In an effort to more fully understand… global cultures… I found this whilst perusing a database of racial slurs:
| Slur | Represents | Reasons/Origins |
| Zeppo | Americans | used by Australians |
They call us that? For seriously? Of all the incredible, obscure-seeming slurs (including Björk for icelanders) I can’t imagine one that would be less offensive to the American psyche. Hell, half of us wouldn’t even get the reference… I think.
…but you still haven’t called back. Damned tease.
Actually, while I did call Australia, I didn’t call an ostensibly exciting part — I called the Westin Hotel in Sydney. So what? It’s a hotel. Well, it is a nice hotel.
When colonial architect James Barnet designed the famous General Post Offiice building at No. 1 Martin Place in 1864, he intended to create a centerpiece for Sydney that would signal its coming of age. [...] Westin lovingly restored the classic building, now heritage listed, transforming it into a luxury 416 room masterpiece. The Black and White stair came back to life in black slate and white marble. The former telegraph exchange became the Heritage ballroom. The old telephone exchange hall now houses the Health Club and a crystalline indoor swimming pool. Last but not least, the magnificent Grand Stair, demolished in the 1920s, rose again in cast iron and polished Australian cedar. Known as the point from which all points in Sydney were originally measured, No.1 Martin Place has certainly earned the right to be described as the true heart of the city.
-from the Starwood Hotels and Resorts “big book”
For those unaquainted (with myself) I work at another (somewhat less eminent) Westin, in Rancho Mirage California. Needless to say calling Sydney was long distance. Fourteen full digits worth: 011 61 2 8223 1111. Try it some time. Just for fun, count how long it takes to connect. Turn the volume up to hear those portentous and plentiful little clicks that signal fiber-optic lines kicking into high gear. Marvel at the perplexingly not-American ring indicator. And be somewhat surprised (although you really shouldn’t be) at the pleasant Australian strine on the other end.
Yes, I called Australia. I was looking for a job. But I didn’t get one — my working holiday visa only allows the traveller-cum-workingman one job every three months. Westin doesn’t play that game. That’s fine with me; my journey is one of life experience, not job experience. I just needed to know if there was a job waiting there for me. Because right now, I have no idea what I am actually going to be doing in that far-flung antipodean land.
It was nice to call there, though. Now I’m pretty sure it exists.
My hometown is not a large place. Australia …is. Someday the two shall meet. I’m going there if it’s the next last thing I do.
And I’ll write about getting there, here.
That’s the idea anyways. I’ve got months to go before I leave and tons of things to do (or is it tonnes?) I still need airfare, a passport, and my visa. I have no idea where I’ll be working, I don’t know what life will be like there, the only thing I’m fairly sure of is this place is supposed to be in the southern hemisphere somewhere—and it’s pretty far away.
I mean, at first I didn’t even know what to call this write-em-up I got going here. I started with AusBlog. That was aweful. Then it was Home of the AusBlog, which was also aweful but had the additional pleasure of being a longer phrase that people had to read through instead of simply something aweful. Get my point? I tried Wanna be an Aussie, but I don’t wanna be an Aussie. I’m an American and I’ve come to accept that fact. I wanna be in Aussie-land. I then discovered that ‘Aussie’ with the esses was somewhat of a faux-pas, as it must sound too much like ‘wussy’. Wussy, for those not familiar with its etymology, is the conjoining of wimp and pussy. Not something you want associated with your national character. Oz and Ozzie are far-n-away preferred. So I arrived at OzThing, a title far closer to the mark. But the essential message that this was… a thing… that was related to… Oz-tralia… it lacked a little something in character. It had a weak identity. This isn’t just a thing, it’s my thing. I needed to tie it to who I already was. And so I decided to bestow upon this lucky subdomain my already hallowed online identity—Glot. Glot is me, my experiences and thoughts, and the media that represents them. It’s something I’ve become proud of despite trying not to be.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the OzGlot.
Happy to have ya… now keep reading.
