Yesterday was my detox day. I drank a few quarts of water, stayed away from double espressos (the double I had after first landing had more flavor in 8 ounces than I could get in a whole pot of American roasted coffee, yum), didn’t take any cold medicine, and only resorted to drinking wine at dinner (it was organic Shiraz, it was like drinking grape juice, right?). I think it worked. I woke up at 4:30am with a clear head, clear nostrils, some energy, and the feeling that my body was a bit more in tune with the ebb and flow of daily Australian life.
Yesterday was a normal day. I love the word normal. I really do. It serves so many purposed for me when I write. Well here, normal is a day where I’m not trying to do the next exciting thing, talk to the next interesting person, write the next great American novel, see the most breathtaking thing, no. Normal was waking up in my parent’s flat, having a slice of Pavlova with my rice puffs (Rice Crispies just called different despite still being a Kellogg’s branded cereal, there are big issues with naming rights around here), Dad going to work, and Mother and I walking down the hill into town to pick up a few necessitates at the shopping plaza.
Going shopping with Mother is a historical behavior. I remember walking next to her cart at the Great American on the corner of 281 and Mclean Rd, I think its some bullshit buffet now. Only in Australia, I pushed the cart, and when I saw wine I wanted, I just put it in the cart. So we picked up all sorts of stuff, Gurrumul’s latest CD, postcards, sunglasses, food, and scoped out the touristy ‘presies’ in the shopping plaza.
Being that I’m on the top of the food chain, I had to find different sorts of large bodied animals that I can eat. That sounds really macho, and it is, I’ve been watching clips from Epic Mealtime on YouTube, “I’m the saoooce boooss! There is no such thing as too much bacon…We garnished it with Baconaters just because we are ****ed up like that.” Mom didn’t think “Woolies” would have kangaroo, they did, so we ate it. I did the roo up Dinosaur BBQ style by throwing together my own red rub out of her on hand kitchen spices. Dad whipped up a tangy BBQ sauce out of ketchup, worcheschire sauce, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, and jalapeno sauce. It was tasty and the first time my parents actually cooked their own roo. I’m insisting on eating some croc, emu, or koala tonight.
Although my parents said something about the koala being on the national endangered species list, I don’t know what they are talking about but they say it could lead to me getting arrested. But if we hit one with our car or find one by the side of the road, I’ll break that little furry guy down in an instant. (Italics = sarcasm font, I’m afraid the Aussies will think I’m an evil American brute)
The roo had the coloration of white tail venison and similar muscle structure. The shish kebabs were tasty and I’d say with the amount of seasoning we used, indistinguishable between the continental variations of large creatures.
Back to normal, we were shopping by 915am and having tea and a muffin by 1030am. That felt normal, like people should take breaks to converse in the morning, sit outside in the sun at an outdoor café, and just relax for a bit. The sitting gave me the pause to write down some notes about the sights, smells, and people I’d seen, look at the bounty I’d gathered over the last hour, and rest my back a little bit. I think I was overdoing my posture or something, my lower back was killing me. Or its still being out of synch with time and body. I did start yawning heavily at noon, which was 10pm eastern standard time, Troutman standard bedtime that is.
Planking. I don’t really have a need to try and explain this. It started out as a joke from some guy taking pictures with clubbers and DJs. It was a big news story today because somebody died from planking off a balcony edge. Then a famous rugby player planked off a 40th story balcony, bad role model was the feeling by the Aussie news. Dad and I decided to try it out , see what all the fuss was about.
I really like this tradies ute. Simple, red, functional. Being that I’m a small truck owner I can really appreciate the Australian tradies concept of truck, ute. There is no need for an oversized engine, an extended cab and bed, a gas-guzzler, a my truck is bigger than your truck penis comparing contest. All the tradies have a ute like this that they get around in to do their plumbing, electricity, construction, and various other trades. Of course there are sporty looking utes but you I’ve only seen one regular sized ‘truck’ since being down here.
Then there are the range rovers with a snorkel, roof rack, roo-bar, jacked up suspension, and signature mud along the sides. These vehicles are serious outback equipment capable of carrying extra jugs of water/fuel, submerging the engine up to the steering wheel level, and traversing roadless terrain. I haven’t seen a lot of these up to this point but the few I have seen are impressive.
