All I Want for Christmas

It’s simple, really. Just a few minor things.

Steak, medium. Gravy. Fresh mushrooms. Broccoli. Fetta. Cheddar. Brie. Camembert, double cream. Cream. Milk. Olives. Pastrami. Bacon. Ham. Turkey. Prawns. Sausages. Potato salad. Quiche. Strawberries. Blueberries. Raspberries. Plums. Grapes. Nectarines. Peaches. Pizza. Aioli. Sweet chilli mayonnaise. Multigrain. Sourdough. Spinach leaves. Rocket leaves. Capsicum. Pesto. Sundried tomatoes. Fresh herbs. Artichoke. Snow peas. Sushi. Cider. Beer. Cheesecake. Pastry. Dark chocolate. White chocolate. Medium chocolate. Cherry Ripes. Caramello Koalas. Freddo Frogs. Chokitos. Crumbed fish. Hollondaise. Sour cream. Guacamole. Tortillas. Doritos. Salsa. Green chicken curry. Pad Thai. Spring rolls. Kebabs. Turkish bread. Hummus. Parmesan, basil and cashew chunky dip. Barbeque shapes. Barbeques. Smoked salmon. Pork. Dumplings.  Asparagus dip. Cream cheese. Lasagne. Roast beef and vegetables. Sweet potato. Not eggplant. Muesli bars.

Uninterrupted sunshine. Surf beaches. Heat without humidity. Smooth roads. Hot water. Potable water. Screens on windows. Newspapers containing newsworthy events. More than two TV channels. Efficient waste management system. Vehicle exhaust without holes. Trains. No ants, cockroaches, or mice. No bed bugs. Couches you can slouch on. Fast internet. Internet on phone. No public spitting. Walking anonymously on streets.

Family. Friends. Clean dogs and other animals.

All in that order.

But most of all, most of all, I’d love a place where Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas doesn’t play incessantly in shopping malls and on the streets. Maybe I should’ve moved to Riyadh.

Seriously though, a volunteer’s needs are simple. As many of us make the migration back to Australia for the holidays, our time will be taken up in two major ways: eating out with friends and family; and begging those friends and family to pay for those meals, because converting Fijian dollars to Australian dollars is not a fun exercise. To those loved ones who will be receiving their brave and selfless progeny over Christmas: do not be disheartened when their eyes glaze over in pleasure as they stick a fork into a perfectly poached egg and yolk bursts forth to mix with fresh hollandaise. Fret not when they loosen their welcome hug as they see the baked cheesecake adorned with fresh cream and berries sitting on the kitchen bench behind you. Smile knowingly when they stop mid-conversation to moan loudly and appreciatively as a forkful of steak meets their tastebuds. But most importantly, most critically, provide them with these treats. We don’t have any money.

Our hearts go out to those volunteers who for many reasons are not escaping. Poor buggers, having to fend for themselves in Tropical Paradise while the rest of us experience unseasonably cold and potentially wet Christmas. Although let’s face it, Christmas in Suva? It’s definitely going to be wet. For our fallen comrades, I gift you with this.

Merry Christmas to one and all.

Let it be clear, that all I want for Christmas is definitely not you. I in no way support or agree with the lyrics of Mariah Carey.

The Oscars

Good evening and welcome to the first, and likely only Academy Awards to be hosted by this blog. I’m Stiji, and I’ll be walking with you down the red carpet as we reminisce, ruminate, and ultimately judge harshly, the best movies Hollywood has produced over the last seven months. A total of 24 films are in the running for this year’s coveted ‘Best Picture’ Oscar (hosted proudly by Village Six Cinemas), but only one (perhaps more, if I get bored with thinking of ingenious award titles) will be the winner. I’d like to take this opportunity now to apologise to all those films I’ve probably seen but forgotten to list here: you will always remain close to the Academy’s heart, albeit shadowed by other, more memorable movies. And now, without further ado, I present to you 2011’s Oscars!

Best Film to See with a Fijian Audience THOR. Also the first to be viewed at Village Six, this gem was completed by the raucous laughter and howls of entertainment by the packed-out audience. Clearly a winner in the eyes of the people.

Best Platform for Harrison Ford Comeback COWBOYS & ALIENS. He defined the ‘space cowboy’ character in the seminal original Star Wars trilogy and returns over thirty years later as just a regular cowboy, but still manages to co-star with aliens. Typecast much?

Best Use of Creepy Teenaged Girl Assassin HANNA. This action film may have a star-studded cast, a pumping soundtrack courtesy of the Chemical Brothers, and some truly mesmerising visuals, but it’s all tied together by the wholly original (meaning non-horror) use of Hanna, the creepy teenaged girl assassin.

Best Unromantic Thriller CONTAGION. Sure, some people might enjoy seeing Gwyneth Paltrow being scalped, but the overarching message of this film is ‘don’t touch anything, or anyone’. And that message is brilliantly and terrifyingly executed.

Best Casting PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: ON STRANGER TIDES. Whoever decided to cast Johnny Depp and Salma Hayek together in this film is a genius. They look identical when wearing the same makeup. Yep. Only amazing thing about that movie, which says a lot.

Best Use of Sign Language RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES. I didn’t understand any of it, because it was American Sign Language, but it was nevertheless cool seeing a computer-generated ape using sign language on the big screen, particularly given my current area of employment.

Best Use of a Token Black Guy HORRIBLE BOSSES. This buddy film is wrong in all the right ways, and Jamie Foxx plays a truly phenomenal pretend killer.

Best Mutilation of an Historical Event X-MEN: FIRST CLASS. This was a tough category to judge, with a number of films in contention for the award. However, adding mutants to the Cuban Missile Crisis was a genius idea, and made for a pretty stunning conclusion to one of the best films of the year.

Best…Lighting? CONAN. This film, well, it managed to have lighting throughout. Unfortunately that often meant having to watch some truly horrendous scenes.

Best Use of Green GREEN LANTERN. Hey, if anything, we learnt that computer imagery-produced superhero masks do not work. Plus, you know, hold onto your green items of clothing and eat your broccoli: it all might just be the secret to unlimited power.

Best Half of a Movie: HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS PART 2. It was a truly momentous finale, there’s no denying it. But that’s all it was – a two hour finale to end a much-loved franchise spanning a decade. *Sob*.

Best Re-release of Childhood Classic in 3D LION KING 3D. The stampede. In 3D. How could it not win? And don't even get me started on the death of Mufasa.

Best Use of Lens Flare ALL the Time SUPER 8. A creature feature, a blast from the past, an homage to all those Steven Spielberg movies we loved growing up, this film also contained more lens flares than you can poke a stick at. And there’s really nothing wrong with that.

Best Character Death THREE MUSKETEERS. When a character’s name is actually ‘Milady’, she deserves to die. Doubly so considering Milla Jovovich plays her. And what better way to go than to be pushed off a hybrid zeppelin/tallship into the French Channel?

Best Beginning and End, But Sucky Middle TRANSFORMERS: DARK OF THE MOON. Great beginning, excellent use of 3D technology, and a pretty spectacular ending. Why did Michael Bay even bother with the exposition? It’s a movie based on a toy franchise.

Best Poorly-Executed Idea IN TIME. It had such promise. Then they decided to cast Justin Timberlake as the protagonist, and gave him a weak script to work off. But interesting idea all the same.

Best Inclusion of Flying Cars CARS 2. Not since Chitty Chitty Bang Bang have I seen a film showcasing such amazing flights of fancy using cars. It doesn’t quite have the same magic as the old Disney classic, but let’s just chalk that up to the film not having memorable tunes.

Best Actors in a Bad Movie YOUR HIGHNESS. I’m really not sure what Natalie Portman and James Franco were thinking.

Best Use of Body Bronzer IMMORTALS. This was a close tie with Transformers, but the sheer amount of bronzer used on every half-naked cast member was more than enough to push Immortals over the line. All the weird gold headgear helped as well.

Best Father-Son Film REAL STEEL. Predictable, yet heartwarming (and with killer robots!!! Woot!), this film was a surprising crowd-pleaser with real heart. Also, Hugh Jackman looks weird without his Wolverine hairdo.

Best Villain CAPTAIN AMERICA. Hugo Weaving with a giant red skull for a head? That’s a win right there, even without mentioning the fact he wields a fist-sized cube that can destroy the world. And let’s not forget his dastardly Deutsche accent. Wunderbar!

Best Combination of Science Fiction and Christmas ARTHUR CHRISTMAS. Any Christmas-themed movie that features the vocal talents of Hugh Laurie and James McAvoy is already a win. Add a Christmas sled that has a cloaking device and is as large as a city, and you have an Oscar-winning film on your hands.

Best Emotional Film THE DESCENDANTS. Definitely a film that was hampered by a Fijian audience, not helped, yet still managed to be beautiful and tragic at the same time. A rare gem that will make you laugh (not as much as Fijians) and cry (almost).

Best Use of a Pizza Delivery Guy 30 MINUTES OR LESS. I mean come on. It’s not every day the main character is a loser pizza delivery guy that gets a bomb strapped to his chest and is forced to rob a bank.

The Oscars: proudly presented to you by Village Six Cinemas

And now, I present to you all, what I consider to be the Best Picture this year. This is the film that I enjoyed above all others. It has a fantastic cast, an engaging yet bittersweet story, and like The Descendants, managed to walk the line between hilarity and heartbreak with poise and sensitivity. It was also one of only a few movies I’ve seen where the lucky dip presented me with a vanilla choc top instead of coffee.

The winner of this year’s Best Picture goes to – CRAZY STUPID LOVE.

I was SO close to writing a terrible pun about me being crazy and stupid for loving it….I’m glad I dodged that landmine.

Please note: these films are not in any particular order. As I said before, I have very probably forgotten to list several movies that I’ve seen and then forgot about. Blame it on the all too frequent choc top overdoses.

Seasons of Love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand moments in Feej

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure

Measure a Year

In sweat stains

In hard rain

In screams at people

For drinking coffee

In welcomes

Farewells

In sunsets and booze

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure

Measure a Year

Yes, fine. It hasn’t been a year. I was going to change the lyrics to three hundred and two thousand four hundred minutes, but it just didn’t have the same ring to it. I recommend you just deal with it. And with that out of the way, let’s dive right in. Seasons. In a place like Fiji, they don’t quite exist, so the song on which this post is based on is rather pertinent. I’ve been here seven months now, almost enough time for three seasons. Of course you’d never know: the maximum temperature in seven months has fluctuated all of 10 degrees. And whilst the year can technically be broken up into the dry season and wet season, Suva seems largely to be exempt from this contrast, opting instead to be soggy year round. I guess if I had to be totally honest, you could differentiate the seasons via the calculation of parts per million of mosquitoes and other airborne bite-inducing creatures in the atmosphere, but really, that’s just too much work. Instead, I’ve decided to devolve things (do I do anything else?) and proffer the Theory of Seasons using Food. Yep.

The Theory of Seasons using Food is simple enough, although hardly accurate. TSF splits the year into two uneven parts: the season of avocadoes and mangoes; and the season where we all wish there were avocadoes and mangoes. I arrived Feej-side just as the avocado season ended (and it didn’t end well, stupid avocado pears and their watery tastelessness), and the mangoes had long since stopped falling off the trees. Despite no real change in temperature, real seasons clearly turned, because over the last couple of weeks, avocadoes and mangoes have arrived in full force.

And. They. Are. Delicious.

If you’d asked me a month ago to write down the ten things I missed most, 80% of that list would have comprised food items. Largely within the realms of red meat and high-end dairy products, with a large space for all things Mexican (technically avocado makes up a significant portion of Mexican food, but let's ignore that fact for the time being). And then last weekend my world was turned upside down, when Housemate Emma picked up about 15 mangoes and several avocadoes. On a side note, Housemate Emma turned things further around yesterday when she became like the eighteenth person to leave Fiji, and more importantly, me. So the world is kind of skewed at a 320 degree angle right now. Or something. But it’s a skewed world with mangoes in it. And avocadoes. I honestly didn’t know how much I missed them until I destroyed one of each. And then two of each. And then I ran out of avocadoes, but I’m still going strong on the mangoes.

And there you have it. TSF. Theory of Seasons using Food. Way better than anything Rent could come up with.

It’s official. I only ever think of ‘humour’ involving lyrics when I’m walking places. For those not so musically-inclined, see the below video to get an idea what this post is based on. Special shout out this time goes to Steve Carell for leaving The Office, and to Housemate Emma for leaving my house, but being considerate enough both to buy avocadoes and mangoes, and to not laugh at me for shedding a tear. For Steve Carell, not her.

Sunburn

There are many, many things that set expats apart from tourists visiting Fiji. The ability to pronounce ‘Bula’ correctly; the knowledge that whilst you can wear a t-shirt and shorts to work, the line is drawn before you combine socks with sandals; and knowing where to find the few good coffee places are just a few examples. Then there’s the whole actually being culturally sensitive thing. But what is it that actually sets them apart? Steveinfeej investigates.

New research suggests that over time, expats develop what experts and teenaged bloggers alike have labelled ‘Awesome Shields’, or ‘Shields of Awesome’ (evidence can be found both in peer-reviewed scientific journals such as I Can’t Believe It’s Non-Fiction Journal and The International Journal of the Mundane and Strange, and like, all up in the blogosphere). Dependent on the initial awesomeness of the individual, an expat can develop this shield in as little as one month, and thus begin life as a non-tourist.

Figure 1: the muppet and clown in this image made the mistake of donning Fijian clothing  before developing an Awesome Shield. Results are as you see them.

An expat with an Awesome Shield develops a natural repellent to Bula shirts and other Fijian/Indo Fijian fashion. However, should a Bula shirt or otherwise be particularly ferocious and force itself onto the expat, that expat’s Awesome Shield will alter the appearance of the apparel, enabling the wearer to, in layman’s terms, look fully sick. The longer one employs an Awesome Shield, the less likely one will be forced to wear Fijian clothing. Generally speaking, should an expat have to wear Fijian attire after approximately  one year of living in situ, that expat will pull it off so well s/he will elicit cries of pleasure and potential shouts of ‘uro!’ from the local population.

Figure 2: Awesome shields are very evidently in place in this image, as the girls here look at ease and practically native.

Awesome Shields also protect the bearer from being ripped off, to varying degrees. In its nascent stage, a Shield of Awesome is only capable of identifying threats, not dealing with them. For example, an expat with only three or four months in country will know that s/he is being ripped off when s/he is charged $35 taxi fare to the airport. An increased Awesome level allows for slight manipulation of what is technically known as the ‘rip-offeree’. This includes purchasing multiple drinks simultaneously, just prior to happy hour ending, and flashing a homemade ‘local ID’ in order to get cheaper rates at an assortment of venues (NB: this cheaper rate is by no means the same as a local rate, but at least partially diminishes the effects of having lighter skin). A fully-developed Awesome Shield allows the bearer to maintain cordial relations, either independently or via a well-connected network, with a number of resort-style establishments. This is in addition to having an intimate knowledge, to the 10c, of taxi fares within Suva, as well as the ability to shout down a driver who refuses to turn on his metre. A fully-fledged Shield of Awesome can, in the right environment, also work to rip off the locals (an honour system has been put in place, although it unfortunately has not prevented certain individuals for using their powers for evil). For instance, the Shield is capable of creating an air of confidence that Fijians are not capable of puncturing. Uses for this include walking into various establishments without paying (ranging from gyms to resort restaurants for free buffet breakfasts), getting chairs delivered to the office only 3 weeks after you paid for them, and giving smaller fares to taxi drivers who are stupid enough not to have a metre and think you’re nothing more than a clueless tourist.

Finally, Awesome Shields are able, if developed enough, to prevent sunburn. Please note, they are not capable of preventing skin cells going into trauma. Being an invisible and highly conceptual idea, Awesome Shields can in no way block UV rays. They can, however, turn those rays into a rather healthy glow, which assists in providing yet another physical differentiator between expats and tourists.

Unfortunately, the Awesome Shield has not been tested enough to ascertain its effects on those tourists that come to visit expats. It has been suggested that proximity to one bearing an Awesome Shield affords non-expats some low level protection. Whilst this is highly probable, recent field research has ascertained that the Shield of Awesome has no effect on others’ tanning abilities, leaving all but the bearer of the Shield burnt and peeling after prolonged exposure to the sun.

Figure 3: Note the healthy glow of the Awesome Shield emanating from the expat (second from left),  with the other subjects exhibiting either pastiness or sunburn.

More research into this fascinating area of quasi-science is needed before fully conclusive remarks can be made. The author would like to thank members of WorldLan Summit 2011 for taking part in the most recent iteration of study. The author would also like to thank WorldLan for sponsoring the study. ‘WorldLan: Whatever, Your Mother Works at McDonalds’.

On a personal note, I’d like to thank Poods, Fatto and Danny (you really need an offensive nickname) for visiting me. Specifically, thank you for making me, for the first time in my life, look incredibly brown and awesome, and for providing some fantastically hilarious company during a time when work was so frustrating (read the previous blog post for further details). You guys are awesome!

Anecdotal Evidence

It was a particularly noncommittal day weatherwise when our unassuming hero Stiji arrived on foot at the place of his voluntarism. Outside volunteer circles, work was always vocalised as ‘volunteering’, for reasons relating to the respectful and awestruck looks one receives upon stating that ‘yes, it’s true, I’m a full time volunteer. I volunteer’. The conversation inevitably wraps up prematurely upon further questioning, lest the respectful and awestruck passersby ask exactly how much the volunteer wage is.

Upon arriving at the office soon after 8, Stiji found the door locked. This was by no means an uncommon occurrence. In fact, the more astute percentage of the population will make an uncannily accurate statement, examples of which include: ‘that door is still locked at 8 as often as the sun rises in the east’; or ‘that door is as likely to be open by 8 as tits on a bull’. Unfazed, Stiji sat down in the kitchen, where he waited for the usual 40-45 minutes before someone arrived bearing the incredibly rare/possibly unique office key.

Entry was gained with a little more than seven hours of the working day remaining, and Stiji, sporting a rather lovely (yet blister-inducing) new pair of flip-flops courtesy of his sister, sat down and prepared for his day. He spared a morose look for the other half of the small desk, which up until the day previously, he had shared with another volunteer. Due to lack of space, they had often played involuntary footsie, and recently signed the Treaty of Orangedesk, ending the Elbow Wars for the sixteenth time. George’s absence was possibly for the best, as the fifteen previous treaties had maintained peace for no more than 72 hours, and the numerous violations of the Geneva Convention, namely the inclusion of elbow-mounted shivs, pointed towards imminent mutually assured destruction. Still, the morose look was pointed and drawn out in an overly dramatic fashion, and then Stiji got to enjoying having a whole desk to himself.

It is a well-known fact that Stiji’s place of employment/voluntarism (dependent on the reader) was a dreadfully entertaining place to work/volunteer, in a sort of tear-your-hair-out-in-order-not-to-pay-for-haircuts, bang-your-face-against-the-wall-because-broken-noses-look-dashing way. Previous chuckle-worthy misadventures have included Stiji being asked to ‘push a button’ to get more funding; writing a letter to a bank asking for a tent for Deaf people to sit under at the highly celebrated Hibiscus Festival; and most recently, writing a letter asking for 13 chickens to be donated to cover monthly office costs.

This day, with the noncommittal weather, was no different. Stiji found himself being the only hearing person in the office. Whilst this had happened frequently in the past, George had previously always been present to share the onerous tasks of answering the phone and feigning ignorance whenever someone came into the office wanting something. However, being considered somewhat of an ‘old hand’ at this volunteering thing (the term ‘old hand’ officially becomes part of one's handle upon volunteering for six months), the daily chores became a little more complicated. Unfortunately, Stiji’s knowledge of sign language had not increased at the same rate.

Interpretation of the first query went something like this: “Can you call….check…Tina….pay”. With that knowledge in hand, Stiji made the call. Fortunately, it was engaged. Next job was to call Tina directly. The Tina who, at that very moment, was interpreting at a workshop in Nadi and would in no way answer her phone. Still, Stiji tried four times, exercising a level of patience which he thought he still needed several thousand more XP points for. Tina eventually called back to remind Stiji’s office colleagues what she had already told them a few days earlier.

The proverbial icing on the cake, which for the record, Stiji had not enjoyed for quite some time now, was interpreted by Stiji thus: “Can you call this number ask for number for bags chicken”. Thinking on his newly-blistered feet, Stiji worked his sign language magic in an attempt to further clarify. He signed: “What?” Slowly, more information was dredged to light. Communication reverted to pen and paper, but now confident what to ask for (the number for the bags of chicken), he made the call. It went something like this: “Yes hi, um, hi, I’m calling because someone here faxed a letter last week asking for bags of chickens, and we need the number for it. You’ll put me through to marketing? Great, thanks….Yes hi, um, hi, I’m calling because someone here faxed…no wait, sorry, mailed, no, hang on, ah, he came into your office last week with a letter. Yep, so there was this guy that came to your office last week with a letter asking for donations of bags of chickens. And apparently we need a number for that. What kind of number? You got me. Yes! Like a reference number! A reference number for the bags of chickens so we can pick them up on Thursday. You don’t give out reference numbers. OK. Great. Any chance you can just give a random selection of numbers I can give to my colleagues? No, you’re right, that would be wrong. So you don’t – wait, hang on. We’ve found it. We’ve found the number. It was on the bottom of the letter we sent you, filed in the filing cabinet exactly where it should’ve been. Why am I calling? He said he lost it. No, you’re right. I would’ve looked exactly where it should’ve been first too. Thank you for your time. Thanks. Buh-bye”.

Minutes later, Stiji decided his hair was rather long enough, thank you very much, and proceeded to tear it out in a precise and methodical manner. He had had, after all, plenty of practice.

Apparently this kind of thing is bloggable. I’m not so sure, but hey, why not. If you can't laugh, you cry, right? I really need you all to laugh so I'm laughing like a maniac on my own.

A Brave New World

I woke gradually to the sound of rain falling at a decelerated rate onto the synthetic physical barrier above me. Stretching, I brushed my finger against the wall of the somnia capsule and the rain eased immediately, its function as a wake-up call fulfilled. With a series of melodious tinklings emanating from its speakers, Errol, my personal biosynth assistant floated into the room, broadcasting overnight news direct to my brain via light pulse. I swung out of my capsule, and stood. Errol removed a gown from my wardrobe and wrapped it around me with a maniple field whilst simultaneously ejecting morning sustenance from its dusky body. As I consumed my combination of proteins, vitamins and complex carbohydrates, the gown Errol had wrapped around me shivered, sloughing off dirt and dead skin cells using sonic vibrations. Its job complete, the gown was removed and I manually stepped into the day’s clothing.

Stepping out of my quarters and into the warmly lit corridor, I was gently instructed by light pulse to breathe deeply. A faint scent of what I was told was cinnamon and banana registered, and contentment blossomed within me. I presented a warm smile and nod of greeting to Landa, my proximal inhabitant who had exited her quarters at the same time. I acquiesced to the light pulse persuading me to verbally greet Landa.

“Hello”.

“Pleasant morning, Tomn” was her response. Had my system not been full of the neural relaxants and cognition suppressors currently mixing within the hall’s atmosphere, I may have detected a slight level of panic within her voice. The light pulse, flickering imperceptibly from nodes within the floor to ceiling screens of warm illumination, advised me to question what she was wearing on her face. Had she responded to the question, the answer would have been ‘glasses’. However, her reaction was unexpected and shocking, even in my chemically-induced relaxed state. She stopped immediately, and turned faster than I had ever seen a human move. Her muscles bunched and tensed, and it looked as though she were about to sprint away. Then she paused, turned again, lifted her arms to my shoulders and gripped them. I registered pain.

“They’re gone, Tomn. They’re gone. Everything has changed”.

And with that, she too was gone, sprinting down the corridor at a speed which baffled me completely. There was silence: even the light pulse was flicking a holding pattern of non-information directly to my neural synapses through my ocular senses. For the first time since…since forever, it was truly silent. I felt something stirring deep within, rising from the depths of my subconscious. My tactile senses prickled, and a wave of heat washed from my chest to my extremities. Then, a change in the atmosphere, and smell of coriander, cumin, and a hint of avocado filled the hall, and that shadow within me began to sink once more. The light pulse fired into my eyes with ferocious rapidity, and I’d forgotten why I’d even stopped. I turned and walked in warm comfort towards my activity station.

Alk strolled over to me as I sat down at my station and pushed my hands into the synthetic conductor gel. A screen lifted before me, and the light pulse strobed instructions in time with Alk’s gentle voice.

“Hello, Tomn”.

“Pleasant morning, Alk”.

“Are you ready to begin your daily activity?”

At that moment, the shadow within leapt and took control, snapping my neck to the right. Landa usually sat at the station there. It was empty.

“Where’s Landa?” I asked. As the shadow sunk once more into nothingness, I noticed Alk pause and tilt his head, his eyes locking more fully onto the light pulse.

“Who’s Landa?” Alk asked gently. The shadow again struggled to rise, but this time it was met with the fragrance of medium steak drizzled with fresh mushroom gravy. It immediately sank below, and I realised that I did not in fact know who Landa was. Alk spoke again.  “Are you ready to begin your daily activity?”

“Yes, I am”, I replied.

“Today we’re doing something different. We’ve removed a few things from the equation, but your activity remains the same. Do you understand?”

“What did you remove?” I asked.

There was a slight pause. Part of me thought Alk perhaps did not want to broach a sensitive subject.

“We have removed G-6 and Intake 29”.

The shadow leapt again, this time detonating within me and sending terror arcing through my body. No G-6 or Intake 29. The very thought of life without them fuelled the panic I was experiencing. I tore my eyes from the light pulse and its soothing suggestions, and the feeling of hopelessness increased exponentially. No more G-6 or Intake 29. How would I possibly function without these vital ingredients of life? No G-6 meant a complete lack of entertainment during all waking hours, particularly those spent at daily activities. The demise of Intake 29 suggested a massive upset in social cohesion and leisure activities, not to mention a marked decrease in planning and other events. It meant far heavier reliance on the existing Intakes 30 and 31, and extreme expectations for the upcoming Intake 32. In sum, it was a complete game changer.

As these horrible thoughts hurtled around my consciousness, colliding and wheeling within the ever-expanding shadow, I barely heard Alk trying to persuade me:

“Tomn, you need to look at the screen. Look at the screen Tomn. Tomn, focus your eyes on the screen”.

But I would not. My head jerked from side to side and tears trickled and then streamed down my face as I faced the prospect of living life without G-6 and Intake 29. Landa, whoever she was, had been right. Everything had changed. With an inhuman shriek, I began to pull my hands from the synthetic conductor gel. Somewhere far away I heard Alk speak. An instant later the room filled with the buttery smell of hollandaise sauce, perfectly poached eggs, fried bacon and wilted spinach. Slowly, the shadow receded. Moments later it had all but disappeared, and my stomach rumbled. I sunk my hands back into the synthetic conductor gel and began my daily activities. But somewhere, deep within, hiding underneath the dark shadow that remained, was knowledge that I had experienced six months, six wonderful, life-changing months, with G-6 and Intake 29.

This post is dedicated purely to those living Feej-side. Friends and family in Australia, internet wanderers, and strangers reading this in Indonesia (oh wait…maybe you’re not a stranger. Karin?) will most probably not get much sense out of it, and may perhaps think I’ve flipped my lid. That’s unimportant (although yes, maybe I have). What is important is farewelling G-6 and Intake 29: moce mada George, Andrew, Connie, Nikki, Glen, and Grace. You’ll be missed.

Chords of Success

If you’re not into music, comedy, or random Youtube clips, you probably aren’t aware of this astounding fact: many, many pop songs are constructed from the same chord progression. Don’t believe me? A load of rot, you say? Well I say this: shame on you. I have an honest face. And if you still don’t believe me, feast your earholes on this incontrovertible musical evidence.

In your face. Axis of Awesome’s revelation has led to many, many Suva Guitar Heroes jam sessions (oh did I not mention? I’m in a band. We have T shirts and everything) where we sit and play the same chord progressions over and over again and discover as many new songs as we can. These sessions have occurred on beaches, by bonfires, and in various volunteer houses (details can be found on the back of our T shirts). It’s actually quite scary just how many songs feature the same chord progression. You have to wonder about musical plagiarism sometimes.

Suva Guitar Hero band shirts - for sale. Contact me directly if you want to become a groupie.

Tapping into my inner genius and teleconferencing with my creative juice (on sabbatical in Paris), I recently came to the conclusion that this magical chord progression can not only be used in music, but within the very fabric of life itself. I KNOW! For the purposes of this exercise, the chord progression being used is C-G-Am-F.

Crisis Alert – Life needs crises. Floating along in normalcy is not only dull, it’s dangerous. A boring life leads to more napping. Napping is great, but only in moderation. According to studies conducted by Dr Spaceman, an increase in sleep patterns is almost as dangerous as eating bread. Excitement, stress, and adventure all help to make life more worthwhile. Examples of Crisis Alerts include not being able to do the job you were hired to do; getting a coffee-flavoured choc top instead of vanilla when going to the movies; or experiencing a wet weekend at a beachside environment. In all cases, these crises have led to higher stress levels but also higher levels of appreciation for the good times.

Goals – What’s the point of living if you have nothing to live for? A question many people ask (a lot of them are Greeks at the moment) whilst standing on a literal precipice. A key to success in life is having a goal – or goals, if you’re able to multi-task (which in and of itself is a noble goal to have) – to work towards. Goals may include anything from naturally sun bleaching your hair, to getting a totally awesome thong (North Americans: read flip-flop) tan, to riding the inflatable whale Wayni Lailai for 30 seconds or more, to achieving the work plan set out for you by your organisation.

Amnesty – This really only applies to those living overseas on a diplomatic passport, but the fact remains that forgiveness for things such as small slipups in judgement and rather larger issues of gross misconduct (I really hope no one called PETA over our use of Wayni Lailai) and thievery of pub property (I’m looking at you, Veronica TheLovely) is critical to the wellbeing of an individual. Without the knowledge that mistakes can be made but you can always try again, who has the drive to go forth and make a name for themselves? Risk is all well and good in some scenarios, but a safe, warm and encouraging environment is a real requirement for living life.

It's most definitely not what it may or may not look like.

Friends – Mushy as it may be, friendships, and relationships of any kind, are the glue that holds life together. Without friendships, who would be there to help with Crisis Alerts? Without friends, there is no one to celebrate with you when you achieve that truly kick-ass thong tan. Without friends, you can’t smuggle a beer tower out of a pub without being detected. Friends, above all, make life what it should be: a truly wonderful experience, where the highs are celebrated, and the lows are commiserated. Of course, like the F chord itself, there are different friend combinations. Here in the Feej, friends come and go with depressing regularity. But that’s a tale for my next post. For now, let’s just go with the fact that friends rock, and make life interesting.

And there you have it. The chord progression for life and success*

*Success is a completely subjective term and I in no way guarantee real world success (where success = higher than average income and large doses of other forms of material and emotional contentment) by following this simple progression. But eating cheese probably helps.

Canned Laughter

I had several expectations of my time in Fiji. These included but were not limited to learning Fijian Sign Language, making new friends (blah blah blah), getting awesomely tanned, becoming desensitised to tropical paradises, and increasing my chances of developing skin cancer. Predictably, most of these things have occurred to some degree already. There have been some surprises as well. For instance, I was not expecting to learn that you don’t actually have to iron t-shirts. Nor was I expecting to go blonde. So very blonde. But the biggest shock to me so far I think has been the staggering amount of TV and movies I’ve sunk my time into. I mean, I didn’t even think I’d have a TV. Or that choc tops could be so delicious still, even after the 30^th one (I’m probably not even exaggerating, I’ve seen a lot of movies here, and you can’t not have a choc top when you go. It’s sacrelicious). It’s gotten to the point now where the days of the week are now synonymous with TV shows. Taco Tuesday may be a thing of the past, but we have Wire Wednesday instead. And of course Sucky Cinema Sunday is practically patented. And now that I’ve just realised how much fun alliteration can be, I’m tempted to institute 30 Rock Thursday. Who’s with me?

Then there are all those shows that don’t fit easily into the working week. Here I’m of course referring to such classics as How I Met Your Mother, Community, Modern Family, and, most recently popularised by yours truly, Suits (I even managed to export that to the Samoan volunteers. Such is my power). Let’s not forget West Wing, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, The Good Wife, Shameless (yes, I know, I haven’t watched it yet, but it’s on my to-do list), and Black Books. And then there are the movies. From Thor to Lion King 3D, if it’s been released in Suva since my arrival, chances are high that I’ve seen it whilst enjoying a vanilla-flavoured choc top or loudly exclaiming that this isn’t vanilla as I eat a coffee-flavoured choc top.

My point is not that I’m very apparently a fat lazy bum that really doesn’t do anything. I resent any and all comments to that effect and offer up my golden-brown (and potentially cancer-prone) skin and sun-bleached locks as proof that I do in fact get outside. My point is not even related to that, in fact. Twist!

The fact of the matter is that all this comedy, all this drama, all these special effects, is making real life dull. To slightly edit the words of the vest-wearing Chandler Muriel Bing, “I went to the bank this morning and the teller didn’t hand over my money in a large canvas sack with a big $ sign printed on it”. Nor do I walk into a room only to have to stand and wait straight-faced until the canned laughter dies away (although how cool would that be?). And while taxis and buses break down or crash frequently, none of them ever erupt in ear-shattering explosions and rolling balls of flame. I mean it’s just not fair.

All my (admittedly first-world) problems were addressed a little while back. My life, for a while, mirrored an episode from almost every single sitcom from the 90s and 2000s: My parents came to visit. As with most episodes, all the carefully-crafted plans I laid out to ensure my parents would have a smooth, enjoyable and relaxing time dissolved into humourous set pieces of highly-charged comedic action. Highlights included being charged twice at one of the most expensive resorts in Fiji (HAHAHAHA!); my parents being the only tourists on a tiny island and spending two days asking question after question after question after question to the very understanding and kind staff (only slight murmurs of laughter on that one, but that just makes the next one even better); my parents getting ripped off by a taxi driver, me coming to the rescue and saving them $25 only to have my father side with the driver and demand I give him the full amount (BUAHAHAHAHAH); and the icing on the cake, the cherry on top and the chocolate sauce dribbled down the ice cream swirls: all of us getting a stomach virus one by one and spending 5 days in various hotels, resorts and islands coming to know a number of toilet bowls and buckets intimately (OH IT’S JUST TOO FUNNY HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!! *WIPES TEARS AWAY*). Isn’t toilet humour the best?

That said, the episode/week with my family finished on a charming and sentimental note, where despite all the pain (predominantly emanating from the stomach) and embarrassment (again, emanating largely from the stomach) was forgotten as we realised how much we all mean to each other and how lovely the time together was. And as the credits rolled, the camera closed in on me, sitting in a bus heading back to Suva, as a large Fijian man sat next to me, practically forcing me into the window with his bulk. And if that isn’t funny enough, a loud grumble rolled out from my stomach and I looked around uncomfortably, only to see a 'Suva - 190km' roadsign flash by….

I made it back to Suva by the unsoiled seat of my pants. I did however miss Wednesday Wire due to being away with my parents, so I need to catch up. It doesn’t feel right watching it on a Monday, but I’ll give it my darndest. Oh, and here's a picture of Community because it's awesome.

The Art of Caring

Hi, I’m actor Freud Velour. You might remember me from such movies as Project Echo Nine Beta and Hibiscus Festival March. My particularly rabid fans out there will also know the work I’ve done under my alternative name: Pierce O. Junk. Today I’m here to talk to you all about the Care Package. Kids, the Care Package has been around for thousands of years, since Cro-Magnum man left excess manure outside others’ caves during winter months to ensure their friends had enough fuel to burn. Of course, many experts see this instead as the first evidence of the practical joke rather than a care package, but I’m not here to get bogged down in details.

Care packages come in many shapes and sizes, both figuratively and literally. For people living away from home, outside their comfort zone, or in a cave with potential manure outside, Care Packages are critical to emotional and physical wellbeing. In addition to providing the recipient care in the form of a package, Care Packages also provide a sense of fulfilment and generosity to the sender of the Care Package. It’s a win-win situation! So come on kids! Let’s hop inside this large imaginary Care Bear, and take a journey though time and space…and caring.

Wowee! If we look to our left we can see none other than a Facebook message. Facebook messages are quick and easy, but are still considered to be Care Packages by many. They’re fairly common out here, but it’s always nice to see one heading towards an inbox. Even though they only take a couple of seconds to write and send, Facebook messages can nevertheless instil a sense of gratitude and self-worth in the recipient.

If you look carefully beyond that herd of Facebook messages near the lake, you might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a flock of emails in the long grass. Emails are fairly common too, despite the fact they take longer to craft. In recent times, Facebook and emails have interbred, which makes sending longer, more personal messages to loved ones away from home even easier.

Up there in the trees! It’s a Skype conversation! These are very rare creatures, usually only found between family members and close friends, although on the odd occasion others will make use of them. Skype conversations are invaluable, not only for seeing friends in real time, but also in showing your loved one that you are a loved one. When people take 30 minutes to an hour out of their lives to have a proper conversation with you, wherever in the world you might be, it’s a special thing. Also, having a ridiculously cute baby to show off is 100% successful in improving the recipient's smile and laughter rate.

Now quiet down, kids. These last couple of Care Packages are so rare, we may not be in lu- oh look! Behind that waterfall you can see the brown boxy snout of a physical package! The size and shape of these vary drastically, from something as small as a letter, to a box large enough to fit T-shirts, chocolate, nutella, vegemite, a CD, or a Canada pin. Physical packages, in addition to showing the recipient you care in time, energy, and thought, also prove the recipient is worth a certain monetary amount. There is also the added benefit of getting physical mail: despite years of electronic messages, there is still a thrill in finding something as rare and personal as a proper package in your mail box!

The thrill of finding a physical package depends largely on the amount of chocolate found within.

One more form of care package to go. Tread lightly, Care Bear, we don’t want to scare away such a rare specimen. We sometimes see them at dusk preying upon physical packages. There! Did you see that flash of movement? That, children, was none other than a visit. Visits are incredibly uncommon, and are the ultimate in Care Packages. They symbolise the largest outlay of time, energy, and expense, but the benefits reaped have been scientifically proven to be at least twofold. Visits can be anything from a quick overnight trip to several nights fully paid for in a five star resort, and will often include other forms of Care Packages within them, most commonly physical packages in the form of letters, cards, and chocolate. Because visits are usually conducted by only the closest of family and friends, they are incredibly special creatures and should in no way be sneezed at.

Visits that occur at a place like this are the best kind.

Well, it’s time to get out of the Care Bear and back on solid ground. I hope you’ve all learnt something about the Care Package, and what it means to its recipient. I’m actor Freud Velour, and I’ve been your guide through this zany land. Catch me on my newest instructional video: The Dos and Don’ts of Mongoose Milking. Good night.

I know, I know. It was another weird one. But come on, who would've thought to combine The Simpsons with Care Bears? I'm pretty sure that's a form of genius, right there. My humble and sincere thanks to all those who have been kind enough to send me any of those care packages during my time in Fiji. Your thoughts, words, gifts (namely chocolate) are all massively appreciated. Aw, look at me, being all genuine. Aaaand I just ruined it.

Side by Side Comparison

Tim Tams. Often referred to as the bounty of the gods (OK wait, that probably steps on the toes of Bounties and Ferrero Rochers, but whatever). Also known as the one and only foodstuff my dad stockpiles in the event of some sort of apocalypse. Although I guess toilet paper is edible as well. I’m going off message again. Sorry. But we’ve established that Tim Tams are yum, and my dad’s definition of retail therapy is buying toilet paper and chocolate biscuits when they’re on sale.

Fiji, being a thoroughly cool and hip country, has its own version of the Tim Tam called the Tymo. They come in normal chocolate, mint, orange, and coconut flavours. However, every now and then you might just find Tim Tams on the shelves of the local supermarkets. This happened today, and caused quite a stir (not on the streets or anything, just in my life). It provided me with the unique opportunity to sample both biscuits side by side, mouthful by mouthful.

Is this lame? Is this something lame people do? Who cares. I’m doing it anyway.

Packaging

Both Tymos and Tim Tams are professionally packaged, and are obviously marketed to look attractive to prospective buyers. Tymo packaging doesn’t quite have that glossy sheen Tim Tams do – which is more a reflection on marketing budget than anything else – but both definitely appear to be delicious snacks worth your purchase.

Physical Description

Ostensibly the same biscuit, Tymos and Tim Tams still appear slightly different to the casual observer. Both are of similar size, shape and weight. Some may prefer the Tim Tam’s smooth surface to the Tymo’s more ‘rough around the edges’ approach to biscuit confectionary, but really, that’s up to the individual. The innards of both biscuits are similar in appearance but likely not in ingredients (you really think I can be bothered looking at the recipe thingy on the back? Please): chocolate coated biscuit with a flavour-of-your-choice-filled centre. No surprises there.

Range of Flavours

As stated previously, Tymos come in four distinct flavours. Unfortunately this in no way measures up to the vast range that Tim Tams have to offer. However, where Tim Tams have double chocolate, coffee, dark chocolate, blackforest, white chocolate, white-chocolate-coloured-pink-to-support-breast-cancer-awareness, and choco-vanilla, Tymos have coconut. And mint, but that risks getting into a whole different argument regarding Arnotts’ Mint Slice or Drop or whatever they’re called, and I’m really not comfortable getting that political. They also have orange flavour, but that’s not something to brag about. To make a point of all this, both brands offer something different: Tim Tams are more decadent and sedate, where Tymos offer something a little more adventurous and wild.

Taste

Which is really what it’s all about, isn’t it? Tasting both Tymos and Tim Tams one after another (and another, and another, but you don’t need to know the science behind the experiment, except that it was rigorous) yielded some interesting, albeit unsurprising results. The ingredients constituting both brands may be somewhat similar – sugar, flour, cocoa etc), but the quality of ingredients differed vastly. Tim Tam chocolate was nicer, more chocolately. The biscuit was more firm, and crumbled in my mouth precisely when it should have. The creamy centre was creamier than Tymos, and more satisfying. Having said all that, both biscuits were a little stale. This is normal for Tymos, and I’m sort of glad Tim Tams suffered the same fate.

Overall Score

How can one be objective when it comes to scoring a biscuit? One can’t, which makes the whole test quite meaningless. Much like the majority of this blog. Sure, Tim Tams are better made because they have more funding for marketing, as well as higher quality ingredients. They also have a bigger range to cater for all tastes (all tastes categorised under ‘sweet’, that is). But you know what? After four months of not having Tim Tams, Tymos are pretty great. They still look good, and sure, there aren’t as many options, but they’re still a chocolate biscuit. And there are a heck of a lot of places in this world where you can’t even get that. Yeah, sometimes I’ve taken a bite of a Tymo and cringed at how stale it is. Sometimes I’ve wondered why I even bothered buying a packet (I’m looking at you, orange flavour). On the whole though, I’m glad I’ve got Tymos. Tim Tams are great, and I look forward to eating them in the future, but for now, Tymos it is.

*SPOILER ALERT* For readers in the far off future who understand what it is to be meta: I’m hoping you totally understood that this whole post was a ridiculously clever and somewhat poignant allegory of my experience thus far in Fiji, where Tymo = Fiji and Tim Tam = Australia. You absolutely have my blessing to turn this entire blog into a movie written and directed by a cryogenically preserved/clone of Joss Whedon. I just think he gets me.

Graduation

It’s that time already. Kids grow up so fast, don’t they? Why, I remember the day we all met at Brisbane airport before boarding the plane. So young, so naïve, so excited! So pale. All kind of angry we hadn’t been given free excess baggage, but still excited. And now here we are, spread across Fiji, from the Burning West to the Exotic-but-equally-burning East, with a little pocket hunkered down in Suva. It’s been almost four months, and we’ve learnt a lot. We’re not so young anymore (obviously); we’re definitely not so naïve - we no longer think that taxi drivers want to marry us because we’re nice people; and for the most part, we’re not so pale. And to top it all off, we’re no longer the new kids in town.

That’s right people. Graduation occurs in Fiji every three to six months when a new intake of volunteers arrives and the former new kids are no longer...new. That was sort of self-explanatory. To experience it both as a newbie and a graduand is actually fairly interesting (read: interesting only to people who care about social interaction), and made something apparent to me. Wait for it, it’s a good one.

I actually know stuff! Who knew that after four months, useful and interesting information has filtered through my sun-bleached (SUN-BLEACHED I TELL YOU) hair and into my skull? Furthermore, the slower pace of life hasn’t destroyed all my brain cells because I was actually able to recall said pieces of useful and interesting information and pass them along to some of the new first-years when we went away for the weekend.

So, whilst you people at home reading this constantly comment/critique that I don’t do any work; that it looks like I’m having a ball; that all my photos are so awesome; that my hair really is lighter, are you sure you haven’t dyed it?; let the record show that even though most of the above statements are true (all of them except the hair one), I’m also being wise, just, and largely awesome on an epic scale. So really, Fiji hasn’t changed me at all.

The graduating class of 29 April 2011

A couple of other things have happened in the last week that aren’t worth their own posts, so I’ll summarise here. Since I’ve returned from Australia (whoa, it's weird to say returned from Australia), I’ve seen three movies in four days, with another two to come on the weekend. BUT I only had two choc tops. I’ve been called fat by our house cleaner (she obviously didn’t realise that I could very well have had one more choc top); went to the Fijian equivalent of Rock Eisteddfod/Wakakiri, which was way more awesome than I expected it would to be, despite the use of about four of the same songs from the Suva Soundtrack in nearly 15 performances (which led to almost 15 exasperated face-palms on my part); and did some real work. True story.