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.

Exile's Return

Storm clouds gathering, thunderheads piling into a darkly vicious fortress on the horizon. Lightning illuminating the bowels of the beasts as they race west across the firmament. Was that a head in the clouds? Were those teeth? Gods, what was that thing grinning down from the sky, smirking at the twinkling lights below? A dull rumble passes through the underbelly of the clouds, followed by a swift silence that is shattered by an enormous CRAAAAAAAAAAACK-

Tomn sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face. The mark on his forehead throbbed with pain (he’d slammed it against the bedhead not one night previously, after waking from the same dream), and his nightclothes stuck to his sweating body. He sat panting, willing his heart rate down, willing that terrible face to leave his memory…

“You had the dream again, didn’t you?”

Tomn’s eyes darted to the shadowed corner of the room, where his friend stood, perhaps a little creepily. He rolled his eyes and then gasped with pain. Even a sarcastic eye roll was painful. “The same. But it’s just a dream”.

Wenddel, Tomn’s friend, slammed his hand against the wall. “It’s not just a dream! You have the sight! We must warn him".

Tomn was indignant, not to mention overtired. He’d not been sleeping properly after all. “But I don’t wannaaaaaaaaa”, he whined.

“Come,” said Wenddel. “We need to see him. How else can we progress the plot?”

The two young boys left their chambers and raced through the castle/keep/military facility/school/generic location where stories such as these take place. They stopped at the bottom of a winding staircase.

“You have to go up there alone”, said Wenddel, almost mournfully.

“But why?” asked Tomn, who as the hero, always asks why.

Wenddel placed a hand on Tomn’s pubescent chest. “Because this is your story”.

And with that dramatically vague/nonsensical explanation, Tomn began to climb.

At the top of the staircase was an office of sorts, full of things indicating the inhabitant was incredibly learned. And he was. For the man who sat behind the large dusty desk was none other than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius, the most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. A sallow man stood at his shoulder.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius spoke: “a little late to be wandering the corridors, isn’t it, young Tomn?”

Tomn had the good nature to look abashed, then realised why he was there. “Wenddel made me do it, sir! He told me to come here, I didn’t want to. It was just a stupid dream”.

The man standing only slightly lecherously behind the J-man leaned forward. “A dream? What dream? Speak, boy, for your father’s sake!”

“Who are you?” Tomn asked rather bluntly, purely for the sake of the narrative.

The sallow man sighed, and flourished his robes. “I am Grinadafalukinteraneabapol, second most powerful wizard/scientist/wise person of the age. It’s obvious, because my name has one less syllable than Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius’s”.

An awkward silence followed as Tomn counted the syllables. It took longer than one would expect the potential saviour of the world to do maths. He looked up, puzzled.

“There is power in words, young Tomn”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius said, then rolled his eyes behind half-moon spectacles when Tomn continued looking confused. “Literally. There’s literally power in words. The longer a person’s name, the more powerful they are”.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” breathed Tomn. He’ll think ‘I only have a one syllable name, how can I be the saviour of the world?’ only after leaving the office and facing his destiny. It usually works like that.

“The dream, boy! Describe the dream!”

Slowly at first, to build tension, Tomn began to retell his dream of dark clouds and scary faces. He rubbed his forehead to build further emotion into the scene. The two long-syllabled men stared at each other as Tomn completed his tale. It was obvious they knew exactly what the dream meant.

“We must wake the Guardians. Tell them the Exile is returning and to make the barriers solid”, Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius commanded Grinadafalukinteraneabapolbanius. G-man nodded and left the room swiftly, robes billowing, motes of dust skirling in his wake. “Tomn, we must palaver. Sit with me”. Tomn nodded and sat at the desk, J-man looking over his spectacles into Tomn’s eyes.

“Your dream is a prophecy Tomn. It has foretold a great power which will come to this land once more. Only it’s too soon….we exiled him only three months ago to the lands beyond the sea. For him to have grown in power so quickly, well, it just doesn’t usually happen that way. Generally speaking, a generation or two passes, giving ample time for heroes to die and people to forget the blight which has been removed. Even eleven or twelve years can do the trick, allowing a new hero to grow up and avenge his parents’ deaths. But this, this is most unfortunate.

“Three months ago, a group of Guardians of old were resurrected from legend to deal with this threat, which has known many names – Fran, Sven, Wack, just to name a few – and cast him into the ocean. But it is clear from your dream that he has fed his power, and is even now returning to lay waste to this place. Our worst fears have been realised. He has most likely consumed complex and starchy carbohydrates and offensively cheap bananas to revive himself. It is even possible he has used the native people’s innate ability to stay dry in torrential rain to construct some sort of water-repellent vessel in which to travel across the sea”.

Jessebrindidicanmoebianatarius reached across the table and grasped Tomn’s shoulders, his eyes wide. “The one called Sitiveni comes! And according to your dream, he is hungry. For real food. Red meat cooked to perfection, vegetables that aren’t eggplant, fresh milk, cheese! He wants to consume burritos and kebabs and roast dinners and eggs benedict. And heat. He will bring heat from the east! But it will not last, it will be nothing more than a false spring. Offering people false hope. Like the villain he is”.

“But sir,” Tomn whimpered, “how am I supposed to stop such a monstrosity?” At this, the great J-man laughed a hearty laugh, his breath rattling in his small chest.

“My dear boy, this is not your responsibility! The Guardians are all still alive and well, and will push him back into the sea once more. Your story ends here, I’m happy to say. There will be a battle of blazing magicks, depending on the budget of course, but you will play no part in it. No, Tomn, you will go back to your room and sleep once more. Perhaps you’ll dream of Sitiveni again, perhaps not. But your role as the weird dream guy is now over. We might use you again in a sequel or something, but to be honest, you’re quite the dullard. Now get some sleep. Pip pip”.

That was weird. Sorry. Let me provide some all-important context: when I first left Australia it was joked that I was being exiled. Sophisticated, I know. Seriously though, apart from not dealing with the temperature differences at all well, I had a great time back home. Thanks to all those who took me in, bought me food, lent me vehicles, and let me be a part of their special occasions. You all rock, and on a scale of burritos to eggs benno (eggs benno being the ultimate food, but of course you already knew that), you all come in slightly higher than eggs benno . It’s a compliment. Enjoy warm, with a side of bacon and a refreshing beverage.

Official Apology

Well, despite the warning I placed at the beginning of one of my earlier posts (you know, the one with all the pictures of hammocks and paradise), some foolish people apparently ignored it, thinking they were strong enough to look at the pictures I posted. Absolute folly. I’ve received a fair amount of hate mail in recent weeks, and if the postal system were any good over here, I’m confident I would have found a few disgusting/possibly fatal surprises in my letterbox. Not cool people. Always one to look for a silver lining, I see this as an opportunity to tell you all that I told you so. You’ll think twice before ignoring me again, won’t you? Who am I kidding? Of course you won’t.

In order to appease all you angry and jealous readers, and to inform you that yes, things aren’t always gravy (gravy! I miss gravy) here, I thought it would be a good idea to show you the more sordid side of Fiji. The underbelly, if you will. Kind readers, I present to you: Suva (and surrounds).

Caution (likely to be ignored by you chumps): some viewers may find the following images distressing. They include grey skies, dirty streets, and dilapidated buildings. If you look closely enough, you may even see people – shock horror – not smiling. Effects of viewing should include mild revulsion and disgust, and most importantly, an overwhelming feeling of sympathy towards me, in addition to a severe bout of self-loathing at being jealous of me in the first place. Shame on you.

The cleverer of my readers may have noted that nowhere in this post was an actual apology. You can choose to find the apology within the images, or more correctly assume that I am in no way apologising for having an awesome time. As my friend Captain Planet used to say, the power is yours. And quit it already, I’m NOT the Heart guy.