at ear bleeding decibels, and many other trials.

But all things exterior to the bus are out of my control and therefore, inconsequential. Sometimes I picture the blank stare I’d expect to receive from a bus driver if I told him in well-mannered English, “Kind sir, if I could so much as request – and I say this with the utmost respect – if you could be so kind to slow down just a tad and maybe tone down the reckless overtaking, we'd all just be so pleased. Thanks for all you do. Good day.” And so, I stare out the window with zen-like complacency, much different than the backseat driver I feel like when a Westerner drives.

But this chaos becomes much more tangible when crossing a road by foot in HCMC, which is sort of like a live-action version of Frogger. The strategy is to walk into the road at the right time, continue walking no matter how terrifying it is, and hope everyone sees you and can avoid you. If you are Vietnamese you can shorten this process by not looking at all, which always makes me cringe. For beginners, the key is picking when to start walking...

To be honest, a mildly busy street in China Town during midday, HCMC.

One of the main ways of getting around HCMC is on a local green bus -- at least I assume that is the case, because I've never ridden one in HCMC. For the time being, I've gotten over seeking out that type of authentic "cultural" experience. I’ll save that sort of stuff for the crazy German backpackers that carry hand-carved walking-sticks, who come off as cultishly devout WWOOFers, and smell like the open sewers in # 4 above.  (Note: I’ve met only one of these types of Germans in the course of a year, on a local bus, which is one more such person than any other country).  Anyway, I was told that the green buses pay an annuity for life-lasting injuries, and pay a one-lump sum if someone is killed in an accident. Apparently the latter is the preferred option, which sounds really scary to a Westerner. My guess is that if you get hit by an equally reckless Vietnamese driver whose vehicle isn't government owned, the victim gets nothing, so getting hit by a green bus isn't as bad as it sounds in Vietnam. Regardless, unless you have a morbid fascination with pavement and ground meat, careful with that first step.

No roughing it in hostels on this trip. A placid pool waiting to be disturbed. 

Well, I didn't only cross roads in Vietnam for two and a half weeks. I was here for a true non-backpacker vacation and I was happily accompanied by a French traveler I met in Malaysia many months ago. We took an excursion to the Cao Dai Great Temple, Tay Ninh Holy See. Cao Dai is a monotheistic religion blending Western and Eastern religious themes and concepts, but also integrating some secular figures as well. How would you like to have Jesus, Buddha, Victor Hugo and Napoleon as saints in your religion? Welcome to the psychedelic religion of Cao Dai. By judging their tastes in interior decoration, psychedelic is the perfect word.

The Cao Dai during worship in the Great Temple.

The guy in the chapeau is Victor Hugo, one of the  prominent modern saints of the religion.

But most of our time was spent relaxing, primarily pool-side, or eating delicious food. The low-key holiday was mixed up with some trips to Ho Chi Minh City, celebrating Christmas and partying it up at the Hard Rock Cafe for New Years.

Between band acts on New Years Eve, there were stage contests for the audience. During the first three contests, I found myself watching the spectacle -- a speed contest to eat an apple hanging from a string, picking things out of a hat, taking a shot of alcohol without using your hands. Somewhere during that third act, I got intoxicated enough to think, "I'm more coordinated than those drunk idiots."

So I volunteered for the fourth. By volunteer I mean I walked up to the front of the stage, declared myself picked, and bowed to the audience. In retrospect, maybe I was a little drunker than I thought at the time. There was a formal selection process which ended up with three Vietnamese/Asian ladies and three foreign guys, one being me. I stood on stage, blinding stage lights shining in my face, waiting for the contest to be declared. I reflected on this and realized that masked by those stage lights are more than a hundred people watching in near silence. It was at this point that my fear of public speaking/performance started to drift to the surface. My pulse increased, little butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I thought, "What the fuck am I doing up here?"

The contest was declared: A battle-of-the-sexes dance off, 30 seconds per person, points deducted for laughing while the opposing sex dances. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that. Okay, I feel awkward dancing in dark rooms, by myself, so this was especially distressing.

The ladies started first, I was to be second, and alternating through the remaining people. Not laughing was easy. I was terrified. I didn't have much time to think.  There were 10 seconds of blank panic. 10 seconds of wondering what kind of dance move is funny or embarrassing for a guy. And 10 seconds of "Holy shit, I'm gonna do a booty dance on stage." Then it was my turn.

I boogied the two paces closer to my opponent, playing it cool, about faced, bent over, put my hand on the floor and did my best impression of Beyoncé jiggling it. I can't say that I actually did a booty dance, and thankfully, no one I personally know captured any pictures of the act to shame me with. I truly hope no one else did either, but if so, I hope they never surface when I run for President. Ultimately the girls won, why?, I don't know, but I think it was rigged -- my dance was hilarious, good or bad. For second place each volunteer received a gift voucher equivalent to US$10. Not. Worth. It.

The rest of the night and the rest of the vacation was a lot of fun, and I've learned a valuable lesson. If I start the night with an extremely embarrassing dance move on stage, the normal awkwardness of my dancing doesn't feel that bad. A pretty good philosophy to apply to other uncomfortable things in life. 

A Walk In The Park

Since I don't have a car in Perth I've been constrained to the areas that are accessible by public transport. Public transport isn't very cheap when your income is ~$200 per week and rent is $140 per week. On top of that the sun is bright and cancerous during the day, and basically every animal here is lethal if it looks at you the wrong way, so lately I've adopted a sloth-like sedentary life-style. Under further scrutiny those might not be great reasons for inactivity, but I've rationalized reasons nonetheless. (Aside: Who's the guy that decided to ignore the entire convention of using spaces between words when he allowed "nonetheless" in the dictionary? I hope that editor was fired).

But every once in a while, if I wake up before noon on one of the five days that I don't work each week, I shower myself in sunscreen and seek an adventure outside. Most recently, that adventure was a walk in the park, Kings Park to be exact, located just a short distance from the center of the city. 

I had walked by Kings Park during the City-to-Shore Fun Run on my first weekend in Perth in August. The Run was a charity event, which I didn't formally participate in, but informally, I think all 30,000+ participants were glad that I didn't use my mind-bullets on anyone. (Or did I?) Such was my familiarity that I felt I could "guess" my way to Kings Park by walking west from the city along the river. This turned out to be an excellent guess, which I never fully realized because I started doubting myself and then asked for directions. In a Spanish accent, a hotel attendant told me to "go up the Jacob's Ladder. It's the best way to get to the park."

Indeed, a handful of paces further from the hotel and I arrived at the so-called Jacob's Ladder, but was disappointed that it ascended a mere 40 meters -- some 300 steps -- nowhere close to the heaven in the Book of Genesis. Like a moth to a flame, the stairs were flooded with fitness-conscious individuals who doggedly trudged up and then mercilessly down like a modern day Sisyphus and his boulder. The attractive women panting heavily as they passed served as a minor consolation for not finding salvation. 

The view NOT from heaven.

Once on top of the stairs, Kings Park was distinguishable by a parkway lined with tall beech trees running parallel to a path on a ridge overlooking Perth and the Swan River. The notable attractions at Kings Park are war memorials, a botanical garden, and well-trimmed grass that would do justice at a golf course. 

Perth from a viewing point at Kings Park.

I strolled around various areas of the park, headed in the general direction of the botanical garden. Following the signs and arrows, I mistakenly read a sign as saying Bubonical Garden and laughed to myself. Here is my rendering of such a garden. 

A unicorn playing in a drab Bubonical Garden.

The botanical garden showcases the different flora and fauna from all around Australia. I can relay this fact only because of the signage provided.  In my opinion, all the plants looked of a robust-and-rugged variety that can hold up to the harsh sun and arid climate. One particular surprise in the garden was a glass-walled arch-shaped bridge that spanned between the tree canopies and offered a clear view of the river. 

A cool little bridge, blending modern architecture in a natural setting.

A baobab tree and the Swan River in the background.

I made my way further through the garden, following signs for a "Place of Reflection". In my heart, I hoped that this place would contain a placid water pool reflecting the sky and trees like a mirror. I found plenty of tranquility but the reflection was all internal. Still pleasant but not as fun. 

I began the walk back to the city in order to catch a train home. Along the way I came upon a woman in a bright red dress shaking it like a Polaroid picture, backed up with a simple musical accompaniment. An on-looker explained it was an Idol-style competition between international students finishing up their time studying English in Australia. From a judge's commentary, I picked up that they were representing Brazil. Check it out in this video. 

And at that, I earned my Vitamin-D quota to justify my hibernation of late. 

Summer and Thanksgiving

The weather continues to warm to uncomfortable levels, and adolescent kids and university students, having wrapped up their classes and exams, are flocking to their beach-of-choice to bask in the Sun's potent, uninhibited UV rays. It's the paradoxical custom of tanning to look healthy and sexy when you're young, at the expense of looking much older earlier in life, along with a higher risk of skin cancer. The smart ones get up early to do whatever needs doing, then escape the midday heat somewhere inside, and re-emerge in the late afternoon as the off-shore breezes move back onto the city to cool things off. (The stupid ones go to the beach lathered in oil, surrounded by parabolic mirrors, while listening to Justin Bieber's "Baby" and Rebecca Black's "Friday").

Yes, the aromatic smells in the air and the electric energy of the masses are whispering into the wind: It's American Thanksgiving, the official start of summer in Australia. And as soon as I heard this calling, I knew it  must be true because I couldn't find any resources (i.e. Googe hits) that say Thanksgiving isn't the official start of summer in Australia.

I was finding it difficult to persuade any Australians to celebrate in our mythologized secular Thanksgiving holiday, where we come together as a family to give thanks for our good fortune -- just like the Pilgrim settlers of America first gave thanks to God, circa 1600, for a great autumnal bounty after receiving assistance and tutelage from Native Americans. (We returned the favor with about three centuries of epidemic diseases, slavery, war, persecution, inhumanity, and manifest destiny, and depleted their population from about 10 million to about 250,000, along with their self-worth in a White Man dominated society, and relegated them to tiny swaths of generally useless land. Amen).

But I was hungry, so, once again, I was eager to ignore the salient details of American history and gorge myself on an egregious amount of food. If I wasn't going to be with my family for Thanksgiving, I was at least going to stuff my face with food.

Fortunately, I was lucky enough to find some Americans, Heather and Sarah, with which to celebrate the holiday. I met Heather and Sarah at my barista certification course in September. I'm not lying when I say that in the first five minutes of chatting the topic of Thanksgiving dinner in Australia came up. In a few weeks, a date was set and an invitation extended: Saturday 26th of November, 5pm. Bring food, drink, and a gluttonous appetite.

When I arrived at Heather's house, I met her roommates, who would be partaking in the celebrations. Our party consisted of one Australian, one Kiwi, two Germans, two Japanese, and three USAns. I was early and mostly hung out with the Kiwi Carl while we drank beers and watched Heather slave over a 6 kg turkey along with all the sides she was preparing. I managed to help a little by convincing Heather that mashing the boiled potatoes was a "man's job".

The bird fresh out of the oven and resting before Heather had the honor of carving it.

The feast was turning out to be enormous. The Japanese duo brought a platter of handmade sushi rolls -- a perfect appetizer for holding off the watering mouths as we waited. I brought corn bread pudding and smashed butternut squash. Heather had prepared mashed potatoes, turkey, roasted carrots, cranberry sauce, baked sweet potato casserole covered with marshmallows, macaroni and cheese, bread rolls, vegetarian and normal stuffing, and gravy. For desert, someone brought a chocolate cake decorated into a hedgehog with chocolate frosting and white chocolate wafers; someone else brought Tiramisu.

The marshmallow peaks of sweet potato casserole. 

Heather carved the turkey, we posed for a picture or two -- having accomplished what nay-sayers said couldn't be done in Australia-- and the chaos began. If you've ever had Thanksgiving, you know what happens. Usually the sequence of events are feast with the family, watch American football while falling in and out of consciousness from the Turkey Nap, and eventually wake up sometime later for desert. In bizarre-o Thanksgiving in Australia, where football means rugby, footie, or soccer (I'll probably never know which), we scrapped watching sports in exchange for playing them on an XBox using the motion sensor based game Kinect Sports, which was actually pretty cool. Instead of using remotes like those utilized in Wii Sports or Playstation, Kinect Sports requires you to, one, have hands and, two, not be paraplegic (I apologize to those offended). In addition, we listened to classic holiday music like Snoop Dog's Doggystyle and a compilation of James Brown screeching over musical instrument accompaniment.  The entertainment from the video game was enough to stave off napping until the party digressed into watching pop-culture videos of Wilford Brimley saying diabetes, or "Dia-beetis", such as in this awful rap video and this Family Guy clip.

Starting from 6 o'clock, Mark, Lauren, Sarah, Julia, Carl, Me, and the two roommates from Japan (even that's a guess on the country, and whose names couldn't be remembered because I'm an ignorant white guy -- true Thanksgiving spirit really).

The next day, as I reflected on the previous evening while working at the Caffissimo Cafe at the Perth Art Gallery, I was gracious for another reason beyond the good fortune of spending time with good people while traveling in a "foreign" country. There was no cacophany of Chistmas music making my ears bleed. There weren't even decorations or faux Christmas trees in sight. People didn't talk about the holiday deals they would snatch up, or tell stories about waiting in line at absurd hours of the morning, or deals they scored on Black Friday.

Every year Christmas seems to be coming earlier -- a longer buying season means more money for businesses, especially those hurting from the recession -- and Thanksgiving, unfortunately I think, gets marred by the consumerism. The simpleness of spending time with family and friends on Thanksgiving is why I like the holiday so much (oh, and eating), but the pleasant memory of it is lost quickly as Americans get caught up with the buying season. By the time Christmas comes, the try-hards are stressed out and exhausted from trying to score good deals or figuring out the perfect gift; the apathetic, like me, feel alienated by everyone in a game I don't identify with; and then there's everyone in between. It's nice to give a gift that really makes someone happy, but that is hard to do in a society that has a lot (even during a recession), and I usually end up going through the motions of Chistmas because I feel forced to follow the heard.

I'm not saying that this doesn't happen in Australia. I'm sure it does, but at least it comes a little later in the season, with a lower intensity of consumerism. For me that means a little less second-hand stress as I think about what to get to people, who those people will be, and if I'll even be able to afford it. Time will tell. For now, I'll try to enjoy the Thanksgiving after-glow. You should too.

Ozzie Lingo

After two and half months in Perth, I think I've observed enough of the local lingo to tell you my opinion of it. I'm not a fan. I guess that shouldn't be surprising: Australian lingo is the degeneration of the English language by Irish, Scottish, and British convicts starting some 300 years ago. In that time span, the colonists on this hot rock developed a handful of colorful idioms, disguised some cockney rhyming slang, started rounding off their R's, added rising inflections at the end of sentences, and started abbreviating/nicknaming anything longer than one letter.

One of the most annoying things in adapting to the local language is using the British spellings of words. (Listen up British English-language speaking countries, American's have made an improvement here. Fall in line). One of the most annoying spellings is the word "enrol" with only one L. It looks more like the name of a Greek god than a word in the English language. I petition (to who, I don't know) that anyone who enrols in anything be shot in the face with a paintball gun -- that should quickly change the behavior of people willfully spelling like idiots (or wilfully spelling like idiots). 

I guess the spelling pisses me off the most because I was already a terrible speller long before I immersed myself in a culture that breaks half the rules and words I've memorized as a child. I'll probably never be confident in my spelling ever again. Here are some other mis-spelling examples, British on the left and American on the right:

1. Traveller or Traveler
2. Signalling or Signaling 
3. Enquire or Inquire
4. Sceptic or Skeptic
5. Analyse or Analyze 
6. Jewellery or Jewelry
7. Programme or Program
8. Aluminium or Aluminum
9. Cosy or Cozy
10. Grey or Gray

If you are trying to fit in, then here are some substitutions you can use in your daily life. But really, who wants to fit in with these bogans?

1. Use 'whilst' instead of 'while'. I presume this word was adopted so that even if your accent sounds stupid, you can still use smart words. 
2. Use 'keen' for 'interested'. 
3. Use 'reckon' for 'think', especially when you are seeking approval from someone. 
4. Use 'my shout' for 'my turn to pay for drinks'. Okay, definitely points for brevity, but 'shout'? What are you shouting at, the bartender? Based on a few real-life observations of Australians in their natural habitat, then yes, because said person is drunk twice-over and its not yet noon.
5. Use 'heaps' for 'a lot'. This is the classic Aussie adjective. If you're trying to mimic an Aussie, this should be the first word you add to your repertoire.
6. Use "ute" (said 'yute') for "truck", as in utility truck. 
7. Use 'till' for 'cash register'. 
8. Use 'serviette' for 'napkin'.
9. Use 'bottle shop' for 'liquor store'.
10. Use 'chemist' for 'pharmacy'.
11. Use 'servo' for 'gas station'.
12. Use 'Mackers' for 'MacDonalds', but it's said more like "Maccas". 
13. Use 'Ta' as an informal 'Thanks'.
14. Use 'Tucker' for 'food'. As in, "Grab some tucker at Mackers". 
15. Ask 'How ya going?' instead of 'How are you doing?'
16. Warning, NC 17 material here: Use 'arse' for 'ass, and 'bloody' for 'fuck'. 
17. NCinfinity material: Australians use the word 'cunt' way more casually than other English speaking countries. Two friends (i.e. 'mates') might even refer to each other affectionately using that word, as in "He's a real good cunt." It can be a little jarring at first because, in America, you just don't say that word in public, and even in private you need a good reason. 

Now that you got the lexicon down, assuming you're practicing (maybe you're a n-th generation convict too and keen to befriend some like-minded company), then its time it work on the accent. If you really want to sound Australian, throw together a sentence with a bunch of R-controlled vowels and then round off all those R's. Tack on a few extra vowels here and there too, just to be silly; or hack off a few consonants, just because you can. For example, if you want to say, "It's a nice day for a walk in the park", an Aussie might phonetically say, "It's a noice day for a wok in the paak, eyh?" That last "eyh" bit there is sort of pronounced like the Canadian "eh" (speaking of sounding stupid), but the Aussie version is more of a middle-mouthed "eye", as opposed to the back of the throat "eh". Also, if you ask someone if they are "Aussie", make sure you say it "Ozzie" -- if you say the "au" like a hyper-pronunciation of "ou" in "out", or say the "ss" as S in Snake, you are likely to get whacked in the head with a didgeridoo. 

Now for some idioms:

1. My favorite is "Bob's your uncle", which is like saying, "There you have it."
2. "Fair dinkum" is an adjective that means 'genuine' or 'true'. 
3. Say "bloody oath" if you strongly agree with someone. 
4. A "Dag" might be someone who doesn't fit in socially (as in faux pas) or someone from the fringes of society (nerds, geeks, self-absorbed scientists). The word can be turned into an adjective with "daggy", as in "daggy clothing". I was called a dag once, right to my face, and it didn't hurt my feelings because I didn't know what it meant. But then I made the stupid decision to ask what it meant, and received in a long-winded, ego-crushing explanation. Sigh. 
5. Although not truly an idiom, if an Aussie disagrees with someone, they use an affirmative-negative tag of "Yeah, nah."

To polish off the act, you'll need to start abbreviating and nicknaming things. However, it's acceptable to abbreviate a word and then add a suffix, like an -o or a -y, even if it results in a word with the same amount of syllables as the original word. For example, one of my travel friends, Hollywood, didn't even skip a beat when I told him my name was Adam. He immediately started calling me Ads, and the next minute he had created a new iteration: Ads-y. I was totally thrown off by how quickly he had given me a nickname. I think he could see the consternation on my face, and then asked me if it was okay for him to call me that. (He was the first to explain to me that that is how Australians roll with names).

Some other examples of abbreviations I've picked up (of which some are local to Perth):

1. 'Avro' for 'Afternoon'
2. 'Rotto' for 'Rottsnest Island'
3. 'HJ's' for "Hungry Jack's", Australia's name for Burger King (it was previously trademarked). 
4. 'Cott' for 'Cottesloe' or 'Peppy' for 'Peppermint Grove'; the names of the suburb where I live.  
5. 'Didg' for 'Didgeridoo'
6. 'Sess' for 'Session', referring to Perth's "Sunday (drinking) Sessions" at the pub. 

So if you are trying to pick up Aussie lingo, study this blog post a little and, bam!, Bob's your uncle. You'll be talking like a fair-dinkum Ozzie in no time. 

(To be honest, I don't harbor any ill sentiment for the Australian accent. Sometime it sounds just as silly and stupid as people from South Boston or Staten Island in the USA. However, after more than a year of Brits, Aussies, and Canadians telling me how stupid Americans sound, this is fair game).

Graffiti is Legitimate Art in Perth

One of the few things that I've noticed in Perth is the enormous amount of spray paint that  covers nearly every available space (at least compared to what I'd expect to see it in the USA). To me, the most noticeable aspect is that "graffiti" is considered a legitimate and appreciated art where someone, in one way or another, made their wall space available for someone else to decorate -- so the artist can work without being hassled by the law. The result: Graffiti that finally has an opportunity to become street art, and people who see it in a positive light. I think that is pretty cool.  The two pictures below, of a street mural in Fremantle, are one of my favorite, and I think one of the most detailed I've seen.

I estimate that I've passed thousands of graffiti tableaux in Perth, just riding the train a short stretch in and out of the suburbs.  I've promised myself that I will go for a graffiti hunt to photograph all the ones I've located from the train (and beyond), but the daunting undertaking has keep it merely a promise.

However, there is enough street art around that I've been able to snap a few photos while carrying my camera around for other reasons. I've added a separate album (Perth Street Art) to capture what I've photographed so far, and hopefully I get around to posting more pictures of this impressive street art in the future. For now, check out the small collection, here. 

Growing, as, like, a Person..., man.

In the simplest terms, I came to Perth to find a job and earn money before continuing onward with my travels. Many travelers that had been through Perth told me I'd be able to find a job here, especially lucrative engineering jobs because of the booming mining industry. And if that failed, I figured that I'd find a manual labor job and still be able to save, seeing as minimum wage is around A$20/hour.

It's true. I found plenty of work available in Australia. It's just not many employers wanted to hire me, or the jobs weren't the right fit for me in retrospect:

• For skilled engineering work, employers seem reluctant to hire an engineer who does not have previous industry experience. I get it: The company would have to "train" me but then in six months I'd take off and they'd lose their investment. But here is the truth of the matter: A lot of engineers, like many professionals, earn a degree only to find out that they are employed as worker bees with monotonous and asinine responsibilities that require very little use of their expertise. If someone recognizes you have a talent at your job, I think it takes three to five years on average before an employer starts asking you to take on stimulating professional responsibilities -- and more often than not, that added responsibility comes with additional stress. All I wanted was to be a contracted monotonous worker bee while I saved up money and grow professionally. Regardless, the search continues for this elusive engineering job, but I'm not holding my breath.
  
  
• I found plenty of manual labor jobs advertised. Dishwashers, grounds crew, and construction jobs were plentiful, but they came with a caveats. Many of these positions require a car to travel to various destinations, and applicants have to be physically fit. Well, I don't have a car. Two, I realized during a few unsuccessful job trials that my body isn't that indefatigable and chiseled Adonis it used to be. Bending over all day is agonizing, standing on my feet all day isn't much better, and lifting heavy loads is utter misery. There are few things that are as demoralizes as trying to apply yourself in the real world and then coming to the realization that your body is old and decrepit. Awesome.
  
  
• The service and hospitality industry is booming in Perth, probably because of all the money filtering in through the mining boom. Working in the front of a restaurant appealed to me because it seemed less grueling than manual labor. The challenge in pursuing this career path was that I'm an engineer with an engineering personality: I like to think about things internally and express them afterward in a thoughtful manner; my brain doesn't work very well while trying to talk at the same time; and I don't really smile for the sake of putting on a friendly face.  Probably on more than one occasion, a stranger has passed me in a work environment and thought, "That guy is a dick," just because I wore a smirk on my face while dreaming of Lalaland. I'm not perfect, but I'm not unfriendly.
  
  I did a waiter trial at a beach-side restaurant in Cottesloe.  Cott, as it is commonly called, is a very wealthy area because of the beautiful beach and extremely gentrified property values. Accordingly, the restaurant I was to do the trial for attracted a similar caliber of customers. I found the early diner crowd tolerable to serve since the mood was more relaxed and casual. But in the evening, as the customers became more serious, smugger and pretentious, I couldn't pair my personality to match the one that would have succeeded in the situation.
  
  For example, I would try to fill water glass but no one would acknowledged I was around, which made it very difficult to fill them, and I was forced with the decision of a) should I squeeze my way closer to grab the glass, b) interrupt the conversation to ask for the cup, or c) just ignore that that person doesn't have water. A more dynamic personality would have known, but I didn't.
  
  The clincher for the evening was when I carried over desert menus to a large table and couldn't figure out when to interrupt the conversation -- the youngest woman at the table, probably my age, acknowledged my feeble attempt to get their attention. Even then, only the women at the table stopped to ponder the question momentarily before the chatter started up and I was lost holding all the menus minus one that I'd put on the table just in case, smiling awkwardly like, "What the fuck do I do now?" and the women my age was looking at me with a face that said "Why are you here? You don't fit in." Sweeeet.
  
  The manager, who was a kind chatty lady from Denmark, said she'd call me the next day to discuss a purely barista position (which is what I originally applied for), but she never called back. I wasn't disappointed. Lesson learned in Round 2 of job trials: It's not very satisfying to find a job that challenges deep-seated personality habits while people watch the train wreck.
  
  No worries, though. Baby steps.
  
  
• I had failed enough in previous jobs, in enough variety of ways, that I had become pretty sure that I wanted to be a barista that was either entirely behind the espresso machine, or at least behind the counter of a cafe. Cafe's don't have the same atmosphere and personality constraints that fancy restaurants carry with them.  I was also running out of cash and I needed to find a job soon. I started applying everywhere and calling, and eventually got a job trial in a nice area with a seemingly nice manager.
  
  The manager turned out to be anal retentive and of the micro- variety. I thought back to mentoring people at work as an engineer and wondered, "Was I ever that bad?" (I don't think so, at least; sorry if I was). At the end of a three hour trial, she seemed happy with my barista skills. We sat down and she took the wind out of my sails when she said, I think I want someone more familiar with being a barista... (insert long banter about how she needs to train me at the other parts of the counter and that I might not be good at it, etc etc). All in all, I knew what she was saying: I don't want to pay you until you are sufficiently trained, so give me something in return. I offered her two days of unpaid work (about 10 hours/day) to get my foot in the door (which, technically, I think its illegal to not pay me -- but quid pro quo, Clarice). Those two days sucked, mostly because she was nitpicking every minor detail I didn't get perfectly right, and had me memorizing a lot of arbitrary rules.
  
  Anyway, the search is over, I officially have a job! The other staff members are pretty chill and fun, which makes up for my boss. And when my boss is just stopping by the cafe, instead of watching every move over my shoulder, she is pretty agreeable too. And now that I make several hundred coffees a day, I've been working on my free-poured latte art and it is slowly improving. Here is a picture of the test coffees I made recently before we opened for work. 

Left: An attempt at a rosetta; Center: A heart; Right: Another attempt at a rosetta

Hope for Change and Make People Happy

You might imagine that, based on the title of this post, it would be a political one. It isn't, mostly. If it was, I'm sure I'd alienate my scant readership with my political and economic opinions. This post is actually about change. Like that stuff in your pocket. Coinage.

In America, change deserves the prefix "chump" because it is generally useless unless you save up for months, maybe years. But eventually a day comes when the jar is so full of coins that it has its own gravitational pull. And it's time to head to the Change Machine at your grocery store or your local bank. If only making meaningful change in politics was so simple.

The grocery store machines usually charge a commission if you want cash back, but website vouchers for places like Amazon.com are usually free. Bank's typically take a commission unless you are a member, or the coins are properly rolled. No one rolls coins these days, because it defeats the point of why people save loose change: To hear the clink and clack sounds of inconvenient, noisy metal bits turning into found wealth. The sound of happiness.

In contrast, in many other countries, one being Australia, their coins are not so useless because they are of greater denominations. Australia has eliminated the 1 cent coin, and uses 5 cent, 10 cent, 20 cent, 50 cent, $1, and $2 coins. When I first came to Australia, I found the extra coins annoying, because it's a lot harder to discard a $2 coin into a change jar -- they add up pretty quickly. However, after a few weeks, I started to appreciate this larger denomination coin system: The joy of using your loose change for something substantial is no longer an annual event. I experience this found-wealth happiness often more than once a week, and is as easy as reaching into my pocket and seeing what is there. Imagine, you can have two tiny coins in your pocket that total up to $4. $4 dollars can buy a lot -- well, not much in Perth -- but in a lot of other places it can. In Perth, it might buy you a bottled soda.

Let me show you a tiny example of how much more awesome coins are in Australia. The photo below is of my change jar. It's not that full because I usually put my coins to use before they find their way into the jar. Guess how much money is in it before you scroll down to the caption. Got a number?

There are $25.05 dollars in there. That make's me happy.

There is another benefit of this type of monetary coin system. It's cheaper for the government to produce. Replacing the $1 bill with a coin, eliminating the penny, and adding a $2 coin would save taxpayer money because bills have a significantly shorter life span, while coins last for tens of years. I don't often think the current conservative party has many good ideas, but this fact is why House Republicans introduced a bill recently to make this change to change. ("Take some of your own medicine, President Obama", they said).  Unfortunately, there are some indirect costs to implement, like retro fitting vending machines and the energy and environmental cost of shipping heavier coins around the country and the world. And there'd probably be some awkward transition phase into the new coin system which would tick people off too. With the way Occupy Wall Street is growing, right now might not be the best time to piss off the entire country in one go.

Unfortunately, America doesn't have a coin culture. And let's be honest, many Americans don't even like change (or hope, and some automatically discredit the ideas of a Presidents just because he is black). But if people could be convinced this type of policy is worthwhile, I think our new currency would make people happier every time they pull out a substantial amount of money from their pockets or piggy-banks. And the way the economy is going, I think everyone could use an extra dose of money and happy in their pockets.