Who's name is that?

A few days ago I finished reading my Bill Bryson book on Australia. It was such a great read and has peaked my interest in all things Oz, especially history. In Bryson’s book he mentioned some of his sources and thankfully I underlined them for later reference. Now I’ve been trying to get my book list completed for some time and since September of last year I’ve done a decent job of tackling the titles I’ve been scribbling down for years. However, I didn’t realize how much of an impact this trip and the Bryson book would have on my curiosity. Robert Hugh’s history of Australia, The Fatal Shore, was mentioned quite a bit not only for filling in some gaps but also taking a matter of fact glance at how the history is perceived by the world as well as the people of Australia. This book seemed like a pleasant detour from my list. I checked out a few bookshops and found that even used books in this city are expensive. An average paperback book in Borders runs you about $40-$50. I really wanted to read this book but not shell out that much for even a used one. I stopped by the State Library of Western Australia here in Perth to get a library card and start reading. The lady at the desk was helpful and evidently had recited the spiel numerous times so much so that the Australian inflection in her voice was gone. Apparently the state libraries are for reference only and not for checking out materials. I’m gonna say that I was dumbfounded and stood there for about 5 seconds with my head cocked to the side. I really didn’t understand. She handed me the pamphlet for the city library downtown and attempted a smile that would make me go away. What kind of library doesn’t allow you to check out materials?? Why is it even called a library? Across town in the basement of a governmental building is the real library of Perth. Walking in I saw the memberships desk and proceeded to take out my ID and a letter from the bank with my address on it. Without boring you for 10 minutes with all the details I’ll just say that the people here are very nice but occasionally their hospitality overrides their brains. There I said it. I had all the forms completed and the staff member assisting me dumbfounded by the end of our ordeal. Apparently the biggest hurdle we had to climb was the name of Heather’s employer. I had to list a reference in case I ran off with the books or they couldn’t reach me through the usual channels. Fine. I listed her info and told them that I wasn’t certain of her employer’s address but all other info was correct. The name of Heather’s company is Grant Thornton. The staff member couldn’t wrap her head about the fact that the name of Heather’s company also looks and sounds like a person’s name. Our confusion began here. After a Google search and confirmation through the search engine the staff member agreed I was right and jotted down the pertinent information. Minutes later I had a library card and a copy of The Fatal Shore in my hand. Mission accomplished.

The Blue and Gold.

Of all the changes we’ve experienced since arriving its nice to know there is one constant in this crazy mixed up world, IKEA. Yes, the big blue and yellow store found the world over is right here in Perth and well deserving of a trip to check it out. A few train stops later and we’re on the station platform looking over at this absolutely huge store in the distance. Inside it was like any other IKEA. Though there were a few more languages bouncing around and the hotdogs were larger (and more expensive) than we’ve expected. The IKEA hotdog is an important element to the IKEA experience. Didn't you know this? Here are the steps to make your IKEA Experience a most rewarding one.
Step One. Go to the quick serve restaurant near the cash registers and purchase at least one hotdog and a refillable drink.
Step Two. Once you’ve finished eating refill the drink cup. (Purchase more hotdogs if necessary.)
Step Three. Walk around the store perusing all the great items with a full stomach and drink.
We do this not only to starve off the hunger pangs but also to get that full-relaxed feeling to ambulate through the store at an easy pace. Those of you unfamiliar with the IKEA Experience steps please head out to your nearest IKEA and follow steps One through Three. Go ahead, I'll wait.

To each their own?

Tonight’s entertainment at the restaurant was a few idiots playing live music. I say that with hatred and simple language but its all I’ve got in me to describe my feelings toward live music. No matter the venue; restaurant, bar, or café the music is so unbelievably loud. I’m a music guy. I love loud music but the single idiot with his guitar playing to a small café of people doesn’t need to be heard 10 blocks away. Whatever happened to just letting the music become the background? I hate, absolutely hate shouting at people just to talk to them in one of these places. There is no reason for your music to be that loud. You’re not very good anyway. Turn that crap down! Or better yet forget about amplification and go completely acoustic! Isn’t that the most natural form of your guitar strumming idiot lifestyle? All of these guys are the same. I stare at the guitar player this evening. I wonder why he is literally yelling his sweet, sweet ballad into the microphone. I stare at the sound guy behind the huge box of switches and lights. Why isn’t he correcting this problem? I look back at the guitar idiot. Maybe his music is ok but you can’t hear it over the amplification and yelling. No. No its not. I admire artists who push the limits and ride the edge. I admire artists who take something great and make it better. I admire artists who turn the natural into the unnatural. I love artists who make me think and want to be a better human. I hate these guitar-strumming idiots in cafes who crank their volume up so high that I want to leave. There I said it. Live music sucks. Can't a guy get a meal or a pint without losing his hearing these days? AND GET OFF MY LAWN DAG-NABBIT!

The Lettuce is not Lettuce.

The Moon café in Northbridge is a hipster joint. The front resembles a trendy diner and the rear more of a comfy chair sitting and dining arrangement. Heather and I order some hamburgers and fries from the menu. It is the only normal food on the menu and by normal I mean under $35. What catches my guard is the inclusion of beetroot lettuce on the burger. As we all know I hate beets with a passion. Thinking that the lettuce of the beet would be ok (and an interesting thing to try) I made no substitutions on the burger. We talk with the Welsh guy beside me in between his glasses of wine. He seems interesting even though I don't understand half of what he is saying. Our food arrives and it looks like paradise: Huge burger and a huge plate of fries to go with it. During the melee of loud music, screaming conversation and general hunger a few things came to pass all too quickly. I’ll try my best now to lay them all out in a more organized fashion then they occurred.
While trying to keep a nice flow of conversation going with a few people simultaneously we dove into our burger and fries without looking too much like beasts at the trough. I pulled my apart because of my curiosity for this beetroot lettuce. On the left bun was a small pale mound of meat like substance that in my opinion resembled a hamburger enough for my purposes tonight. Frankly, in my years I’ve eaten enough non-meat looking hamburgers to choke a donkey so we had no qualms here. On the right bun was the array of toppings that in whole accounted for more than 60% of the actual “burger.” I forked through the shredded lettuce and tomato to see the horror of horrors. Before me sitting in a pink liquid soaked bun were three slices of beets. I sat staring at them like I was looking down on a crime scene. I was disgusted. Repulsed! For too long I’ve been avoiding them like the plague. They caught up with me finally. Touché Beets. Heather finally noticed what was transpiring. She saw the beets. She saw my face. Deep down inside I knew she chuckled a little. Never before in the entire term of our relationship have I ever, ever, ever picked at my food to remove anything. I have always prided myself on having the stomach for anything, except beets. Tonight I was humbled. How can you know your enemy if you never face him? The meat-ish burger only was eaten while the remainder left behind on the plate. A few minutes later while we’re picking away at our fries a young Belgian comes in to join us. He sits next to Heather. As she and I are talking the Belgian leans over and picks at Heather’s plate without a single departure in character. We look at each other and agree that what happened just happened. The Belgian picked away some more while talking about his future exploits in Australia. His plan to rent a truck and drive clockwise around the continent sounded amazingly ballsy. The Welshman agreed. (Though we couldn’t understand a word that he said.)

Censorship

One topic of discussion that has eluded me for a few days has been censorship. Being a European colony still I knew that standards would be looser than the States. The network television stations are slightly more racy in the later hours than the States. After 10pm it’s not uncommon for them to show programs and movies that would have a heavy R rating in the states. An example of this late night programming would be the film Mulholland Drive. Out in the real world there really isn’t any constant indication of a looser standard of censorship. The biggest brush we had with something like that would be the music in a shoe store earlier today. A hip-hop song was playing and as usual I wasn’t really paying any attention to it. What did catch our attention were the explicit lyrics of a particular verse in the song. We looked up and saw no mother clutching her daughter’s ears in horror, we saw no old ladies grimacing at the shopkeeper, we saw no looks of disgust. People just moved on with their shopping. Now, you could argue that the sale was so distracting that no one noticed or perhaps nobody cared. I don’t really know. It was midday on a Sunday and the stores were full of people young and old. I’m still interested to see more of this country’s culture and how it reflects its European mother country.

Sounds from the Street

Street Sounds
Originally uploaded by Loaded Chilidog

Old and New

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Originally uploaded by Loaded Chilidog

Downtown is full of both old and new buildings. It odd but yet beautiful to see these gorgeous old English buildings beside towering heaps of metal and glass.

Check out the sidebar for more photos of Perth and our adventures.

GT down under

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Originally uploaded by Loaded Chilidog

Here is a quick pic of the GT building. We are technically on the second and third floors but they call the first floor the ground floor so we are on the first and second floors. The interior has been recently remodelled and is a european/modern style with lots of fun colors and wall art. The audit pit is on the second or top floor and has an actual break room with numerous amenities, a flat screen and a patio. A video tour of the office with more pictures will be coming soon.

???

Why are all the phone numbers ordered differently each time I see one?? “Dial 13 56 77” or “Dial 0445563821” or “Dial 2789 455 1199”. This doesn’t make sense to me yet.

Local Footie Practice

Local Footie Practive
Originally uploaded by Loaded Chilidog

Even when playing by yourself footie can get pretty rough, you should always wear elbow and knee pads.

Patrick's Aussie counterpart ??

This is one of the Directors here in the land of OZ. When I first saw him I thought he looked like a outback version of Patrick. What do you think? I also saw an Australian version of Robert Boyd in an electronic store but I thought it would be rude to just snap a picture. The funniest part was that he was not wearing any shoes. I guess the no shirt no shoes no service policy does not apply here.