You know you're addicted when...

Today was that day. It was the day I really realized that I may have serious issues with sugar. I purposely left my coin bag at home this morning so I wouldn't be tempted to buy any lollies from the vending machine at work. I had purposely only brought ONE Mentos to work. I ate that within an hour of sitting down at my computer. Well all during breaks I would just stare blankly in the direction of the vending machine thinking about how nice it'd be to have just one peice, just one peice of something sweet. I looked through every pocket in my bag and all I found were two nickles. Not very helpful. Again during break I wished I had something sweet to eat. Who am I kidding? Towards the end of they day I was dying of boredom and a headache...maybe from drinking coffee (I hate the taste of coffee) or mabye because of lack of sugar, so I ransacked my bag. This time I dumped everything out. I looked EVERYWHERE. I felt like the heavens had opened up and a big hand came down a put a smiley face sticker on my forehead when I found a lonely tic tac in a pocket full of empty candy wrappers. I was so happy I was rather disgusted with myself that I was so happy. On the brigh side, this is better than being addicted to crystal meth.

"Hi, my name is Adrianna and I'm a sugar-holic"

Watashiwa wakarinaska!

Today I found out that all along you CAN work on a student visa in the UK. But then I remembered the whole reason we decided against the UK. We would probably still be in stinky Boston right now, no not Boston, Seekonk! Just the thought of having to spend months living in that town makes me cringe. It's absolutely boring there. We wouldn't have left until September--a whole YEAR after I would have graduated. Sure. So here I am, in Melbourne, the most liveable city in the world. I love it here.

Last night we had a sushi-party at our place. Will and I invited over a bunch of people along with our friend Kayoko who was to instruct us on how to prepare sushi. We went to Big W and bought a really neat table cloth to spread out on the floor. We bought bamboo mats for rolling the sushi, chopsticks and sake. Sake isn't that tasty by the way. It must have been around 12 of us all sitting on the floor passing around plates of sushi, drinking, making fun of bad sushi-making skills and just having a good time while we listened to Japanese pop music. It was a sucessfull party I think. There was even a two layer cake that I made (from a box) and after it was served, I was told that I'm suitable for marriage apparently. Fancy that.

So I guess that next I should say that I still believe that men have two hearts: One in their chest and one in their stomach. If you know this then you've got one of the main ingredients to being a good wife. If you can cook, you've got your foot in the door. Although, I'd like to add that if you're a horrible person inside or you've got a potty mouth which affects your ability to abstain from damaging a guy's ego, you're doomed. I asked Will if he would still be happy if he had a wife that couldn't cook. He said yes, but cooking skills would make him happier. See, its true. My mum says its only proper that a lady know how to iron a shirt with or without starch, cook a variety of different plates including rice and beans, leave a bathroom spotless with the aid of cleaning chemicals, sew certain things that require mending such as buttons, small holes and tears and take care of your man in a manner you see fit- or someone else will. Or if you don't have someone to do all of these things for, at least you can do them for yourself and you don't have to hire someone to do it for you.

My next blog entry will cover the controversial topic of housekeepers. I've had plenty of them, in all shapes, colours and sizes. Stay tuned.

"How are you finding yourself?"

I got in trouble at work today. I never get in trouble. I was sitting at my desk hunched over my iPod with my face about 5 inches from it and one of our senior supervisors walks over to me. I take off my headphones and she says, "So how are you finding yourself? Are you having any problems understanding the questions?" Hmmmm. "No, why? Am I marking them incorreclty?" I ask. "You're marking them remarkably slow." "Oh. Really?" "Everyone else is marking around 600 while you're only doing 200." I wanted to smack her because I knew she was exaggerating. Instead I replied with, "Oh, that is pretty slow. I guess that's no good huh?" "I don't mind if you listen to music but perhaps maybe you could uh...put away your diary (she was referring to my idea book, I write down random things I think of during the day). Maybe that way you'd be able to concentrate a bit more." "Sure, ok." I grumble through my best smile. For the rest of the day I felt like I was being watched.

Geez. Big Brother Pearson is watching me! Apparenly I'm the slowest marker. That must be an inflated statistic and must only apply to today. I was not going that slow. I talked to a team leader today about it. He wanted to know what Eniko (that was my supervisor's name) had said to me. I told him I'd gotten in trouble because apparently I'm working to slowly. He said it was true. The average person was marking 500 questions and I was only doing around 300, according to him. Then I say, "Well, Eniko said people were doing like 600 while I was only doing 200." "Well, yeah." Well, yeah? I knew they were exaggerating the truth. Well, you know what? Since EVERYTHING has to be turned into some sort of competition, tomorrow I'm going to be the fastest. I'm going to drink some coffee (yuck...) or 6 cupes of tea and click that mouse as fast as I can all the way until our tea break. Tomorrow I'll be the one marking 600 questions!

Watch out slowpokes.

Temporarily Not Unemployed

So I've got a job for the next month. I have a snazzy new title: Professional Marker. I mark exams (that means to grade for you Aussie-speak newbies) for 7 hours a day. Today was my first day:

6:45am Woke up and went to prepare breakfast
7:05am Took a shower, etc.
7:40am Left to go catch tram to Flinders Station
7:52am Arrived at Flinders Statin
7:58am Lilydale train arrived
8:23am Arrived at Nunawading
8:30am Arrive at Pearson Publishing
8:35am Get briefed about do's and don'ts about working at Pearson, get a tour of the kitchen and marking rooms
8:50am Sit down at my computer and receive the exam question I will be marking for the rest of the day
8:51am Begin to mark answers for the following question: What is cardiac output?
8:52am-4:40pm Mark answers with a '0' for wrong and '1' for correct with two clicks of the mouse for the same question listed above

I was under the impression I'd be actually marking exams with various questions and essays. Nope, I got to mark the same question for 7 hours! And what's even stranger is that there were several other people on my 'team' marking the same question for the same 7 hours. Good thing we get breaks every 2.5 hours because staring at a screen reading the same answer with the same variations of the same answers for even 30 minutes is enough to put you to sleep. The guy across from me dozed off with his head back and his mouth open. During break everyone is so bored they have nothing to talk about besides how absolutely boring the job is. "So how you finding it?" "Quite boring actually."

These must be must be middle school kid's exams because its a PE exam and the writing and spelling is horrendous. I've read some really intersting answers...one kid wrote: Cardiac output is the maximum amount of excercise you can do without becoming unconcious. Another wrote "...it's to do with the heart and lungs". What????

I tried to spice things up by listening to no other than Jeff Mills-the king of industrial techno-and tried to click the mouse to the beats and try to see if I could get the screen to change to the next answer to the beat of the music. It was entertaining for about 5 minutes. The music became entirely too fast to read, mark and click in the correct order.

The upside to this job is that Will and I will be earning some $ for our trip to Thailand in the summer. Plus, TGIF will require an entirely new meaning. I'm already wishing today was Friday. But have 4 more days of this stuff and at least one more day of marking answers to "What is cardiac output?".

Woohoo!

Note: Cardiac output is the amount of blood ejected from the heart per minute or stroke volume x heart rate.

"A Red of Summer, Please"

Two years ago, when I interned at a media company for a summer in Madrid, I went to this bar in Plaza Mayor with my friend Abby. I was there to intern as a translator to see if that was what I really wanted to do when I grew up and she was there to be an Au Pair and teach English. Every evening she would call me up and ask if I wanted to hang out. We'd always split a pitcher of sangria, get into these really intense conversations about life and then say good-bye and meet up the next night after "work". Thursday is a party night in Madrid, as is Friday through Wedenesday. So sometimes on Thursdays Abby and I would get two pitchers instead of one and stagger through the stiffling heat of the madrileño summer and realize that we'd started the "party" too soon. That was only sometimes. Once we tried to take it easy. She ordered agua del grip- tap water, and I ordered a tinto de verano. I had originally asked for a glass of sangria but they said to me, "Aqui no hay". They didn't have any, but they did have tinto de verano. Something very similar to sangria they said. They brought it out, set in front of me, then I took a sip. That was the most disgusting thing I'd ever tasted that was supposed to 'taste' like sangria. I guess it was because I was expecting that lovely intoxicating taste of wine with a not-so-subtle taste of citrus fruits. From that day on, I never ordered a tinto de verano. Anytime anyone said they were going to order it, I'd tell them they were making the biggest mistake of their life because it was disgusting.

Fast track to 6 months later, back in Spain but in Sevilla. I tried it again, against my will. Only because in Sevilla, drinking sangria is for guiris- tourists. Tourists? I wanted my sangria! So I tried it and it was one of the most amazing drinks I've had in a long while. Amazing I tell you. A bit of red wine mixed with a bit of lemon Fanta. Fabulous. If it was too early to order the usual vodka con naranja, I'd order a tinto de verano. The first drink I ever had has a bright green colour, it tasted much like mouthwash and went down just like mouthwash. It was one of the first times Will and I had gone out 'together' with a group. I was sitting at the bar and he came over and asked me what I was going to have to drink. I pointed to the brighest stuff on the shelf despite the strange look the bartender shot my way. I had never had a drink till that day. Drunkedness came later, some other day with peach schnaps, plastic cups and rocks at a university down the street. My friend Kim bashed her head on a rock in a fit of drunken laughter (she was ok, her boyfriend took her home in a taxi). What a pretty sight I was, staggering down the street hanging off Will's shoulders, feeling more fluid that I had ever been, babbling about a rock. I'd just decided that I'd done enough field work (e.g. observing people under the influence of alcohol to see if it really was 'safe') throughout the semester, so I went for it.

So while you're up, "A Red of Summer, Please".

Tim Tam Time

When I tell people that I don't like chocolate they make a weird face as if I had sprouted a unicorn horn on my forehead. "You don't like chocolate? Everyone likes chocolate". Well, it's not that I don't like chocolate per sae, its just that if I had to choose between a bag of gummy bears or the chocolate cupcake you can imagine, I'd choose the bag of gummy bears. I always opt for no dessert if chocolate is the only option. It's not that I don't like chocolate, it's just that it doesn't taste good enough to eat it on a regular basis or even once in awhile. I do like chocolate milk though, but not chocolate icecream or milkshakes. Its such a bland flavour. White chocolate is more my thing. Yum.

However, this all changed a few weeks ago when I was at my ESL tutoring job and a fellow tutor offered me either a Shape or a chocolate covered biscuit type deal. In this case I had to choose the biscuit because it was 10:30 in the morning and only a madwoman would consume greasy chips at that hour. So I chose what I found out was a Tim Tam. I was hesitant at first to eat it, but it just looked so perfect. I took a bite and I swear to the stars in the sky, something strange happend to me. I actually liked it. I didn't just like it, I thought it was the best chocolate biscuit I'd ever eaten in my life. Beneath that perfect chocolate covering are two biscuits sandwiched with the creamiest, smoothest, butteriest chocolate filling that exists on the face of this earth. I just about melted after finishing off the last bite.

The next day I bought a package of Tim Tams and ate near half of it. However, I quickly found out that the most I can eat in a row is two. They are so rich, consuming three is a death sentence. Beware.

Have you ever tasted anything that was so good, you almost melted?

ENG:(Excuse me, do you have time? Why yes, of course. It's Tim Tam time.)
SPN: (Con permiso, tiene la hora? Por supuesto que si. Es la hora de Tim Tam.)
FRN: (Pardon, qu'elle heure e t'il? C'est l'heure de Tim Tam.)

*note: these translations are for novelty purposes and are not intended for social or educational use.

Double Makeout Feature

Tonight was double feature night at the good ol' Astor Theatre, as are all nights. We saw the Interpreter and House of Flying Daggers...back to back. They were both pretty good movies. For anyone that knows me, I'm a really harsh movie critic- most movies suck. The Interpreter was in my career field...so I'm not training to be an interpreter per sae, but we're friends...translators and interpreters. And yes, they are different things. I'm not a violent person, but I can barely resit punching people in the face who can't tell the difference. "I translated today for this tourist on the street." Idiots...unless you're writting or typing some words...you're interpreting. Got that? INTERPRETING. Translators write, Interpreters speak. So back to these movies...You know how when you leave the movie theatre you have that feeling like you can conquer the world? Or at least just want to become a treasure hunter. Either one. After seeing House of Flying Daggers I thought it'd be pretty cool to speak Manadrin. It just sounds cool. Its one of the few Asian languages that has an 'r' sound. And we all know that Asians learning english have difficulty saying those troublesome American english 'r's. Only in such movies do you get to wear such fantastic outfits and sword fight. It was basically a love story fit for guys. It was good.

For a few days, I was entertaining the idea of moving to New York City to do this NYC Teaching Fellow program. Come on, you can't be a master's degree with a $4000 price tag. But after seeing The Interpreter...how can I move back to the land of Bush, Bushisms, pro death penaly-anti abortion, anti-gay marriage, consumerism to the max, ignorance and fake smiles when there is a whole entire world out there I haven't seen yet. There are languages that need to be learned, cultures to be discovered and strange stomach bugs to be caught. Who needs a 6 figure salaray, when you can risk catching Malaria while living in a grass hut in the middle of Laos?

I've got my thinking cap back on: Goodbye America, Hello world.

Welcome to Brown Rice

Will and I had a dinner party at our place last night. This is what we served:

Pre-meal fare: Morrocan Red Bean Dip
Creamy Spinach Dip
Will's famous homemade Pita Chips

First Course: Stuffed Eggplant Croquettes
Second Course: Sautéed Zucchini and Feta Crostini
Third Course: Corn and Capsicum Cakes
Fourth Course: Pumpkin, Feta and Spinach Parcels
Fifth Course: Broccoli and Ricotta Roulade

Dessert: White chocolate M&M Oatmeal Cookies

How long did it take to make all of this food you ask? Well, we started cooking at 2:30pm and finished at 6:30 on the dot. Cooking is so great. Will said he'd hire me as the caterer for BRIDGE (his student association/club), but the said that's probably illegal because "he'd be helping out a friend". Someday I'll be a caterer or a restaurant owner. I'll add that to the list of things I'm meant to do with my life.

Word is...1/3 of the way into my Translation Studies degree...I no longer know if I'm meant to be a translator. I want to be. But I also want to be something else. I think I'm meant to be an ESL teacher now. I think.

Who knew growing up was so hard! And full of all of these choices! I thought growing up had a set plan I was to follow:

Be born. Go to highschool. [Maybe go to college.] Graduate. Get a job. Work. Get married. Have kids. Be a grandparent. Die.

But life wouldn't be worth living if it was that simple now would it?

Behind Every Powerful Man...There Is an Even Powerful Wo-Man

Since writing my term paper that had a 2500 word requirement, but was handed in with almost 5000 words surveying women's involvement in translation starting from the Middle Ages up to today, I've really become interested in what it means to actually be a woman. The title of my paper was Sex and Translation: Debunking the Myth. The question I sought out to answer was should female authors only be translated by women and males by men. I could answer that question in one sentence. No, one word. No. But there was no way I was going to get away with a one-word final essay. How do you begin to research a question that has a one-word answer?

Well, I figured I might as well find out what women have been doing in translation all this time and the answer to that is not too much. Mostly because men have been too busy trying to run the world by themselves (because they think they can do it alone) and dominate everything on it. I happened to stumble across this book called Gender and Translation. I'm fully aware that men and women are clearly from different planets, but translators too? Come on. Then I saw the words feminist translators. The 'F' word was being used in the same sentence as translator. Translators already put up with enough crap, now the feminists have taken it over? Are we in some sort of war I was unaware of? Feminists v.s. the world [of men]? I decided to go ahead and look up the word. Feminist: a believer in the advocacy of women's rights. That doesn't sound so bad. I like women's rights. I need rights. I like rights. I also like right angles. After readng a bit about feminist translators and the relation they have with women's history in translation it sounded like a pretty good deal. I could be a feminist. Do I have to sign up somewhere? Or join a club?

My new 'thing' now is feminism. Over winter break I plan to learn more about these women's movements and such. In the process I found out that there are different types of feminists. White feminists. Black feminists. Latina feminists. Chicana feminists. Male 'feminists' are considered 'good' men, while female 'feminists' are considered agressive. What? Aren't all women part of the same club? Can we all just believe in the advocacy of women's rights as a global idea? According to this book I'm reading, Women Writing Resistance:Essays on Latin America and the Carribean, white feminists have a 'bad rap'. Why does everthing always have to be about colour? Now I have to choose a type of feminism that I can relate to? So black feminists can't aspire to white feminist ideas because they aren't black. Hispanic feminists don't aspire to white feminist ideas because the 'experience' of a hispanic women and non-hispanic women is 'different'. But what about the fact that we're all women?

What's wrong with us? I don't believe that God is watching over us and he has a plan for each one of us and knows every single thing that we've done and will do before we even do. But...if God did put us here to live our lives of 'free' will, I'm sure he's eating popcorn right now watching us destory ourselves out of our 'free' will. The more I learn about history and just how civilized we're 'suppsed' to be be, the more I think that if we're a prime example of the highest type of life form out there, other life must be A-grade idiots. Sheesh.

Those Celebrities....Geez

A few weeks ago I went to McDonalds to buy William one of those new deli sandwiches that just came out. That place was like a zoo. Or a farm. People just waiting anxiously for animal carcass sandwiches with a side of fried potato sticks. While I was waiting in line a certain person caught my eye at the front of the line. It was one of the guys from X-factor...TJ to be exact. X-Factor is Australia's version of American Idol. They have a panel of judges and one of them seems way too similar to Simon. Anyhow, this TJ character is part of a group called Random. They can compete either as part of a group or alone on this show. He was standing at the front counter holding a back of food and it took me awhile to recognize him, I almost asked him for an autograph, but that just seemed silly. The whole idea of gettting someone's authogrpah is just plain strange it you think about it. Famous or not, all you really have is a signature from some random person. So I didn't ask him for it. I turned around and saw another guy from the group as well. I didin't see anyone going up to ask them for signatures or anything, which I think is why he starting singing to himself to attract attention. He should of sang louder. That's what I thought anyways. I watched them leave McDonalds out of the corner of my eye. After all, staring is just plain bad manners. Plus, the kid is only like 16.

On another note, William and I had our photoshoot yesterday. I felt really cool, especially since I was wearing my flash red coat and our picture is going to be on a brochure which will be distributed throughout the city as part of a tourist scheme. It was kind of strange, smiling for no reason, pretending to look at something in the distance and pretending to be having a good time because we're tourists that just really had a good time visitin the State Library...having a photographer take pictures of us. I kind of liked it. When I got home I looked for William's camera and took more pictures of myself trying to look all sultry and seductive. I must say, I'm not meant to look that way. I'm such a weido.

We're gonna be pretty famous...you might want to start asking for our autographs now.

Define Narcissism

Posted by: dirtyflamingo

I Want to Be Your Secretary

Thursdays are designated Sushi and tele nights. Its the one day of the week when we get take out and either watch a movie of just eat it in front of the tele. We have a year subscription to Homescreen (AKA Australian Netflix), so we usually have something good to watch. Lately most of the places are out of vegetarian sushi by the time we get back from school. Two weeks ago, we discovered this place in the QV that sells 3 and 4 pack of handrolls for $5. It even comes with this little thing I like to call a sweet tofu pillowcase stuffed with rice and seaweed. Good stuff.

I really dislike routine and structure, but it seems like you can't avoid it. Even the fact that your life is devoid of structure is a type of structure in itself. We've been trying to develop our own "tradition" for almost two years now...we thought eating falafel on sundays on thayer street might stick. Nope. Then 50 cent icecream cones at Hungry Jacks. Sushi-Tele nights have been going on for awhile now...even if we don't eat sushi and watch television.

After picking up two pack of handrolls, one of them vegetarian of course, we walked down the street back to our apartment beaming with our little sushi boxes. It was already night. I looked up towards the sky and noticed how many tall buildings there are and how at that very momment it looked like I was walking down State street in Boston. Except it was safer, brighter, cleaner, cheaper and well...just better. Its better for NOT being State Street.

Today's Menu:
1 box of assorted vegetarian handrolls: avacado, vegetables and tofu
1 box of assorted non-vegetarian handrolls: avacado, egg, chicken, seafood
1 sweet melon bun from Bread Top
1 movie on DVD: The Secretary

NOTE: Bread Top is the best Asian-fushion bakery in town