So anyway…

Generally speaking, I don’t have too much trouble with understanding an Australian dialect. I did when I first got here, but I’ve learned most of the quirks now, and I even use a number of distinctively Australian phrases and expressions.

Now and then, though, something will still catch me off guard or amuse me.

My greatest ongoing amusement is that Aussies (and Brits, too, as I understand it) use the term “pot plant” to refer to what Americans would call a “potted plant”. In pretty much any American dialect, a “pot plant” is, well, pot. You know, cannabis, also known as marijuana, grass, wacky weed, etc. (furthermore, I grew up in the seventies and spent a fair amount of time in California in my early teens, ’nuff said). So when we go to a hardware store or grocery store that has a big sign that says “Pot Plant Sale” I am always amused on some level, despite the fact that I know they mean a “potted plant” and not pot.

And on drug-related topics, many Aussies also call what Americans call a baby stroller a “pusher”. When I was growing up, “pusher” was slang for a drug dealer.

Finally, when I thought I’d mostly “got it” and didn’t have too many “What are you on about?” moments, I got caught out just a couple weeks ago. I took the car to an automotive repair shop to get an estimate, and the guy I was talking to told me he needed the “reg-o” (REJ-oh, that typical Australian thing where they stick an “oh” sound on the end of words, no, I don’t get it either). I just blinked. I thought, “Registration papers… hmmm…” and I went out to look in the glove compartment (which is, thankfully, still a glove compartment, even in Oz). See, in every U.S. state I’ve lived in (and that’s a fair number of states), your “registration” refers to the actual registration papers, which are carried around with the vehicle, usually in the glove compartment.

Nope. No papers. Hmmm. There’s a sticker on the windshield (errr, windscreen). I copied down all the information from it, all the numbers and weird little identifications, and then went back in with the info scribbled on the back of an envelope.

Turns out the “reg-o” is what I’d call the license plate number. *sigh*

It’s almost four years I’ve been here. I’ve been conversing with Australians on a daily basis for a lot more years. And I still get caught out by a silly phrase like that…

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Just got a spam in my filtered entitled:

The #1 modern ANTI-SPAM SERVICE on the market!

Because I was curious, I read what it had to say. It compared spammers to cockroaches and talked about how it’s an ongoing battle to keep the stuff under control. It then suggested that I send my email address to some address with a .ru extension.

To quote Dr. Evil, “Riiiiiiiiiiiight.”

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32 women complain of groping, fondling during airport body searches. Apparently, one of the people who complained of inappropriate handling was a twelve year old girl…

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This is scary. Since when is it in the interest of “security” to molest pregnant women?

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My friend and lovely assistant, Sara, is linked and quoted in an article on MSNBC. How cool is that?

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Shelagh sent me this link. Gee, I wonder if I should get bigger breasts for Christmas? My spam assures me I can get them… Nah. I’ve got nowhere to put them…

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*ahem*

Is your PC full of garbage?

No, just my spam filter, ya moron…

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Great article at Wired. Go read it.

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A man dies and ascends to Heaven, and is very surprised to find the Heavenly Gates tended by none other than Santa Claus.

“I thought Saint Peter was the gatekeeper,” the man said, obviously confused.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa replied. “Yes, that’s his job, but he’s on vacation. I’m filling in for him.”

Before the man can reply, Santa adds with a wink, “But don’t you worry… I know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice.”

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5. Christmas Eve

Some years ago, I lived in an apartment on the third floor that had a small wooden balcony. Late in Autumn, before we put the plastic weatherproofing sheet over the patio door, we put up lights on the balcony, sort of twisted around the railing. I thought it was kinda pretty, even though I’m not a big Christmas decorations type person.

Some time after Christmas, we noticed that the lights no longer came on when we flipped the switch (it was the balcony/porch light), but we couldn’t get out to check because there was no way we were taking down the plastic film until spring (that stuff is a major pain to put up, especially over something big like a patio door).

Spring came and we took down the plastic and went outside and the lights were apparently just GONE. There was a little “tail” of the cord hanging from the plug, which was still in the light socket, but the string of lights was nowhere to be seen. We honestly couldn’t figure out how anyone would get to the third floor to take them, but people have been known to do weird things…

Later in the spring, we went out to clean off the patio so we could use it, and there in the corner, tucked under some plastic chairs, was an abandoned nest, probably of a raccoon or a squirrel, and guess what was wound up in the nesting material? None other than our string of Christmas lights! It’s a wonder the animal didn’t electrocute itself chewing through the wire, and I’m really surprised we didn’t hear the thing as it unwound the light strand, but we lived near a fairly busy street and I guess we just weren’t paying attention (and the plastic on the window cut down a lot of outdoor noise).

There’s no moral to this story, by the way. I just think it’s kind of amusing.

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