Six degrees...

By now everyone around the world has heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg VA. Big questions will always remain about why this happened, how it could be prevented, and which entity is culpable for what are arguably missteps by authorities all around.

But it took on a more personal note for me when I realized a co-worker had a daughter attending the university. Upon checking with the person last night, I found out to my great relief that their daughter was fine; but that she was the roommate of one of the students murdered.

That really set my mind back.

I remember similar fears: when I was in Paris attending classes in the 90's a subway bombing happened in a train at the stop by our residence. I remember us all counting our classmates, trying mobiles to locate the missing folks. Were any on that train? I remember when the last group of students came rushing in. How we all started hugging each other crying tears of relief - males & females. You just couldn't help it. Turns out this last group had been on the doomed train but had gotten off the stop before and were still on the platform when it exploded shortly down the tunnel.

The memories this event stirred up made me realize how much we are all connected and sometimes by a very short social distance. It's that "six degrees of separation" theory made real. Like between me and the happenings at Virginia Tech? 3 degrees of separation. Myself and a victim of the WTC on 9/11? 2 degrees. Me and a victim of the OK City bombing? 3 degrees.

But I have more delightful associations too: Between me and a participant in the 1963 March on Washington where Martin Luther King delivered his "I Have A Dream" speech? 1 degree. And between me and a person who held one of the balloon floats in the 2006 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC? 2 degrees.

Which just goes to show that for good or ill, we are all in this together.

- Farmer Ted

Vegemite? Vege-not...

Ok. I've heard enough about Vegemite since I've been here. Australians seem to view their love of vegemite with all the seriousness of Americans and their TV remotes.

Take a guy I know, D-Man, who's physical conditioning is something even Lance Armstrong would envy. I came upon him at lunch spreading the noxious brown goo on toast (THE definitive way to have it, according to those here) waxing poetic about it's virtues.

I don't know about all that.

What I do know is that I've seen the current commercials on TV depicting a kid trying to do his homework under the eyes of his harridan mother. Suddenly through his bedroom door come the ghostly flickering black and white images of the kids from the 1950's "Happy Little Vegmites" ad; screaming their unholy theme song with the lead "little girl" threatening to beat him senseless with her baton. As the mother looks on indulgently from the doorway, our little hero is feverishly trying to complete his homework before our Little Vegemites, looking for all the world like pop-and-lock escapees from the TV in the movie The Ring, threaten to take his soul and imprison it down a dank black well.

No wonder he gets his homework done in record time. It's a small price to pay to get reprieved from Vegemite hell.

- Farmer Ted

They make the world go round...

The Farmer had to say goodbye this week to one of my first real friends in Australia: Speckie left this week with the four rosies for a position in another state.

What makes a friend? Well, one that when you show up all alone having never been in a country before takes you by the local version of a supermarket just so you know what milk looks like. Or one who makes sure the folks they know should get to know you as well. Or something as simple as making sure you have someone to have a pint with when you're sitting in a hotel on a Saturday night.

It's fascinating how in different countries of the world, each culture has dealt with personal relationships with strangers in different ways. Let's examine three of them: the US, England, and Australia.


Everyone knows how making friends with Americans work: Big as all outdoors, hearty, with a its-been-great-meeting-you-my-friend-and-yes-call-on-me-anytime attitude; and yet when you do phone, the number's been changed.

The English? Stoic and cold outside that comes from living in unheated rooms, but inside they are a firestorm of pent-up emotions. This amply evidenced by the fact that Page 3 of The Sun continues to be the most popular form of... ahem... entertainment. But be careful of the British! Once you get past the stoicism they melt all over you.

The most complex of the lot are Australians. Not satisfied with having two personality layers, they have no less than four.

First, the outer blustery layer - the one that will drink with you until the bars close, and stay after the both of you being thrown out into the gutter, falling asleep singing "Swing Low Sweet Chariot". As dawn breaks and you both wake up covered in roo spit, comes the next layer: amnesia. Not that they don't remember you, just they don't care what your shared experience meant. This allows them to drink with you all night, yet brain you at a business meeting the next day. If you do manage to get past this layer you enter the next one: wary acceptance. This may be evidenced by the use of the phrase "no worries, mate" and have them actually mean it. And finally we have the soppy emotional core. The place where even if you were on fire they'd put you out with their last pint of James Boag. That's when you know you're a true mate.

Yes I owe Speckie a lot, I reckon. And if he's reading this, let it be known that you are the best kind of human being. The best kind of Australian. And you will be missed.

- Farmer Ted

Does this mean I'm becoming Aussie?

I've been accused of trying to "be Aussie." Which every American knows, being told you're trying to pass in another country is probably one of the most anti-American words that can be uttered about an American.

What my Aussie friends don't realize is that after several months of being in this country, there are some battles I have chosen to just wave the white flag on. So here are three examples of Aussie vs US personal capitulations:

"tomato sauce" versus "ketchup" - Every Aussie claims they know of no such thing as ketchup, yet one stroll down the aisle of a neighborhood Woolies will show Heinz Ketchup with it's cheerful Pennsylvania keystone-shaped white label with green & gold-edging (that's right! For my Aussie friends reading this, the Heinz family hails from the Farmer Ted Porch state) clearly spelling out the fallicy of their assertion. But yet I have given in to not just saying tomato sauce but pronouncing the first word "tow-MAH-tow" else you get a blank stare of incomprehension. What could I do - I gave up.

"petrol" versus "gas" - I've taken use of petrol for defensive reasons. Here, it seems "gas" only refers to natural, LP, or pull-my-finger. So you would think that hearing me say, "I have to go put gas in the car" would immediately cause a connection to the American usage. Not so! While we think, "Yeah, so what's the confusion?" here there are stations where you CAN put LP gas into a vehicle for fuel. Sorry, there is no use commercial for the kind dad gives after a big meal.

"zed" versus "zee"- This is an honorable mention because I've only half given in on this one: I use the Aussie pronunciation when it's part of a proper name - like the bank, ANZ. I've found that when I would say "ay. en. zee" a listener's eyes would glaze over as they creaked through the "Oy! Uh. Why does that sound so familiar. Hmmm." So to cut that drama, I just say "ay. en. zed." Can you blame me?

So why do I give up these skirmishes? Not because I wanted to but rather to avoid an international incident. One more Australian who to my innocent query of "Do you have ketchup?" responds with malice "Do we have what, mate?" will get a punch in the mouth.

And that's just not the way to assimilate.

- Farmer Ted

Looking...

A couple who are close friends just had a baby. A little boy.

Your host does have a weak spot for three life occasions: Weddings, births, and a reasonable decision by government. Of these, I think births are probably the most poignant.

To me, each birth is a possibility that maybe, just maybe this little person has the answers leading us to some new sort of way in this old tired world. A way closer to what the reasonable among us are hoping for (and the guy writing "5 Pairs" seems to be finding): Good will among men. Appreciation of differences in each of us. And most importantly, peace between us all.

So I look at the face of each baby I see or think about the ones I hear about and wonder, "Are you the one who will bring about what we need?"

Guess all I'm really looking for, is hope.

- Farmer Ted

Observing the Aussies: Cricket...

I love cricket.

There's no other way to say it. When I first arrived, I was like the 299,999,999 out of 300 million Americans with no idea what cricket was other than that everyone wore white, hit a ball for some inexplicable reason, and the game itself appeared to be named after a rather annoying insect.

But that was before I returned this last time while the Ashes Test were going on and Australia was simply wild about cricket. So much so that as each match was played it would be up live on TV's, wide screens, and PC monitors everywhere. It was at that point my Aussie hosts decided I would learn what this game is about.


Now I know what my fellow Americans are thinking "Are you kiddin' me? It just doesn't make logical sense!" One thing to realize is that there are 23 rules to the game that make no logical sense. They are what they are, having been that way since some olde England gentleman tripped over a large chunk of wood, hit his head on a croquet ball and said "Foresooth, me thinkest yon wood and yon ball can be made a game of the ages!" followed by a stream of olde profanity at the knot on his forehead.

Believe it or not, there are two websites that my Aussie mates gave me that helped me to understand this game. The first one is a succinct description of the 42 rules. They are not that difficult so just read 'em and take'em at face value. Don't bother to question why.

The second one is how the game is actually played. Very important since rules can be interpreted in many ways, right? So like the 42 rules, you just accept 'em.

You're all set! Now find a cricket match on TV or the web and just watch it. Suddenly you'll see that not only does it make sense, but it's actually a pretty good game. Oh yeah, it also helps to have someone you can shoot a question to now and again.

But when I was in a pub watching a Test match and something happened on-screen where I yelled "WHAZZZAAAT!!!" along with the whole bar?

Psh. I was in.

- Farmer Ted

Observing the Aussies: No worries, mate...

You may find this hard to believe, but nothing is more fraught with peril when talking to Australians than the use of two seemingly innocuous words: "mate", and "no worries". Used ubiquitously in conversation, they are nevertheless as dangerous as any land mine strewn dale; waiting for you to blithely misinterpret their use and so completely destroy any business or personal relationship.

MATE
First there is the simple straightforward way used as a predicate noun: i.e., "He's my best mate." While in the US we don't use the word this way, I understand it to have the connotation of "friend."

Now I have to say, mate can be confusing to Americans if you Aussies are not careful. Why? Because in the US, mate is only used to refer to your spouse. Look at this print ad for blood donation from the Red Cross. When I first saw this I was speechless. "How progressive Australians are!" I thought to myself, "advocating not only gay marriage but also encouraging couples to give blood together!"

There is another, more nefarious way this word is used: as a noun at the end of a sentence. As in "Where are you going, mate?" In this case, it appears to be used as a way of softening what might otherwise be a harsh question or comment. Almost like an endearment it can get you out of trouble. For example, an Australian observed of someone who tends to come in later that he keeps "German's hours". I said, "Really? In the US we call those 'Australian hours'!" Everyone just stared at me, silent. So I said, "Uh, I guess I should have said 'In the US we call those Australian hours', mate!" and they all agreed THEN it would have been funny.

"NO WORRIES"
Probably the most overloaded and complex of all the phrases in Australia, learning to decipher this one when you hear it will save you heaps of trouble. And they use it all the time (even more than the word "reckon"). Essentially there appears to be three ways this phrase is used:

Perfunctorily: As when you say in a restaurant, "Would it be possible to have beet root on my burger?" "No worries. Anything else?"

Soothingly: "Oh NO! I meant to clean up that water. Someone might have slipped." "No worries! There's no one here but you right now."

F*ck You, A**hole: "Get that report to me right NOW! Can't I trust you to do anything right?" "No worries. I'll get it."

It's really that last one you gotta watch. Americans who hear "no worries" used that way think "My gawd, Australians sure are unflappable!" Meanwhile, an Australian just gave you the equivalent of a verbal middle finger.

No worries.

- Farmer Ted