Sometimes in a kitchen, everything is dancing to the music and turning our dishes.
Sometimes it’s “Oh. There are going to be an extra 200 people here this afternoon. They all want sandwiches.”
Sometimes then things get a little crazy.
I saw my first terrifying giant insect today.
It was a beetle of some kind, and it was longer than my index finger. It was dead, and being eaten by ants, and it’s just the kind of thing that I really don’t want to step in or find in my room.
It’s so cool!
I really need to pick up some kind of guide to local organisms, because I don’t know what anything is.
There’s a giant flock of parrots, called Corillas, I believe, and they’re white and so noisy.
There are giant frogs that I see when I’m walking home at night, leaping off the pathways and into the darkness.
I am so happy to be here.
I wish I words for the night sky here. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
It feels almost…untouched. There’s no reflection from stadium lights. There’s no skyline of jenga-stacked lights in highrise buildings. There’s no spilloff from nearby streetlights.
It’s just dark and stars and a slip of moon.
The night sky looks like forever, but also so close, like I could reach up and dip my hands in it; feel the galaxies between my fingers, scratch the stardust under my nails.
I fee like I’m breathing in the space between stars. All of the not-quite, the almost-there. The you-can’t-see-me-yet, just-wait.
The sun takes most of the heat with it, but this is the warm kind of nightdark, that just lets you be still and quiet and living and eternal.
Yesterday, in the car on my way to the roadhouse, a phone call happened. I was asked “Do you do Kitchen stuff?”
And I said “Yeah. Sure”.
The schedules went up, and it’s back to crazy hours in the kitchen for me.
This time, though, the kitchen staff is most intersested in communicating and creating positive work environments for everyone involved.
I am totally willing to spend my entire life in a kitchen filled with music, good food, and most importantly, happy people.
…though sleep may possibly become an issue at some point…
I got on the plane dressed in layers. I have been shedding ever since. I walked off the plane and wished that I was wearing something without sleeves, or shorts or at the very least lighter socks.
I walked off the plane and into…the Australia from all of the movies. The horizon is greyed out from smoke, but “Not anything dangerous. Just the usual fires”. The car I was in was nearly hit by a kangaroo. We slowed down, swerved to avoid it, and then it turned around and proceeded to jump towards the car.
Kangaroos are A) dumb, and B) seriously pests out here.
I’m working at the Bark Hut Roadhouse, where the staff gets to enjoy our collective pets: We have two water buffalo – Jack and Jill, three emu, Franklin the turtle, and Betty the Olive Python who lives under the staff house.
And it’s warm.
Did I mention it’s warm?
Tonight, instead of packing I helped fill the Hipster House with comedians. (Seriously. This is one of the best things in life. I love it so much.)
There were puppets and wine, Louis Armstrong records and youtube.
All of my new friends from Adventures with F.I.D.O. were there.
There may or may not have been some fantastic music named the “No, I’m *Totally* Packing Blues”.
At the end of the night (meaning the beginning of the morning), we packed my stuff into “granny trollies”, and I got walked to the stop for the Nightbus.
It was the kind of farewell that leaves a person planning the next chance to come back.
So long, Melbourne.
I’m off to the warmer pastures of Annaburroo!
I happened to be in town for Situation Comedy tonight. My
comedy friends showed up to say hi, and we hatched a plan for a blanket fort party tomorrow night. YES!
(What? I’m sorry. Me? Sleep? Before a flight? Outrageous!)
After comedy, we went to a chip shop, where the folks at the table next to us taught everyone that it’s bad for your health to fall in love at the Copa Cabana.
I hit back with the elevator-classic Girl from Impanema.
We were all topped by a song that’s new to me: Yes Sir, I Can Boogie.
Our dance party also brought up the song “Wooly-Bully”,
which apparently put my compatriots in mind of high school, steal-the-rival-mascot-style pranks and hijinks. So, we went to spent some quality time with F.I.D.O.
Who is F.I.D.O.? Why, the Fairfield Industrial Dog Obect, of course!
I have lived by F.I.D.O. for months, and only tonight learned that this dog is filled with wires to power it’s red-lit eys and “bark” noise. (Which sort of makes me wonder if F.I.D.O. is a missing Hellhoumd from Good Omens, or the like…)
We definitely did not try to see if it was at all possible to open up and hide peope inside, trojan-horse style.
That would be absurd.
And require more tools than a lights and a tire lever.
While in Melbourne, I’ve gotten into the habit of applying for jobs en masse. Things like “Okay, I’ll send out a minnimum of ten a day for the next two weeks” or “I’m sending out thirty before lunch”.
Yesterday, I sent out applications.
Today, I got calls.
I’ve never been in this position. Usually, when I’m “shopping for jobs” it means that I’m searching for anything to apply for that I have any chance at all of possibly getting.
Today, “shopping for jobs” feels more like…purchasing a horse, or looking at houses, (or other things that I have, until today, only imagined doing).
I must confesss: the Melbourne job market was beginning to give me a it of a complex about being utterly un-hireable.
I think maybe I was just applying for the wrong jobs (or, more probably, applying in the wrong place).
Now I get to choose which job I want, instead of which job can I get.
(I asked the internet, and 100% of the people polled said “Go to Perth!” So, Naturally, I’m getting on a plane in two days to go to Darwin.
(I am so excited to be warm!!!)
I am getting back on a plane today, for another round of days rather than hours being spent shuffling from plane to plane, and country to country.
I love travel. It’s so amazing that I can just grab my stuff, sit in a metal tube, and cross the world.
Though today I learned: Exit Rows do NOT equal Window Seats. Also, there is no under-seat storage in an Exit Row. (Which means no place for my wonderful ukulele to live, because I have no case for my ukulele, so it would get eaten alive by overhead storage.) Conclusion: I will forever leave Exit Rows to long-legged folks who need them more.