Speaking Strine


Random Round-Up

What follows are an assortment of updates on Rugby, my 21st Birthday, and the Food here fleshed out from e-mail, Facebook and instant messaging. Lame, I know, but it’ll highlight some of the events and opinions that didn’t get more updates or a dedicated post.

Rugby

Match 1: Played my first real, full contact rugby game today. Just an exhibition match, but my butt is disabled. I can barely chew my jaw hurts so bad. Without question, I was the smallest forward on the field, just like playing the line in football. At least rugby evens the playing field more than most games. I actually get the ball. If only I didn’t have to run for an hour straight. 

Oh and let me warn you, rolling around fighting for a loose ball like you would naturally do in American gridiron football is a big no-no in rugby. I got some bad looks and cleats to the chest for it.

Match 2: Another Bandicoots rugby game against old dudes. The average age we’ve seen so far can’t be under 35. And these guys just relish the opportunity to punish you. We’re clearly not the most fundamentally sound team, so their expectations are a little high and they get frustrated.

Also, I got my eyebrow split open in rugby today. Hospital. Glue. Scar. Gory pictures to follow.

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Oz to Oz

This is the first of a few retroactive updates on my life in the past month. Ideally, this entry would have been published in the first week of April.

Homesickness is not an issue for me. Of course, I miss my friends, family, dogs and other parts of my daily routine, but that’s not homesickness. That’s simply a change of habits. On the other side of the spectrum, any and every study abroad prep program warns about the eventual downturn; the “post-honeymoon” effects of your time away from home. They love the word “post-honeymoon.” They will push and frighten and tell you how awful, how debilitating the ailment is once you come down with it. I’m not about to say that I rose above homesickness, because there have been moments I take to reflect, but only moments. 

My father studied in England and Ireland between semesters when he was in college, and my brother spent maybe one month of a summer in Oaxaca, Mexico, but neither had much advice for me. They simply didn’t spend enough time away to have any kind of crisis. “It was enough time to find a routine, or get used to not having one, you know?” I awkwardly paraphrase my father to have said. And my brother was so overwhelmed by the language he didn’t have time to worry about anything back at home. Like most people, they came to the conclusion that I would be fine. I was just to call home when I felt I needed too, and to not make it a priority. They seemed to trust me to land on my feet, despite never before having a harder landing.

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Waggin’ school

This post follows my previous introduction to the school.

I’ve already covered where I live, here’s how I live:

My four classes this term include workplace conflict management, sponsorship and public relations, strategic human resources and a general computer course. The classes take place over 12 weeks and most meet for one two-hour lecture and one two-hour tutorial each week. A majority of the teachers know the importance of giving us breaks during class while a few know their time is far too important. Whatever.

Most classes are between 15-30 students, but with such a small campus (only 16 classrooms) many run in the evening as well. I get out as late as 8:30 or 9 p.m. on Wednesdays, and I know a few that run onto 9:30. The lecturers don’t seem to mind, and I certainly don’t as long as my mornings are free, but it’s certainly a change of pace.

All of the courses are considered upper-level credit worthy except the computer class which is remedial at best. Now five weeks into class, I can proudly claim that I can beat an intermediate level of minesweeper in less than two minutes with complete ease (I only get under 90 seconds about a third of the time, but I’m not giving up). My best time is 58 seconds, but now I’m just bragging (and nerdy).

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Strite up git ‘n or drink milk

You all laughed when I first talked about discovering a love for rugby. Well here I am, during what we American collegiate basketball fans call “March Madness,” with my favorite team in the running for a national championship and all I can think about is union rugby.

As silly as the idea of a hospitality and management school rugby team sounds, I am consistently impressed by the organization, interest and high standards set by the dependable trio of our de facto general manager, coach and team captain. Three weeks into any real club development, they’ve displayed a real understanding of how to motivate and raise expectations. I can’t say that the college administration has been completely won over, but once we sign our club contracts and take a shot at the Student Representative Council’s support, we’ll have made more than enough headway for them to respect our organization. (We’ll be playing rugby anyway, so who cares?) Honestly though, outside of a cursory interest in the sport, it was their management that hooked me initially. It was the opportunity to spearhead the logo and jersey design that caught my graphic illustrator interest. Back home, I get a chance nearly every week to produce illustrations and graphics for our college newspaper and numerous other organizations. Here, creative work has been scarce.

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Back on topic, that much involvement, a professional match and a couple pick-up touch games in the school’s backyard were the extent of my “rugby experience.” Tonight, everything changed. We grouped up and headed out to the field in Melwood for a night of practice. With twenty-four players (we expect thirty when it’s all said and done) we immediately picked up a game of touch, familiarizing the newbies like myself and more than a dozen others with some of the basic strategies and rules. It was exhilarating. Forgiving friends that they are, I received more tosses and runs than anyone at my skill level should have gotten.

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On the ‘Tah Patrol’

Hey Chad, what are you doing?

Oh nothing, just checking the stats on the rugby match last night…

and getting on the FRONT PAGE!

Yes, that’s my friends Marcus, Bree, Leela, Lachy and I in the pouring rain eating meatpies, drinking beer and watching the New South Whales Waratahs beat the ACT* Brumbies 24-17 last night.

I think I might be a rugby fan.

*updated from ‘Queensland’ after a rather demanding e-mail from Mr. Stephen Gregory, GM Commercial Operations, Brumbies Rugby.



We only need a pair o’ grundies and a gutful of piss

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Top Ten Sydey Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras Float Entries

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‘Ere in tha back of bourke hafin’ a bonzer aht tha uni

Welcome to your guided tour of the International College of Management Studies. The bathrooms are on your left, the gift shop is open at then end of the trip, I’m your tour guide, Chad, and please, as usual, hold onto your questions until the end of the tour.

ICMS resides on the North Head peninsula in Manly, just north of, and only a 25 minute ferry from, downtown Sydney. The school opened in 1996 in the renovated St. Patrick’s College. St. Patrick’s College began serving the Catholic Church as a seminary school in January 1889. Historians cite founder Archbishop Moran as a scholar, visionary and surfer.

First, I’d like to take a look to their right and admire the proximity of our fine facility to Manly Beach:

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As well as the fact that I am living in a freaking castle:

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Eat it, Harlaxton, my castle’s on the beach.

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Tha drum on tha mob on Dixon

Hey, how’s everyone been the past few weeks? Things kind of took off, but I’m back on top of life and updating this blog.

Turns out my camera decided that life could not possibly get any better once it experienced a week in Sydney, so it took its own life. It’s final gasps of life are documented below:

If you’ve ever wondered what 15,000 Chinese people looked like walking in downtown Sydney…

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…then wonder no more.

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Been grinning like a shot fox since I rocked up ‘ere

Sydney – Day One.
Welcome to the only torrential downpour in Sydney history. Ever.

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In fact, saying “Day One” above is misleading. This is also days two, three, four and probably six.
But I keep repeating my mantra. “Look at me, Mom! I’m really in Sydney!”

The views are incredible, the people are friendly. I absolutely love this city. The study abroad “Honeymoon” stage is in full swing. Aussies are certainly some of the most gracious, friendly, happy people on Earth. I’d say that they are “graciendappy,” but that’s not even a word.

Yet.

They are simply passionate about being where they are, with the good company they are with. You would love it here.

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Dat’s sand’s a rite spunk fir meh

Dear snow,

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This is it. I’m leaving you. I don’t know how else to say it.

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