howdy!

On my first trip solo overseas, I got infected with a travel bug so fatal that within three weeks of my return to Australia, I'd bought a ticket to get the hell out of here. An inspired flash decision, a bizarre way of dealing with reverse culture shock, or a foreboding glimpse of the future? Stick around and find out!

This blog is a record of my five weeks away in the great US of A. I managed to keep a semi-regular blog during my footloose & fancy free student exchange in Sweden. Being the narcissistic and easily amused upstart I am, writing it gave me much pleasure. Especially so when I got comments from my friends or random blow-ins, and even when I inadvertently caused the occasional scandal (it's the last time I mention casual sex when my extended family are reading!) it was good to know that at least some people were reading. But due to the brevity of my trip and the uncertainty of where i'll be from day to day (yay!) I can't offer any guarantees of regular posting or quality posts but I'll give it my best shot.

My engagement with the US goes way back to primary school, where Dad hated The Simpsons with a passion so ferocious that it made it, by default, the coolest thing on TV. In high school, me and my friends skipped class and hid out in an empty classroom to watch George Bush's State of the Union address where he launched his policy of pre-emptive strikes. And at uni, when I lived next to pot-smoking, hard-partying American boys in my second year at college, and "USA" has become synonymous with "cultural imperialism" throughout my entire Media and Communications degree.

But the US started to mean something personal to me when I met Frances from California in Lund, Sweden during my exchange. The Californian kids were quite notorious around the international student circuit - when asked where they were from, they'd answer "California" whereas kids from the other 49 states would say "America." I met Frances through my friend Nikki (who is going to be my travelling buddy) at the Welcome to Sweden party, where she danced in a manner so uninhibitedly provocative that for the rest of the semester men would ask whether she had a boyfriend, and then promptly disregard the answer and continue to try to catch her attention. But Frances is not all the $2 hussy she appears to be! On a weekender I did with Nikki and Frances down to Berlin, I didn't get to see half the sights because I was doubled over with laughter, even at the more sombre moments. She's a lady more than worthwhile making the trip for, especially with the added bonus of seeing my corridor mate Brad from Oregon, if he can tear himself away from the baseball and grundle finessing he's famous for.

The other reason I'm going to the States is to see my boyf. I met Murray from Scotland in Sweden, and we went holidaying around Morocco. International. When it was time for me to come back to Aus, there were a million reasons for us to go our separate ways (the most convincing: past experience, rationality, sanity) but a few incredibly convincingly ones to stay together. Now, I want to be honest. I hate it when people turn all lovey-dovey on blogs, who waste entire posts in the form of unabashed hymns of praise. You can go to the Myspace teen-scene if you need to vent those feelings inside. Also, I understand what it's like. I've been suffering intensely violent feelings whenever I see couples smooching or holding hands or gazing into each others eyes or buying groceries; even when they're having a row in the Safeway carpark, it's enough to melt my icy heart. So, in short, it's not going to be like that, kays?

In my hurry to pay for my airfare, I didn't exactly consider the financial ramifications of saving. For these last four and a bit months I've been living in self-imposed student poverty, the kind which stagnates your wardrobe and bans you from pre-lecture lattes, that forces you off public transport unless it's absolutely necessary, and makes you fall back on goon and $5 bottles of sherry even though you swore to yourself you were beyond such self-abuse. It also makes you seek dubious employment opportunities - while I haven't been forced to "exotic dancer" it up, I am working for a boss who is embroiled in a case/crusade against the tax office. He's got a bit of a shady past but he's legit now, the work is law-related and he pays cash in hand so it's a happy trade-off.

I've got a week and a half left in Australia and a very long list of things to get through. My priorities are buying travel insurance, moving all my shit from my abode in Carlton to my one in Brunswick, paying the bond, earning some more dosh, picking up my passport from my country home, haircut, new underwear, and setting aside an afternoon to get my winter body appropriately groomed for San Francisco's beaches (if there are any?). I'm also frantically trying to find out as much as I can about San Francisco and New York, my main destinations, as I can. From now till the 20th, you'll find me most mornings and evenings on the number 8 tram with Nikki's Lonely Planet Guide to San Francisco propped up on my knees and highlighter in hand.