I’ve noticed with prolonged exposure to Aussies, I’ve taken on a good deal of slang or alternate ways of saying things. Not necessarily in an effort to fit in, but simply because that’s the way I’m hearing all these things said. ‘Heaps’ has replaced ‘A Lot’, ‘Massive’ has replaced ‘Huge’ (and is a good occasional substitute for Fatty), and I will occasionally ‘Reckon’ rather than think. I’ll definitely stop using some of them when I get home (how much more pretentious do I need to be?), but some I quite like. Heaps especially. So be prepared for me to sound more obnoxious than normal when I get back. Then again, you can’t have pretentious without Prete. *rimshot* Ah hahaha, I crack myself up.

Anyway, my favourite saying may be the equivalent of “What’s up?” - “How ya goin’?”, mostly because it reminds me of the German “Wie gehts?”, how are you, or literally, “how does it go?”. That’s about it for my linguistic observations at the moment. As per usual, Ben and I have developed our own lexicon as well, complete with acronyms and New Zealand accents. Which I may stick to, since it was reaffirmed last night that my American accent just isn’t very special.

Our original plans were for cheap Thai and the corner bar in Newtown (a bar that has been alternately referred to as Cornerstone, and finally Court House, possibly its actual name), which has a nice beer garden and a relaxed atmosphere more to our liking. Oh, and heaps of attractive girls. But this was derailed by our French connection.

Ben’s mate from work, Franck, kept us at the Shelbourne for after work drinks that lasted until 9:30. He is quite possibly the most hilarious Frenchman I have ever encountered, with a cliché lack of inhibition when wanting to talk to girls, or about them. His polka dot shirt clashed with his adidas striped jacket, topped with a San Francisco Giants hat. Awesome. He approached one group of girls by asking them if they knew how to lower the outdoor heater we were standing under. And then pretended to fiddle the switch without actually touching it. A choice quote about his game: “You know, ze girl, she come over to my place, and next thing you know, my dick is in her mouth.” That is just how he rolls. I think I’ve found a mentor for Belkin.

This approach also had its downside, as when he dragged us in to a group so that he could talk to one of the girls, leaving Ben and I to fend for ourselves with the leftovers. At this point, all we wanted to do was get to dinner in Newtown, but Franck was waiting for some other girls he had blackberry’d earlier in the night to get to the bar, and implored us to wait with him. Earlier in the night my accent was compared unfavourably to Franck’s and also Ken’s Scottish accent. So of course, one of the girls Ben and I are entertaining on Franck’s behalf proclaims that she loves American accents! Just my luck. She also loved cricket, so I had her explain the rules to me until we were finally relieved of duty and could make our way to Newtown.

So we met up with Brandon, Liz and Raj at the Alfred, Brandon impressively recognized a Kinks song from my air guitar, left Raj, had some Turkish fast food. Of course the Court/Corner House/Stone was closed by the time we got there (Australian liquor licenses are tiered, and many close at midnight, this one because it is off the main strip in a residential street). We found Raj again in time to go to the Zanzibar, home of lesbian night hot dogs, which was uneventful. We popped into Kelly’s, haunt of Vicky from Marricksburgh, and ran straight into a karaoke contest. We left, singing the song down the street until parting ways. We will do up the Stonehouse at another time.

This morning we hit up Campos for some amazing coffee, and I picked up a bag of the Obama Roast. A rich, dark roast. Tomorrow, a 15k bush walk into Sydney Cove. I will report on that if I don’t expire first.

Bis später