This is class?

Most of my classes that I'm enrolled in as of now are at least relatively school like, such as a major Australian writing class and history of the civilization of Australia - which yes, was accomplished primarily by convicts. There is one class however, which is totally illegitimate, and had to have managed to fly so low under the radar that whoever the academic dean for humanities is, clearly overlooked it throughout it's construction period. This class, which I consider myself a genius for even enrolling in, is called Australian popular culture. The class is comprised entirely of American students and the professor is very much aware of this, and plans accordingly with a splattering of momentary pauses to let us chuckle when she talks about Steve Irwin in total academic seriousness - which no, I will never not laugh at....excuse my double negative, it was warranted. Anyway, the class enrollment is huge, as every study abroad student was scrambling to get into this class having been told by whoever came before them that the class legitimately exists around kangaroos and typical Australian icons, which, interestingly enough, also includes beer according to our professor. Because of the overflow, our lectures take place in the biggest theater (spelled theatre of course) that Bond has on campus, which is pretty monstrous to describe it in a word. The class only meets once a week with a killer 3 hour lecture that would usually make me nauseous to think about. The saving grace however, is the fact that the first hour is a lecture and the remaining two are spent watching movies, I'm pretty okay with the schedule, and will therefore swallow my complaints with the class length. We spent the majority of our class last week watching Ned Kelly, which, by the way, is my new favorite movie -  and will spend next week watching - wait for it - Crocodile Dundee (1, not 2, thank goodness.) This "class" eventually finishes at 1pm on Wednesday, which also coincidentally is the start of my four day weekend. If I ever complain about anything again, I deserve a swift knock to the chops, no questions asked, no explanation necessary. I'll understand. Anyway, to continue my joke of a day, we've been typically spending the rest of the afternoon bumming around at the pool, carrying some of our books with us - but not to actually read them - mostly to just make ourselves feel less guilty about our day and more productive on the whole. Perhaps it's the illusion of having the option to be productive that is reassuring to us. (Not that we're particularly stressed.) Granted, this is all taking place in weeks 1 & 2, so I have to assume that come week 9 or so there will be a few more things on my plate, although at this rate, I'm not so sure...which is fine. But the best part, is that I'm getting four credits for that whole Wednesday! 

The interesting thing though, about taking classes in a different country, is that you pick up more than just whatever the teacher is firing at you, assuming you're at least half paying attention. For example, in this major australian writing class, a poem called "Bell Birds," which is apparently like the Australian staple of poetry which every Australian has grown up hearing, contained the phrase, "fiery December." Find me an American poem that describes December as anything but cold, freezing, unreasonably frigid, and or miserable. (Cheery Christmas poems that compare snow to sugar aside.) Also, in that same class (which is also 3 hours, but Crocodile Dundee free unfortunately) I found myself zoning out - no surprise there - but immediately engaged when my professor said, I quote, "Anyone who doesn't think Australia is a racist country doesn't know us very well." Come again? You just described your people as what? I wrote that down the second I heard it come out of her mouth in big letters on the top of my notes page because I knew it was worth remembering. Ultimately, she was referring to Australian humor and what types of things the culture as a whole will most likely regard as entertaining. I personally don't think Australians are racist. That's a pretty harsh adjective to assign arbitrarily. It appeared as such an odd thing to say because as far as I can tell, they're exceptionally more tolerable and comfortable with all walks of life, thus creating a relatively normal humor towards virtually anything, which is quite enjoyable. Anyway, according to her, Australians, Aborigines in particular, take great pleasure in watching someone do something unintelligent and then injure themselves as a repercussion for their stupidity. I would be a great Australian. Lastly, while I'm on the topic of the professors, I have a really hard time addressing them because I just don't know what to call them. They all tell us to call them by the first names...which none of the Americans have been able to get used to. I don't think that they even refer to themselves as professors, as I am yet to hear an Australian even say that word. It's sort of a bizarre thing for me to be able to do because calling someone by their first name seems to level the playing field in my head, even though the playing field is clearly not level. Which is fine.

The last thing worth mentioning for now, are the birds of the Gold Coast. First of all, Disney was dead on when they made the sea gulls of Finding Nemo not only reminiscent of a bowling pin in shape, but also intolerably irritating. They are not only actually shaped like a bowling pin, but they also waddle so violently when on land that they look a lot like a pin does right before it finally stops wobbling and falls over - except they're way less satisfying to watch. There are parrots all over campus as well, which is awesome in itself, but the bad news is that they sound like something being brutally murdered when they chat amongst themselves. (Which happens often...usually on my window sill at around 5:15am.) It's immediately startling as it obviously rockets me out of sleep, and eventually maddening towards the end of the 45 minute ordeal, but how mad can I possibly be, they're parrots? It's not like some big ugly Long Island crow is cawing at me while it's still dark out...and  I can only hold a grudge against a red and green parrot for so long. Three little birds are sitting on my door step, but they're not singing sweet songs - nice try Bob Marley, you're lying to the public and I caught you. Lastly, the pelicans here are literally the size of small humans. Their heads are definitely hitting me about mid elbow range and their massive bucket beaks are a good foot and a half long. They're like feathered dinosaurs, but less threatening than a pterodactyl. They're also like pigeons in the sense that they have no fear of humans, but I suppose when you're that size, not much needs to cause immediate alarm. It's funny watching mothers yank their children away from the roided-up pelicans, because you know it's for totally different reasons than the mothers who haul their hyperactive children away from the pigeons in Central Park. The pigeon fearing moms are terrified of whatever diseases the pigeons will obviously and immediately pass on to their children should they come within a foot, while the mothers who avoid the steroid taking pelicans are afraid that the animal will literally consume their child - which appears to be a very valid fear. They're that big. At least the giant pelicans are one Australian animal that is indeed massive in size, but is not poisonous, nor does it have a genuine, invested interest in biting me. Or at least that's what they tell me. I'll hold on to that notion for now in the name of sanity.