Boagens. They are everywhere.

I really think coming to Tassie was one of the best decisions of my life. As I self reflect on my past 20 or so years of living in the States, I can't help but think that everything I lived through and experienced had somehow contributed to my arriving here.

For instance, in the States, I was taught to tolerate obscene driving thanks to Sam. I learned how to talk to random strangers at gas stations compliments to Dad. I learned that scary, middle of nowhere towns are actually just red neck towns thanks to Walla Walla.

This weekend was one of shear ridiculousity- it's officially a word. This weekend was that of the second annual Cold Water Classic international O'Neill surf contest. 22 of the 44 best surfers in the world all came together to a small, one pub town called Marrawah in the North West coast of Tassie. Corey was our designated driver. I was in a 5 seater car with 6 people. This trip initially comprised of Corey, Mattie, Amy, April, Carmen and myself. Yay me! I got stuck in the back seat with four people. We were snug to say the least.

The drive up was 6 hours long. We left Hobart at around 1 in the afternoon. Though we were supposed to leave at noon, Mattie and I ran into this street performer that I had seen before and I wanted to talk to him. He is this old English man who plays clarinet wherever he goes. He wears a cap, old slacks and button down collared shirts. With Mattie's help, I was able to sit with him and listen to him play soulful jazz and blues. He started talking to us and asked us where we were from. When he found out we were from California, he immediately played "California Here I Come", "California Dreaming", "I love LA" and "I left my Heart in San Fran". I always see the clarinet man because he plays out on the water front outside the art school. Maybe one day I will see him again. I hope so.

So back to the trip. Corey's driving was considerably better than the other male drivers from my last trip. That doesn't mean however, that there weren't moments when my life flashed before my eyes. It was a montage really, of my 20 years of life; when a possum ran in front of the car, or when we were passing a car and an on coming truck appeared out of no where, or when the road just randomly ended and there was only one lane and we were going the wrong way. So many near death life flashes. But let me tell you, driving on tiny, curvy, ancient Tassie roads is way more fun and death defying when all the light in the universe is consumed by gravity and begins to travel to the Northern hemisphere. As the sun said goodbye to the Southern most tips of the hills, a brilliant sunset baffled us with its beauty, and mocked us with its morbidity: knowing fully well that we were heading into a void of darkness. While driving endlessly in the night, we had a joke session about how our car was going to break down and we would get eaten by boagens (Australian red necks without fire arms--important tid bit) or that the boagens would put tacks in the road to pop our tires and then once again, eat us. We laughed and then sat in honest horror, praying to god that we would make it to Marrawah, without becoming a true life scary movie.

We entered the town of Marrawah around 9pm. We pitched our tents, ate some dinner, explored the nearby beach and then headed up to the one pub: the Tarrawah Tavern. I read up on Tarrawah before leaving for the contest. I knew fully well that there was only one pub and that there was a high possibility of meeting some pro-surfers there. When we arrived at the pub, there were a few locals and halleluyah! Pro surfer heaven! My group of American friends started on an US card drinking game when a few local surfers and a pro surfer came up to talk to us. The pro surfer was named Dylan from Kawaii. He was so cool! Basically, his life is a dream. He is 20 but has been pro since 18 and travels around the world, living to find the most beautiful surf locations.

The next morning we woke up early and left to the competition at a nearby beach called West Point. It is a national reserve, so the beach was spectacular. The girls, Corey and I set our stuff down behind a group of vans, not knowing to whom those vans belonged. Turns out, we were seated directly behind the pro surfing cars: the place where the pros would go to change after their heats. As the girls and I drooled and Corey rolled his eyes, hours of surfers and crazy surf tricks dominated the beach. We met up with Dylan and he told us more about his fantasy life. We also met older veteran surfers who were once crowned world surf champions and came down to support their friends and their sport of choice.

Later that day, we left the beach to find some potable water at a nearby river campsite. On the drive, a Tassie wasp flew into Corey's ear. As he tried not to kill us while driving, the girls in the back seat screeched and I couldn't help but laugh at this awful scene. I took the map and tried swatting the devil wasp down but it ended up under Corey's seat and tried to get him from below. Thankfully, Corey pulled over and the wasp got out of the car alive. Seriously, everything in this country wants you dead.

That night we went back to the tavern and met even more surfers. But the highlight of my night was meeting a hippy from San Francisco who lives in Tassie and plays his guitar for money. He was very nice and played American music that reminded me of Whitman. The next morning, the gang drove to "The Dismal Swamp" because Corey wanted to see it. The girls all conceded because we felt badly that he actually just watched the surf contest while we were multitasking: swooning over our new husbands-to-be and watching crazy surf tricks. In case you were wondering, I am marrying a Brazilian surfer. I do not know his name, but I know he has bright green head phones, a black and red wet suit, and a very cute dog.

The Dismal Swamp was essentially a gigantic slide that twists and turns through the Tassie rain forest and ends in one of Tassie's biggest natural sink holes. This island has some interesting tourist attractions... The group decided against actually sliding down the thing because it was firstly, super expensive, and secondly, we wanted to save our energy for The Nut.

The Nut: a decaying volcano towards the central coast of Tassie in a town called Stanley, is famous for having the cleanest air in the world. Of course, because the world being fair and Tassie is part of the world, the hike up this Nut was vertical. Literally. I had to lean forward and hold onto a railing because it was so steep. And of course my over achieving, enthusiastic crew didn't want to take the chair lift up the mountain because why hinder the experience of sweating, panting, turning obscenely red, and wanting to keel over. I realize this may sound absurd, but these Tasmanian national forest guys don't want to harm the nature here so they don't do switch backs; just vertical climbs up cliffs. Going down hill was even more fun! That way, not only are you quads pulsing, but if you fall, there is nothing to stop you except for maybe the kind human-being in front of you.

The climb really wasn't too bad. It was short. That was the best part. It was way less than a mile and at least it was cold outside. Plus, the view, and the air all made it worth it. Though I really couldn't tell if the air was the freshest in the world, it did feel good in my lungs. All those years of breathing in Los Angeles smog and there I was breathing in the purest, cleanest air in the world. The view was obviously unbelievable. As if Tassie would offer anything less. You could see so much of Tassie from up there. There were bays I didn't know existed. One side of the Nut overlooked cliffs that plunged miles into the ocean while the opposite side looked over two opposing bays. To the far East you could see the foreshadows of the rain forest creeping into the towns.

After we left the Nut, I slept in the car for a few hours until we made it to our last destination: St. Claire Lake. Unfortunately for us, it was pouring rain and none of us felt like camping. So we thought, hey, why don't we just drive home. This is where our adventure really began.

In the car were Mattie, Corey, Carmen and I. April and Amy had found another UTAS student to drive home with because six hours in the back seat of a car with 4 squished people just was not pleasant. Anyways. My car crew decided to save buying gas to later in the evening. This would have been a smart idea if Tassie had 24 hour petrol stations. You would have thought someone would have mentioned this fun fact about Tasmania: petrol stations close at 6:30pm outside of Hobart city. At 8pm, we had an eighth of a tank left and drove to some small town called Tanawah or something like that. It was pitch black outside, raining, and all we wanted to do was to go home and sleep. Corey pulled us up to a pub to ask for directions. When they told us the devastating news, we asked if there was somewhere we could stay-like a back packer, a hostel, or a dry spot to pitch our tents. They told us that for $160, we could stay in their hotel, but we didn't want to spend the money. So instead, against their advice, we carefully and fuel efficiently drove to a town called Hamilton to find a place to crash for less money. As Mattie was looking through her travel guide Tasmania book, she noticed that the town we had just visited had a population of TEN people. TEN PEOPLE! What IS this place?? TEN PEOPLE? I would go crazy! Thank god we didn't stay there because the movie The Hills Have Eyes definitely needed another bad sequel and I think "Tasmania has Incest and Boagens" was going to be it, starring yours truly.

In Hamilton, our luck finally changed. We found a gas station that accepted credit cards and was open for independent fueling. Oh my god. I really thought for a second that we would have had to car camp in the middle of nowhere. I was definitely more okay with this idea than my co-campers however. They were all having silent anxiety attacks while I was slowly but surely getting myself more and more cozy in the back seat.

All I wanted was sleep. I love sleep. I am a professional sleeper. The benefits to sleeping in the middle of nowhere during a rain storm are just obvious: it is pitch black (so one can fall asleep quicker without the bothering of artificial lighting), the rain acts as a soothing lullaby (so one can have sweet dreams), and you are so far deep in sleep and concentrating on the sound of the rain that if a boagen or zombie attack were to in fact go down, you would be in such a deep sleep you wouldn't have to worry about being scared. I thought that no, this wasn't the best idea in the world (to sleep in the middle of nowhere) but hey, this will be the most terrifying bonding experiment ever. Perhaps I should take notes in case leadership camps want tips. "Tip #1, nothing builds trust or bonds people together more than a life scarring road trip through Tasmania"

Don't worry mom, we made it out alive. AND the important thing to note is that I had a great time AND I got to see so much of Tassie that no one ever gets to see. I saw massive waves, massive spiders, massive mullets and massive abs (thank you O'Niell surf tour).

So now I am back in Hobart. Home sweet home. I attended one of my various psychology lectures today and I finished and turned in my first research paper of the year. Tomorrow I will be finishing the other two massive art projects I have due on Wednesday, and later I will be attending a Seder. It is being held in the back of a church by the oldest synagogue in Australia. I think I may be the only one attending plus my 4 other goyim friends who insisted on coming--probably out of curiosity. Seriously, what is it and me being the first Jewish friend of people? When I talk to the Aussies here and they find out that I am a Jew, they freak out! Partially because some of their ancestors were SS, but partially also because they are so happy to meet a Jew. My American friends here also have never met Jews! It's like there arnt many Jews in the world or something. But no worries. I will not be fooled by this illusion. I know the truth. Thanks to my Jewish school upbringing in Los Angeles, California and my somewhat frequent visits to the East coast and Israel, I know that there really are tons of Jews everywhere. I just happen to find the only places in the world where no one has ever seen one!

Wednesday at noon starts my Easter break, speaking of Jewish inspired holidays, and I will be heading off on a different kind of adventure. Corey, Mattie, Tess, Corey #2 and I are heading off to Melbourne and then Sydney to tour city life. This will be so significantly different than to what I am currently used to. I have this awful feeling that it will be very similar to Beverley Hills Hillbillys, but Melbourne/Sydney invaded by American Tassies...

Hag Sameach for all you passover people! I am a day ahead of you so this is my first night of passover. Lets see if I can make 8 days without eating grains or breads...there is no matzah here so I may or may not have the resilience to last the entire time.

OH! MOTHER! I know you read this so I know you will get this message. Thank you so much for the package of shirts. I am so excited to have more than 5 wearable t-shirts. More importantly however, thank you so much for those three family photos. You know, the adorable ones with you and Sam, or of Dad in his 1970's pale blue button down, or my personal favorite, the one of you wearing my prom dress....ahem. ahem. hag sameach ;)

Bicheno, Wineglass, beaches and friends galore!

Guess what? I made friends! I know, I know. You were all very worried about my social abilities but worry no more! About two weeks ago I was invited to go on a trip to the East Coast of Tasmania and I suggested that perhaps we make it a surf safari. Good thing there is another girl from California here, because a surf safari the trip became!

Last weekend, 8 friends and I piled into a mini van and began on an epic journey to Bicheno and Wineglass Bay. There were 8 Americans and one Swede (Victor/ambitious, fearless surfer). The only two people who knew how to surf were Mattie (fellow Cali girl) and I. We rented 3 boards and strapped them to the top of the car. Two and a half hours of driving on the left side of the road later, we arrived in Bicheno. It is a very small but breath taking beach town. The beaches were deserted except for some mini waves and bleached white sands. That afternoon, the newly befriended 9 UTAS students went surfing for 4 hours. The newbies to surfing all caught waves along with the veterans.

The next day, Mattie, Carmen and I woke up at 7 to check out the waves (or lack there of) and decided a bush walk around Bicheno would be a great idea. The rocks by the sea were painted orange with algae. Lush brush surrounded the sea only to open up and expose secluded bays of transparent waves. Muscles and barnacles decorated the edges of boulders closest to the breaking water. Because it was early, the reflection of the sun shattered into a million pieces atop of the waves like broken glass on a tile floor.

Mattie, Carmen and I finally mozied our way to the beach where we surfed the day before only to find no waves. We found some local surfers and asked where was another good spot and they pointed eastwards towards the Bay of Fires. As we were loading our boards, those locals came by and started to load boards of their own. They were blasting Bob Marley so everyone in the car park could hear it. Little did we dumb, ignorant, Americans realize that we had left our volume on super high before shutting off the car. As we were all buckling up and shutting the doors of the trusty van to leave, Tim turned the on the ignition. BLASTING out our windows were the lyrics of Enrique Inglesias: "YOU CAN RUN, YOU CAN HIDE, BUT YOU CAN'T ESCAPE MY LOVE". Yea. The American stereotype was furthered when we tried to change the song to redeem ourselves and it was the vulgar "Do it like we do it on the discovery channel".

So, we took their directions and ended up in a national park. We took our boards off from the van and walked to the water and found mega waves. Though these were not surfable waves, the gang decided to test out the waters anyways. We first asked a local fisherman how bad the great whites were in the area and he assured us that we wouldn't get eaten.

I have never laughed so hard in my life. Mary, a girl from UPS, jumped on a board, paddled out, saw the size of the waves and decided to give up and try to come back to shore. As she was letting herself be pulled in by the tide, a massive wave picked up her and her board and she managed to do the most ungraceful nose dive onto the beach known in modern history.

Wait, Im sorry. I am going to dedicate this paragraph to the one true love of my life: tuna fish in a can. I am so sorry for the change in the topic, but I am currently eating dinner while typing, and can I just say how much I love Australia?? They have hundreds of differently flavored tuna in cans. They are small enough for snacks and you can have two mini cans and make it a meal. My goal is to try every flavor before leaving. This is my heaven. My first can for dinner was a Spanish-styled tuna (with tomatoes, olives and some lemon) and right this second I am munching on the sweet-seeded mustard flavor. My favorite thus far is the onion and tomato tuna. Tuna melts are in a whole other ballpark of taste-budded bliss. My aussie friends think I am the weirdest person on the planet for two reasons: I love their possums (they are adorable and fuzzy...way different than the American possums), AND I am an avid tuna enthusiast.

Following the wipe out brigades and my sunburning (typical), the gang and I hopped into the car and went to "NATUREWORLD!" home of the Tassie Devils and much more! In this animal park, Mattie and I decided to sit and play with the kangaroos while everyone else wandered about the vicinity. I think the animal kingdom had a biff with me that day or something because in one sitting, Mattie and I were attacked by a white elk (what was that doing in Australia?) and a male goose. That goose straight up charged us. Then, as we were walking away, a kangaroo about the size of Sam hopped over to us, (probably wanting food) but we decided to carefully walk away as quickly as possible. When we made it to the kiddie farm, I started playing with baby goats while Mattie went to pet the mother. Okay, the mother got mad and head butted her horns into Mattie's left knee. We ran out of there and into a man who worked there. He asked us if we wanted to see some Devils close up and of course we nodded yes! We got to pet a Tasmanian Devil! They are so cute!

So back into the van for another hour drive and off we were to Wineglass Bay, the most photogenic beach in the world. We repacked our packs and trekked up the 300 stairs and the hour hike on the sand to our unbelievable camp site. Though we were attacked by adorable fuzzy possums, camping out there was definitely worth it. The sunset was something that rivaled Hawaii. There was no one on the beach or at our campsite. Mattie, Tess, Bobby and I walked out onto the shoreline and laid on our backs. We watched the stars for hours. You could see the Milky Way. You could see planets. There were so many shooting stars we just lost count. While listening to the subtle crashes of the waves, we watched the stars in awe. That was when we decided, well, I decided to invent my own Southern Hemisphere constellations. We laughed and talked for a while and then headed back reluctantly to our tents and passed out.

That very next morning was gorgeous. We woke up to watch the sunrise and then explored the beach. At around 10am, we started our trek back up and around the mountains to where we parked the van. Before heading directly home to Hobart, we stopped at Friendly beach to see what the fuss was all about and trust me, there should always be fuss about that place. It was as if god read my mind about how I wanted my heaven to look like and made it appear before me. There was no one on the beach. It was our own private, white sand, crystal blue water, beach.

We then made it home, returned our rentals and slept.

That was my epic weekend. It involved various near deaths with Americans trying to drive on the left side of the road, some dancing on some beaches at midnight, and some singing of Garth Brook's "Friends in low Places". Apparently, Garth Brooks is a well known country artist loved by many college students. I had no idea. I thought it was just Steve.

For more current updates on my life: this week was hard. I had a lot of class and had to celebrate my friend Corey's birthday and St. Patty's day. (Okay, I didn't HAVE to do anything. But I felt it would be against my youth hood to not partake in the celebrations). Tess and I baked Corey cupcakes for his birthday and Carmen and Mattie helped make home made pizzas. So good. There was a fair amount of drinking on St. Patty's day around the city and everything was green. I had no idea that there was even an Irish community in Australia. Apparently it's pretty big.

The morning after St Patty's, I had the pleasure of attending class at 9am to draw a naked yoga instructor for 3 hours. God, Thursday's are hard. After that 3 hour session, I get an hour break and then head off to metal shop. I started making my chair! It's going to be a chair for midgets because it's super short, but at least now I wont have to use more metal. Friday I had my e-media class and it's so hard. I want to cry after leaving that class everytime. We learned how to edit our movies and I am in so much trouble if he wants me to construct a decent film about myself. Oy VEY!

Alrighty. I am off to begin preparing for a very familiar party being hosted by my rival dorm John Fisher. It is an 80's themed boogey down and I am so ready. Really, an 80's party? Could it GET more original? I mean, I am pretty sure the 80's only hit the States and Europe and no other country. Who are these people going to dress as? The girl from Pretty in Pink? A guy from Night at the Roxbury? or perhaps a Europop sensation...I rest my case: the 80's only happened in two areas. As if a koala would look good with crimped hair.

Until next time,

-Alie

Where have all the Jewish Mothers gone?

This was the first week that I actually had all of my classes. Last week, my Intro to Fabrication class was cancelled because the metal professor broke his foot, in the studio, while metal working. So it wasn't until this past thursday that I was actually able to attend my Intro to Fab class. The entire class consisted of 23 students of all ages. We were split into two sections: metal workers and wood workers. Apparently it's too difficult to learn both metal and wood working simultaneously. Of course, I was blessed enough to get into the smaller group: the metal workers. Oh holy Jesus mother of Christ, what did I get myself into? If rugby tackling doesn't get me hospitalized, then this class will. The lecturer spent 2 hours explaining what tools did what and how to work them. Then he spent another half hour going over the many different ways you can get hurt. "Your hair will get caught in this, your necklace will decapitate you, your ring will lose you your finger, your loose clothes will get you stuck in the grinder, your pants will light you on fire, and the fact that none of you know what you're doing means that all of you will suffer various booboos".

But alas, I had forgotten what country I decided to study in: the land of Steve Irwin, the place where the butterflies will give you malaria and the possums will jump out of trees to attack your face. My new Aussie brethren truly believe in the philosophy that injuries are nothing because hey, you're still living, right? Australians will tell you that shark infested waters are safe to swim in because no one had died from a shark bite in over 80 years. What they forget to mention is that people still get bit, they just are still alive.

After my 2 and a half hour lecture that scared me enough to never want to touch stainless steel, my lecturer gave us each a leather suit and leather gloves and told us that it was time to learn to weld. HA HA best joke of my life! Firstly, each student was wearing a heavy suit of leather that constricted body movement. Secondly, each student had a pair of heavy leather gloves that constricted body movement. In conclusion, each student was incapable of picking up a pencil, let alone welding. We were very much like the American action heros in the movies: walking in slow-mo away from an explosion or fire, appearing cool but not able to actually move.

So the lecturer looks over my way and gently guides me to my own personal welding station. He debriefed me, gave me one of those horror movie masks that are iron and cover your entire face but have one tinted slit out of which you can see. Anyways, he gives me two strips of metal and tells me to weld them together. Simple, right? Well, as it turns out, I am not a welder. I am a naked man drawer. I am so good at drawing a naked man (thanks to my figure drawing class) that my professor even stopped the class to notice my "gift"(we all have them). With that being said, as I took my welding device to the two slabs of iron, the lecturer/prof started yelling at me but I couldn't hear because the machine was so loud. And then I couldn't see his arms flailing begging me to stop, because my mask only has a tiny tinted sliver to see through...in other words, I am one disastrous welder. I managed to kind of get the two pieces stuck together, but while burning something or another(I am not entirely sure what it was). But, on a positive note, my two pieces of iron are officially one metal slab! What worries me however, is that my FIRST project, due in a few weeks, is to weld a CHAIR. If I can't figure out how to weld together a piece of scrap metal, how am I to weld a chair? For the sake of the safety of myself and of the rest of my fellow classmates, I would highly recommend my professor to give me private lessons or just to send me to the wood shop. This class was the highlight of my week. And just for a side note: there are obviously no Jewish mothers in the city of Hobart. If there were, then this class would not be in existence--that is fact.

Other than class, it was my American friend's birthday (Emily). She turned 21! I told her that we HAD to go out. Just because Aussies drink when they come out of the womb, doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate this momentous mile stone in Emily's life. Prior to the outting, I thought it would be a great idea to cook dinner instead of buying it. Corey, Bobby, Tess and I had an ambitious menu of pancakes and eggs. While cooking, some people in suits entered the Christ College kitchen. One of the more friendly people came up to Tess and me and started chatting up a storm. Tess looked at him while I was flipping some pancakes and asked: "so, who are you and what are you doing here?" Silly American! It was the Tasman GOVERNOR. Sorry Arnie, you've got nothing on this man. I can understand his accent! He shook our hands and asked our names and continued with questions. There was a camera guy snapping away photos: Tess and I in the foreground with the governor cooking the cakes, and the two boys eating the cakes in the background. In Christ, we are all for supporting gender stereotypes. If only they knew I am the worst cook in the world: having the ladies cook while the men nosh.

Following dinner came the night out. We boogied down to some pub music, had some jugs of sider, one or two meat pies, and one short cab ride back up the hill to school. At 9AM the next day, I caught the bus to Salamanka Market (our weekly farmer's market) and met up with the IFSA Butler advisor for some coffee and produce shopping. At 1 or so, the 4 other Butler program students and I headed off on a sailing adventure around the Hobart estuary. It was beautiful. It also was pretty nice because we were served lunch, tea (snacks) and tons of coffee and fruit. I miss watermelon so much, but they actually had some on this magical sail boat! We passed by a ship called "The Steve Irwin" and as you would have it, it is a famous ship! It is one of the two most aggressive anti-whaling ships that actively attacks the Japanese whalers in the Antarctic. I also saw another ship that goes to Antarctica and its sole purpose is to slice through thick sheets of ice!

After two and half hours out at sea, all I wanted to do was take a nap but instead, I made it to dry land and hiked around Hobart and up the massive, pain in the arse hill of hell. I walked with Lisa, the most fit person in the world and she didnt even break a sweat. Of course myself on the other hand, having my Baba and Zadie's genes, was drenched in sweat and was bright red. I better have buns of steal by the end of this trip, that's all I'm saying.

Well, it's Saturday night and I decided to spend it in my room and actually try and start on some of my art projects, homework and papers. I obviously am doing a great job at it too, considering this may be my longest blog to date. I also have to do my washing but I really don't want to. I am such a lazy American. However! Tomorrow IS Sunday AND I have no classes on Monday due to a national Australian holiday AND I have no class on Tuesday, so I think I will be just fine. I miss you all. Please come on skype sometime and talk to me, or send me a facebook message!

*Oh and Sarah, I wrote this in your message but I feel that this is something everyone has been asking me. For the record: there are in fact hot Australians in Australia...Surprise! They exist. They are prevalent. They are very different from American model-like men: they are not as self obsessed and they love being chivalrous. I was "escorted" last night to one of the pubs because god forbid a lady walk without an arm of support. Some of them refuse to curse in front of women (which never lasts) and they love dancing (like twirling and dipping and tango-like moves). On the flip side, they talk about the strangest things. For instance, I have yet to meet an attractive Aussie who isn't proud of almost running over a cat. They talk about eating kangaroos, the weird rules of footie, and how each American woman reminds them of either Hillary Clinton or Michelle Obama. Last night, I was Michelle Obama, Emily was Hillary Clinton, and Temi was Oprah. Yes. Last night, in the Bay Hotel, were the three most powerful women in the States, if not the world. Anyways, I have yet to meet a rude or unfriendly Aussie whether male or female, ugly or beautiful. I am waiting for the day that someone cuts me off or doesn't ask me how my day is.

On that note, I will write another blog soon. I miss y'all! In the words of my most epic hero, (Steve Irwin) I will end this stream of consciousness: "By Crikey!" what a week.

At this point, Why not?

These past few days have been ridiculous in the sense of transitioning from an American Uni to a Tassie Uni. Ask any Tassie or Aussie and they will tell you straight off the bat that nothing is quite as Upside Down as UTAS. With that being said, let me tell you about my first week or so of classes.

I am taking four courses: Introduction to fabrication, Figure Drawing, Social Psychology and E-Media. The first class I attended was Social Psych. The teacher talks to us like we're not native English speakers. She puts commas places where there is no need and smiles to herself as if she just made a joke throughout her lecture. Figure Drawing was better. It was following my "Society's Day" night, so granted I was exhausted. *Side note: Society's Day is the day you sign up for your clubs. I signed up for White Water Rafting and Sailing. For each club you sign up for, they give you 3-6 beers (depending on the popularity of the club). What does this translate to? The biggest, most crowded, club signing up festival known to Australia.

Next, I attended my E-media class. This class is intense and will probably be my hardest course here. It involves screenwriting, filming, directing, lighting. Anything that is remotely related to media in any form is what we will be learning about in e-media. The lecturer is pretty dry but the studio we work in and the equipment that we are supplied with really makes up for boredom. We have a fully varnished TV studio in the basement of the art building! There is a massive green screen, professional lights, multiple cameras, an editing room, an sound room. It will be the hardest but most rewarding class.

Can I just mention really quick how cool the art building itself is? Sure, sure the outside is lovely because it is on the water front of Hobart Harbor, but this place is art heaven. Every studio, every floor, is dedicated to a certain artist or art form or even genre of art. The building was made to appear as a giant art studio with various sections. There are the painting studios upstairs above the drawing studios. On the main floor there is an enormous art library, a state of the art lecture hall that could fit 150 easy. Down below there is a TV studio, a wood shop, a furniture making facility, a ceramics studio and a sculpture studio. Sure, Whitman has a great art building: it is new, fully furnished, lots of space. But this art building in Tassie truly has a life of its own. It has been lived in. It breaths. It has passion in its walls and it exudes artistic expression. Inspiration leaks out of the ceiling and students drink it up all day long. Sometimes I get nervous because I don't look like or think like the rest of the art students, but then I look at the building and take a breath and realize that this place is meant for the product of art, rather than the artist. Art can come from any person and this building allows people from all walks of life to enter and to create. So then after my wave of anxiety dies down, I take a breath, shrug my shoulders, and create.

Besides class, my life has definitely simmered down (thank god). The only thing is I cannot get away with what I could back in the states. By living in Christ College, everyone knows about everyone's whereabouts and gossip. It's like living in an American dorm with a cocaine addiction: Christ will do anything to score the whereabouts and news of all its residents. This being said, I have joined every bloody sports team known to man kind in Australia. When I said that I would "consider" joining the softball team, I got yelled at and was forced to put my jersey size on a piece of paper. I am now on the Softball team, the Rugby team, the Netball team, and god only knows how much time it will take me to join the Debate team.

We had our first practices and god are these teams fun. The girls are amazing and I really have missed participating in team sports. Softball practice is like watching my little cousin's peewee league back in the day when the kids would clash heads while running towards the popfly. The girls have NO idea how to throw, catch or even hit a baseball. A popfly was hit to Zaf in the outfield and as the ball started coming down, she ran her legs out AWAY from the ball, in fear of getting hit. I have never laughed so hard while playing a sport. The coach seemed less than impressed, but I really don't think he was surprised (this isn't his first time coaching Christ girls).

Now Rugby. That is a different experience all together. Last night was my first rugby training. We did some running, we did some basics, we threw an oversized football around. Rugby. That is a fantastic sport. Or maybe it's that I have a great group of girls playing with me. None of the freshers have any idea how to play, granted, but the lifers are more than happy to lend a hand. I love rugby! It's so much fun! We are learning how to tackle! So many girls in Christ, of all sizes (there are some TINY girls out there) joined the team and we may actually be able to win some games this season. Win or lose however, there will be no lack of enthusiasm or aggression. Following each practice, we sing our "Christ ladies are superior" chant and get on with our evening.

Alrighty. It is lunch time and I am famished! Dramatic word, yes I know, but Tess has these GRE vocab flash cards and why not? The word of the week for me is "fatuous"-stupid, or foolishly slow. Why limit my learning to my classes? ;) Arrevadercci!