Of all the things I didn’t expect in Australia, boredom is the most surprising. I suppose it shouldn’t be; it’s not as if by being in another country you lose all your inhibitions and the universe aligns to keep you constantly occupied. But really, there’s barely any live music here. I’ve been going to the movies, but the theatres bite here, for the most part. There’s still nothing to do on Tuesday night.

The house I live in is a dump. The best analogy I can draw continues to be the Paper Street Soap Company (from Fight Club) after Project Mayhem started.

Let’s start with the basics. The address: 425 Harris Street, Pyrmont—Sydney, NSW. The postcode is 2009. Australia. Rent is AUS$100 per week, which is about equivalent to $60 US. The house is run by an organization called Sleeping With the Enemy. Up to 30 people can live here, although right now the number of occupants is less.

A little context. The house is across the street from the Sydney Art Expo. About three blocks down from the Powerhouse museum. The closest train station is Sydney Central, which you can reach by the 501 bus or a short, 15 minute walk.

There is a small sewage leak under the house. This doesn’t affect the plumbing or the smell inside the walls. It does, however, provide an unpleasant odor for those passing by in front.

In the back there is a mostly drained pool. The water which remains is brown and putrid. It has become a convenient hatching ground for mosquitos.

More bugs: I found a small, dead, roach today on top of my personal plastic food container. The container itself was sealed and unaffected. Ants regularly crawl over the drying communal plates and utensils. There’s no rag for drying used items; they’re left on the counter. A small roach died inside the microwave and obscures the LED display.

The house is drafty and cold. Wood moldings have broken off windows, leaving cracks and holes open to the outside. The functional bathroom and shower section seem like slipshod additions. The nonfunctional bathroom looks like an original part of the house; but perpetually mildewy at best.

There are two phones: outgoing and incoming. The outgoing phone is a payphone, but doesn’t take change. Phone cards to use it are available from the Sleeping With the Enemy office while they’re open. After 6pm, if you don’t have one, you’re out of luck. There’s a coin operated phone around the corner, but its coin slot is perpetually jammed.

Three people in my room. One bunk bed, and one normal bed. The room itself is about the size of mine at home. Half of the drawers are broken.

Now for the ending you all expect, the “despite everything I like it here” rationalization. Maybe it’s that I’m in an especially good mood today. I started this last night in a different state of mind. My bed here is more comfortable than the one I had at the hostel, and dare I say more than my bed in West Covina as well. The people are what makes any place, and the people here are good.

The house has tons of posters, and that’s a definite plus. I’m sitting in a room with James Dean (actually a framed portrait), Al Pacino, Brad Pitt, the Smashing Pumpkins, and the very prominent breasts of Cameron Diaz. The Sirs Cobain, Novoselic, and Grohl smirk at me from across the room, keeping me on good behavior. If nothing else did it, seeing that Nirvana poster when I came in gave me an unshakeable positive view of this place.

It made me feel at home.

It’s fucking sad that I don’t have anything to say yet. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired from today’s activity. I worked on the graphic, and it took two hours to come up with the permutation that you see today. I’ll add an Australia specific header as soon as I scan in some photos from this place.

I do like it here. The weather is nice and the people are nice and, well, I’m not happy with the food. Maybe that’s my one beef. The food is similar enough to America’s to be tempting, but different enough to be disappointing. Everything here seems to be either takeout or sitdown, no in between areas like Victor’s Villa or Denny’s, even.

When I say takeout, I really mean takeout. As in, no seats to sit on even if you wanted to.

Maybe I do have things to say after all, and this isn’t just an exercise in filler. I’m fascinated by the Australian street signs. They are similar to America’s, but not as concise in their wording. The one example I can give you right now is the “Yield” sign. It’s still a red and white triangle, but now it says “Give Way.” That strikes me as a bit… odd. I wouldn’t have thought of “yield” as being a word specific to America. If anythiing, “Give Way” seems the more colloquial of the two.

Also on the street sign subject, there are these signs by the side of the road that say “No Standing.” I don’t know if that’s their term for parking; the signs usually seem to be in places that I would expect “No Parking” signs in the States, but not always.

I’m disconcerted by the fact that there’s no analogue to the Bill of Rights here. There’s no line over which the government cannot step, except that which might cause general discontent. I watched a tv program this week about censors. There is an actual Bureau of Censorship here. We complain in America about perceived censorship, but it really exists here. This government department decides what movies are and are not allowed into the country. Their logo appears before every trailer in the movies.

At home the MPAA rates movies. It’s a private organization, and filmmakers can choose not to use it… their film can be shown, but probably won’t get wide distribution. Here the government rates everything. This government power is what makes me think that the No Standing signs really are prohibiting standing around.

Okay, okay, enough with the America First diatribe. These are preliminary observations, and I’m happy to have them challenged. Why, just today, next to the train station, I saw a booth and a few representatives from the Democratic Socialist Party of Australia… Why they need another socialist party when this whole place is socialist, I don’t know, but maybe they really think they live under the power of capitalist pig dogs. How much more Socialist can you get than a 49% maximum tax rate, government paid universal health insurance, and more subsidized programs than you can shake a taxpayer owned stick at? How much more Socialist without becoming straight out Communist?

That’s it for me. It’s midnight, and The Simpsons have come on. I’m going to watch them then go to bed. Goodnight.