In Horsham, I met a man from Kenya who was a peacekeeper in Rwanda, as well as Sudan and in other places in Africa. He had the most fucked up and horrifying but interesting stories I have ever heard. He was telling me of all the beheadings, the torture, and merciless killings he'd witnessed before moving to Australia two years ago. One example of torture he told me about was this method called the "golden cross" (probably not this because a quick Google search comes up with nothing, but it's something similar to that title), where you put three tires around a person, pour gasoline all over these tires and obviously set it alight. Not only does all the rubber melt to the persons skin, but it also apparently takes an hour or so for the person to die in this manner. What a fucking horrible way to die...
While in Ararat, I happened to meet an Aussie who not only likes watching the NFL, specifically the San Francisco 49ers, but also enjoys watching hockey (the Detroit Red Wings). We spoke for about 20 minutes before I high fived his fearless three year old son and was on my way. About 15 minutes later, I also met an old woman who was quite possibly the most caring and nicest person I have ever come across - so much so that it literally gave me chills everywhere. She donates to thirty four (34) charities on a constant monthly basis, she lost a daughter 8 years ago (reasons unknown to me), she offered me a drink of water right away because she saw how dried and chapped my lips were, she showed me and my coworker Surafel (awesome Ethiopian dude, backed hard) the outlines of a pregnant lady in the mountains (pictures below) of which I thought she was actually going to introduce us to a woman who was pregnant, and is just generally a kind and awesome person. Her and her husband (whose 80th birthday is January 15th, ps) owned a bed and breakfast on 15 acres of land out in Dandenong before selling it all and moving up to Ararat. At one point, the three of us were talking about how odd it is to me that it's Christmas and that it's warm, because usually it's snowing in Toronto around this time, and Surafel responds saying that he's "never seen snow in his life", which prompted the woman to say something along the lines of "Oh, so you're more drawn to exotic conditions and warmer weather, huh?" to which he responds, "I'm actually not a big fan of the sun. I get the nastiest tan", which we all found hilarious. This would be funnier if you were there, I promise.
So here's a "joke":
What do you call a black guy running down a hill?
A male of African descent sprinting down a geographical landform that extends above the surrounding terrain.
Check out this awesome segue: One of my coworkers is Rwandan. His name is Phil. When Phil was 14, his passage into manhood through his tribe was to scour Rwanda for a leopard and return with its tooth. It took him 9 days to track this particular leopard down, and once he was in a close enough range that the leopard noticed Phil stalking it, the leopard turned and began slowly walking towards him. Phil in turn begins walking slowly toward it, then side stepping to the left or right (I'm not sure) to gain a better killshot - mind you, he is 14 and is only carrying with him one spear and one knife. He apparently calmly throws the spear hitting the leopard in the stomach area, where he proceeds to cut the leopards throat and then goes on to take out its tooth to bring back to his tribe as evidence. Phil currently wears this tooth around his neck. He also witnessed his uncle get murdered by rebels in the genocide in 1994 (I believe he is 22) when he was 6. His father has been a prominent figure in Rwandan politics since before the genocides, and essentially tried to expose the Rwandan government for all of its crimes. He and his family were forced to flee Rwanda to South Africa under the cover of darkness. Phil's parents and his two youngest siblings live in South Africa. In June, this June, while in their car on their way to the market, a gunman attempted to kill Phil's dad, hitting him once in the chest and in the hand, before the gun jammed and help arrived. His father is okay and healthy, but holy fucking shit.
Phil is probably the most interesting person I know because of the horrible stories he has had to endure, and I know it's really terrible to take "pleasure" from listening to his stories, but they're so bewildering and absolutely impossible to grip the fact that while I was growing up in Canada worrying about the mean kids at school making fun of me or whatever, Phil was living through a genocide and hunting leopards. He and Surafel are quite possibly the most humble, down to earth people I have ever come across. I really enjoy their company, and they're also hilarious and capable of giving great advice well beyond their years.
Anyway, Ararat is really pretty for a small landlocked town. I kept snapping pictures of it on my phone every so often. None of these pictures are really of anything, but here they are:
Can you see the "Pregnant Lady"? Left, her stomach with child. Right, her face and hair pushed back.
Friday, I saw the Descendents at the No Sleep Till tour, which wasn't really a great tour but Gwar (who I have no interest in) were hilarious. They had a dinosaur on stage at one point as they spewed fake blood all over the audience, and got fucking infuriated at a rainbow that had appeared overhead while they played. The dinosaur is pictured below, but it's really shit since I was pretty far away:
The Descendents, even for being 40+ year old nerds, were fucking awesome. Their setlist from what I could remember included (this is for Megan, if she still reads this):
Descendents
I'm Not A Loser
Suburban Home
I Wanna Be A Bear
I'm The One
Everything Sucks
Coffee Mug
Rotting Out
When I Get Old
I Don't Want To Grow Up
Hope
Nothing With You
Saturday night was works Christmas party. We went out to this place called Slate Bar which was pretty fun, and I got to meet a whole bunch of new people that I hadn't spoken to or seen before. It was a lot of hanging out and talking which was nice. We all decided to head out to this club called Wobble, but by the time that was decided upon it was around 230am or so, and Lawrence (coworker) and I decided that we were hungry as shit, so we walked over to "Macca's" (McDonalds), and then we both went our separate ways. I had previously thought that trams ran until like 430am, so like an asshole I sat there waiting for the tram for a good 15 or 20 minutes wondering where the fuck it was while freezing my ass off (it was chilly, and I know I've no right to complain since it's summer here, but still). I eventually figured it out that the trams are done at 140am, and so I had to walk halfway up Elizabeth Street since I didn't have enough cash to take me all the way up to Brunswick. I got home at around 3/330am. Overall, it was a fun night.
This last paragraph really dropped off in terms of entertainment value, I apologize. And now here's a song.
Ola Podrida - Your Fathers Basement
And oh, a "mozzi" (the last word) is a mosquito. I got the worst fucking mozzi bites on my feet because of this weekend. It's ridiculous and so very itchy when I walk.
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