We Are the Borg - sort of. 27 Jan 2013

As a Star Trek fan, being in church when we all recite/respond/read together always makes me think of the Borg. In fact, I heard somewhere that Gene Rodenberry (creator of Star Trek) actually got his idea for the Borg from attending church. He was, evidently, not a fan. Although I think the "You will be assimilated" sentiment is not a completely unwarranted conclusion to draw from a worship service.

Since I've been here in Australia, I've been to a variety of churches. My usual spot, as much as I have a usual anything at this point, is the Cambridge Fellowship at Trinity College. But I also caught a service at Melbourne Uni's Newman College chapel, an Episcopal Service out at Ballan, a country church Catholic service near Springbank, and a Carmelite Catholic service on the east side of Melbourne.

Now at my parent's church, Trinity in Kalamazoo, I was quite at home with the pace of congregational reading and recitation. In fact, it wasn't something I thought about much until one new family joined in 2012. They always sat in front, and they said everything just a few beats slower than the rest of the congregation - so we'd be all wrapped up and they're still saying the last bit. The longer the bit we were reciting, the more catching up they'd have at the end. So for prayer responses, we were all pretty much together. But for the Lord's Prayer, they were on their own for quite a bit at the end like:

(us) and the glory. Amen.
(them) For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen

Every time. Every Sunday. This did not change over the many months they attended before I moved. I have to say, though they made me giggle every week, I admired their staunch resistance to being assimilated into the pre-existing congregational pace. And to be fair, the rest of us weren't much for adapting to their pace, either.

Here, at the Canterbury Fellowship and the two country churches, I am a bit quick on the draw. I usually start and finish a little before the crowd, but we're generally at the same pace. When I went to the Newman College Chapel, I was definitely the person who made other people giggle by finishing long after everyone else was done. Those spoken word masses go like a sewing machine with the pedal all the way down. The congregation is responding before the priest is done with the bit that we are responding to:
TheLordBeWithYou
                   AndWithYourSpirit
                                          LetUsBlessTheLord
                                                                 ItIsRightToOfferOurThanksAndPraise
YourBiologicalAndTechnologicalDistinctivenessWillBeAddedToOur...
Oh, wait, wrong words. You get the idea. Mass started at 7pm, so maybe folks were just in a hurry to get to dinner.

The Carmelite service, though, was a whole different story. There were people from India, Italy, Indonesia, Australia, and at least one American - and those were just the ones I knew about. The liturgy and handouts were the same as at the Newman College chapel, but the whole service sort of ambled along. I think the folks leading music were seeing the hymns for the first time. And there was no way anyone in the group started or finished any singing, reading, responding, reciting together. It was a great continual murmur of voices and accents and languages that just swelled up as more people got into the spirit of the thing and diminished as folks gradually made their way through. At first I found it disconcerting - I couldn't find the rhythm of the group. But then I realized I could just have my own rhythm and it fit in just right and my voice contributed to the whole. I think that's just how God intended the church to be. Thanks be to God.

THE TENNIS

Every year the Australian Open happens in Melbourne. An Aussie friend was explaining to me that it is the religion of many Australians. Leading up to the Open, every TV series ad talked about all the new episodes that would happen after "THE TENNIS." I thought this was kind of funny, until I realized that is how every media outlet refers to the tournament. Then it was funnier.

THE TENNIS is on the TV every place I've been the last couple weeks, except places that don't have TV (like work and my house). Doctor's office, restaurants, train stations... the other night I was walking past Federation Square (a large open air courtyard near the river and Flinders St Train Station) and there were all these folks sitting on the ground staring in the same direction, but there wasn't a band or an entertainer, as is often the case in Fed Square. Then I realized they were watching THE TENNIS on what looked a bit like a large bedsheet stretched across the stage pillars. Seeing people watch TV without knowing what they are doing is sort of creepy.

I had a friend visit this weekend who took the time to figure out the TV left for my use by my landlord. So we pulled the dining room chairs over and watched THE TENNIS in my apartment. (My furniture is still trapped at the shippers.) We were watching the women's finals on Saturday night: Azarenka from Belarus vs. Li from China. At some point, Li challenged a call. The chair umpire responded in what I was convinced was Mandarin. I thought, "How lovely that the official speaks the language of the players. That TOTALLY wouldn't happen in the US." After a minute's thought about the likelihood of that happening in tennis, (even THE TENNIS), I turned to my Aussie-born friend and said, "Did you understand what the official just said?" "Yes. She said Azarenka's ball had landed in." Evidently, I can't always translate the Aussie accent.

FYI, the dishwasher is my latest nemesis. Current standings: American in Australia: Love, Italian dishwasher in Australia: 40.

The Big Australian Turn Off

Australians are quite conservative with their resources. Every outlet in the wall has switches so that the power to each plug can be shut off. It seems that part of the Australian habit is to use the appliance (toaster, washer, dryer, blender, etc.) and then turn off the switch. I cannot tell you how many times I tried to use the sandwich press at work and couldn't figure out why my sandwich wasn't toasted. Then, "Oh yeah, forgot to turn on the outlet." When I finally remembered to turn on the outlet, my sandwich still didn't get toasted because I was turning on the wrong one. The the toaster and coffee machine were plugged in the opposite of the way they were sitting on the counter. (Just like the I94 interchange by UofMN where you have to go east to go west.) I finally just switched the plugs around. Nothing better for lunch than a toasted sandwich.

This turning off also extends to water. When I arrived at Steve's, he gave me the tour of the house and explained that I had to turn the water on at the tap before I ran the washer. He showed me how to do that. Three days later, I did a load of wash. It's a front loader, and the cycle takes forever. Steve doesn't have a dryer, so I was pleased to discover that my clothes were practically dry when I took them out of the washer. "What a spin cycle!" I thought. "Totally worth it taking 2 hours to run." After a bit of hanging things on the clothes rack I started to get suspicious, so I sniffed something. STINK. Ok, so clearly, not washed. Then I remembered the instructions about turning on the water. My reward later that night, when I was trying to sleep in the next room, was listening to the vigorous spin cycle that made the washer bang up and down. Not so vigorous that my clothes were practically dry, however.

Last but not least (and probably not really the last), the other night I decided I would use the broiler to make nachos for dinner. There are three mysterious knobs on the oven, and most of the numbers and pictures have worn off. Remembering Jean's triumphant saving of Christmas dinner, I hit the internet to find directions. After 20 minutes of reading, I was pretty confident I knew how to get the oven to go.... but alas. Even following the instructions didn't make it work. I thought, "Aha! There's a plug somewhere that's not turned on." So I opened the next door cupboard and found the plug from the oven, but it was on. Despairing of having my 3rd meal in a row of yogurt, twigs, and berries, I knocked on the neighbor's door. "Is your oven like my oven? I can't figure out how to get it to turn on." She jumped right up from watching the Australian Open and came over to help me sort it out. "You have to turn on this and this, and set the timer."
"Yep, I tried all that and no luck."
"Hmm. There's usually a switch..." and then she flipped the mysterious "15A" switch next to the one that turns on the lights over the counter. Viola.

It's when I think I've got things figured out that the big Aussie turn off conspiracy strikes again.

Guns and Healthcare - an Aussie Perspective

Yesterday I saw a doctor for the first time in Australia, as the result of falling off a kerb (Aussie for 'curb') while walking to work back in December. Every Australian has Medicare, which is their public health insurance, paid through taxes. As a foreigner, I don't have access to Medicare, but I do have private insurance because it is required as a condition of my foreign visa. I pay $199 a month for full public coverage (basically the equivalent of Medicare ensured services) and limited private coverage. 

As a new patient at the University Health Centre and Royal Melbourne Hospital Radiology I got in the same day I called for an appointment, saw a doctor, then went radiation without an appointment and got on the table 15 minutes after walking in the door. It cost me $60 for the exam with a doctor and $43 for 4 xrays. This cost was what a person without insurance would get charged. I can submit the bills to my insurance to get reimbursed/apply to my deductible.

In the interest of full disclosure I will share the following:

• My insurance does not cover pre-existing conditions during the first year. So good thing this is my foot and not my perpetually cranky right knee.
• I had to walk my xrays back to the doc's office on the other side of campus. 
• I didn't get a lead vest in xray; they seem quite blithe about radiation here. Maybe it's because of the hole in the ozone.

Anyway, I was chatting with the cashier at the radiology desk about how the doc visit and xrays would have cost 10 times as much in the US. She said to me, "Is it true it would have cost you even more if you didn't have insurance?"

"Yes."

"Here it costs me more because I have Medicare - the xrays would have been $80."

"Still WAY cheaper than in the US."

"Is it true that if you don't have insurance in the US, they might not treat you at a hospital? Because when we travel there we are always advised to purchase insurance before we go."

"It's possible, but Aussie accents are so charming that they'd probably still take care of you."

She laughed. Then, "So you don't have Medicare like we do?"

"We have it, but it's not the same."

"I don't understand the US. Your people want to shoot each other, but they don't want to pay for each other's health care?"

"Basically, yes."

"Well, I don't want to shoot you, and I do want to pay for your health care."

"Why do you think I live in Australia now?"

Her laughter and mine accompanied me all the way out of the office.


BTW, the bones in my foot are awesomely long. [Shocking.] Xrays are cool!

Priceless

100 km on trams, trains, and buses
25km of walking
2 weeks to figure out that addresses are flat number/street number
50 apartment inspections
17 applications submitted
One two-bedroom, two bathroom flat, with north facing windows, a loft/study, a front and back garden AND a bathtub, all on a quiet street that's still close to public transport and 300m from a grocery store...

PRICELESS.

Well, not really. It's so pricey I need to find a roommate. But it is lovely. I moved in on Saturday, but my furniture isn't here yet, so it doesn't look much like a home. Thus, photos are from when Jean and I inspected it in December.

Front Yard

Living/Dining

Kitchen with Laundry in the back corner

Loft

Downstairs bedroom

WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!