The Tongue of the Noisy Miner

No, it's not a dirty old folk song—it's a bird:

The Noisy Miner is a bold and curious bird. It is identified by its mostly grey body and black crown and cheeks. The bill is yellow, as are the legs and the naked skin behind the eye. The name is well suited as the common calls are uttered repeatedly by the members of the colony.

These birds are about the size of robins, are all over eastern Australia, and are the most commonly seen bird around our home in Collaroy. But for all the times I've seen them, there was something I didn't know about them until the other day, when one landed on the veranda where I was sitting, and began hopping around our potted grevillea. Here's a photo Christine took of one on said plant (click and click again for real closeup):

It started sticking its beak into every flower on the plant, and appeared to be drinking nectar from them, like a hummingbird. I don't know if I've ever seen a bird other than a hummingbird do that. Well, turns out it was drinking the nectar. The noisy miner is a honeyeater:

The honeyeaters are a large and diverse family of small to medium sized birds most common in Australia and New Guinea, but also found in New Zealand, the Pacific islands as far east as Samoa and Tonga, and the islands to the north and west of New Guinea known as Wallacea. Bali, on the other side of the Wallace Line, has a single species.

Honeyeaters live on a variety of foods, such as fruits, seeds, and insects, but they are characterized by the fact that they all eat flower nectar. And like other nectar-eaters, such as bees, honeyeaters are in fact responsible for pollinating many types of plants. A cool thing about this is that flowers so-pollinated have developed special adaptions that both attract the birds and make it easy for them to access their nectar. These are ornithophilous—literally "bird-loving"—flowers. They usually brightly colored, often red, as sight is obviously highly developed in birds; they're often odorless, as birds are not good smellers; they produce a lot of nectar; and have cavities which hold enough nectar to make it worth a bird's while to feed on it. Characteristics all found in our grevillea—which will continue to attract miners for us. (This is all part of the larger and very fascinating story of pollination syndrome, I'm just learning. I'll have to look into that more in the future!)

The birds have developed their own adaptations, as well. Honeyeaters have curved beaks, often very long, and long, extendable, brush-tipped tongues that are good for lapping up nectar. And some have developed the ability to hover, like the hummingbirds, which makes feeding on flower nectar a lot easier. But alas, not the honeyeater. He jumps and flops around on our grevillea like he might be trying to kill it, but always ends up getting what he's after.

• Miners are called "miners" because early settlers thought they looked like a bird known from Asia, the myna, that name coming from a Hindi word. Myna's are not related to miners, and are a huge problem in Australia: these very aggressive birds—they're in the starling family—were introduced here in the mid-1800s (by idiots) to fight insects, and have since taken over huge areas once occupied by many other bird species.

• I've also just learned another fascinating thing: Although hummingbirds are very similar to honeyeaters (and to the other type of nectar-eating birds, the sunbirds), right down to their brush-tipped tongues—they are not related. They are in fact classic examples of convergent evolution. Nature so demanded they exist that they made extras.

Lorikeets on the Veranda

Sitting at my desk just now, a pair of lorikeets that have judged us easy marks (and who Christine has named Sadie and June) landed on the hand rail of the veranda, just some eight feet from me. One positioned itself directly in front of the open door, cocked its head sideways, one eye focused on me, and screeched. Several times. Loudly. It was, of course, rewarded for this obnoxiousness.

Here's the "Naming of the Lorkeets" video:



And a closeup:

America in Australia

So I'm on the bus in Sydney the other day and America's "Sister Golden Hair Surprise"—which is not my drag name—is playing. Next song: Billy Joel's "You May Be Right." On the TV I can watch Rosanne, Golden Girls, Everybody Hates Raymond, Diagnosis: Murder, House, Sh*t My Dad Says (which I thought was a show about a guy who's father says "shit" a lot)… Colonel Sanders is a god here. McDonald's - of course it's here. (Burger King too, but they're disguised as Hungry Jack's.) Jack Daniels is considered cool. I got a jar of "Newman's Own" spaghetti sauce in the supermarket the other day.

There are times I wonder where I moved to when I left America. America's younger cousin, sometimes it feels, with stranger animals. Australians will hate that, of course, the way Americans would hate some fer-ner coming to their country and saying it seemed like a younger cousin of Sweden, or something. (Which it is!)

I'll be writing more about this as the months pass. I've got a lot to learn about Australia, obviously.

Happy New Years Prawns

If you got it in your mind one day to enter the words "happy new year prawns" into the Google image machine, you would find that this most important and world-changing blog currently owns the first two entries.

I know this because my site meter tells me that someone in Israel googled "happy new years prawns" and ended up here. (It may be a euphemism. I do not know. I swear.)

Anyhoo, someone tell Sneezing Panda: I have conquered the internet. It is mine.

The Kangaroo Claw

This is a photo of a back paw of a kangaroo (via):

Consider that kangaroos' back legs are unbelievably powerful—they can jump an eight-foot fence from a standstill, and can leap nearly thirty feet while running—and that they can stand over eight feet tall while in fighting position. That claw could rip your guts out.

Now here's a video of a kangaroo attack.

My First Blue Bottle Jellyfish Sting

So I was trying to catch beach worms the other day - more on that later - when Christine noticed the delicate tentacles of a dreaded blue bottle jellyfish around my legs.

Bluebottle tentacles will cause a sharp, painful sting if they are touched, which is aggravated by rubbing the area. Intense pain may be felt from a few minutes to many hours and develops into a dull ache which then spreads to surrounding joints. The affected area develops a red line with small white lesions. In severe cases blisters and weals looking like a string of beads may appear. Victims may exhibit signs of shock. Children, asthmatics and people with allergies can be badly affected and many cases of respiratory distress have been reported in Australia.

I took photos of blue bottles for this post. One, with one long tentacle displayed:

I must have gotten a baby, or something, because it was just a mild, annoying sting—although it did last for a couple hours. Here are the marks left on my ankle:

But let's look further into the blue bottle jellyfish—which isn't a jellyfish. And it's not one animal. A blue bottle is four different kinds of creatures, known as zooids, living together to form what seems to be one creature. One kind makes up the flotation bladder, another does the hunting, another still the eating and digesting, and yet another takes care of reproduction. (Why do I always have to do the digesting and Francis always gets reproduction? It's NOT. FAIR!) I'm not kidding:

The Bluebottle or Portuguese Man-of-War is not a single animal but a colony of four kinds of highly modified individuals (polyps). The polyps are dependent on one another for survival.

The float (pneumatophore) is a single individual and supports the rest of the colony. The tentacles (dactylozooids) are polyps concerned with the detection and capture of food and convey their prey to the digestive polyps (gastrozooids). Reproduction is carried out by the gonozooids, another type of polyp.

I'll be doing more on these fascinating creatures in the future, and on zooids in general, in the future.

The Changing Middle East -> U.S.

It just occurred to me: If a good chunk of the Middle East makes a dramatic move toward democracy over the next few months or years, the U.S. is going to have to change dramatically, too.

Just saying.

"ROONEYYYY!"

Good god in heaven just listen to the sound of this first. Close your eyes and listen to the first seven seconds. Listen to the announcer shout the name, and go speechless, and listen to what they mean when they say a crowd "explodes." This is a moment that explains why there is such a thing as "sport."

Oh damn, they've taken the video down. You can see it here.

Update: Let's see how long this one lasts:

A few hours. Oh well.

UK Court: You're Too Dumb to Have Sex

BRITney Spears inconsolable.

I Should Have Bet on the Packers

Here's a photo of a beer cap from an Australian Carlton Draught beer I opened for the Super Bowl this morning in Sydney:

Here's what Christine found on its underside:

D'oh!

Floods, Cyclone, Now Fire

Perth is burning:

Hundreds of firefighters in Western Australia are working to try to bring under control fires that have been raging across Perth.

400 firefighters have been battling a number of blazes over the past 24 hours.

In the south eastern suburbs of Roleystone and Kelmscott, 35 homes have already been destroyed.

Good God, what's next? Toads?

More.

I Came to Australia for the Haggis

If you had heard for years and years tales of a dreadful dish made by a strange people far way and then one day you were offered the opportunity to actually taste the dish yourself, the very first time you brought a spoonful of the stuff toward your lips you would have visions of terrifying monsters clawing their way out of your bowels, making wicker baskets of your intestines. The dreadful dish could be called "ice cream": if you had never had it and had been told wicked tales about it, the first bite would be terrifying.

So it was with the haggis.

I went the Warringah Scottish Society's (Warringah's the local council area) Robert Burn's Night last night. It reminded me a bit of the volunteer fire company's pancake breakfast events I've been to in rural New York. Unpretentious people of all ages, although in this case it was primarily people of considerable years, getting together for some silliness and fundraising.

I sat with Therese, Pam, and Lesley, all officers of the Scottish Society, Lesley the Chief. An illustration of how sweet these women were: at one point Lesley was off performing one of her numerous duties, and Therese asked if it was alright if she and Pam danced, as nobody was dancing and she wanted to get the crowd going. She asked because she didn't want to leave me alone at the table. I mean that's just sweet.

They did the traditional Burns Night ritual, which I wasn't familiar with. (You can read about the details at the link.) There was a bagpipe band, complete with drummers and one young woman dancer—unbelievably elegant and focused—and the address to the haggis and all that. A few cell phone pics is all I got:

The Piper

Therese and Pam

The pipers and the lass

Then they actually brought bits of haggis around and gave everyone little dishes of it.

We've all heard the tales of the dreaded haggis: It's made from sheep's brains and lungs wrapped in a cow's anus and left to stew underground for a year before being shat upon and eaten. Or something. (Actual recipe here.)

It was actually good that the ladies weren't present when I had my first bite. Perhaps they planned it that way? It was just me, a bottle of thick red wine, and the haggis. I figured if things went sideways I could pour the wine over myself, smash the bottle, and cut my throat.

The first taste was awful. Horrible, dreadful, disgusting, sickening, gag-inspiring awful—because that's what you expect after all the stories. Then you actually shut up and taste it: Haggis has a texture like corned beef and hash. Which, come on, is just not a texture you want associated with food. It's silly. Barf has a more intriguing texture. But you get past that—it's not unlike turkey dressing in texture, now that I think of it—then you get a bit of a meat flavor, and then the spices. It's weird, but while it was in my mouth, it wasn't the best taste in the world. It wasn't terrible, just a bit, I don't know. Maybe "brainy." Or "lungy." But as soon as I had swallowed—I wanted more. It left the most delicious flavor in my mouth. It was almost cinammonlike. I ate my dish, then ate Pam's, who had returned by this time and took just one bite of her dish and offered me the rest. "I had my one bite," she said, "good enough."

The haggis ritual over, we chatted some more, about brain tumors for a period, strangely enough, (or appropriately enough?), I had a dance—a progressive barn dance, which allows you to look stupid with all the ladies in the room!—then there were toasts, some more bagpipes, coffee, and the singing of "Auld Lang Syne" and the Australian national anthem, "Advance Australia Fair," which sounds like a play at a cricket match: "Smith's knocked a good one…advance Australia...fair!"

Then it was home, to Christine, with my haggis breath. Put on the Barry White!

[photo]

ABC Digital Dig Music: Joni Mitchell

I've got digital TV for the first time in my life. Lots to see - but very glitchy.  Perhaps just my system.

A cool thing is that they have digital radio channels. Just four or five, but one is ABC (Australian Broadcasting Company) Dig Music. They're playing Joni Mitchell's "Chinese Cafe/Unchained Melody" right now. I approve.

Now playing  Pink Floyd "Keep Tallking." Too much.

My Personal Quest for a New Australian Word

So I'm in a local mall the other day when I asked Christine if we were going to the "newsie," short for newsagent—a shop that sells newspapers, magazines, candies, fishing licenses (so I found out) and assorted sundries.

She looked at me like I had just said something really stupid. In Bulgarian.

"It's a newsagent, it's not a "newsie." She said it just like that, all snotty.

I was sure I'd heard her call it a newsie, and told her so. She insisted I had not.

We go into the not-newsie, and the clerk says the woman who just left had left something behind. I went and found a woman who I thought I'd seen in the shop and asked her, "Were you just in the newsie?" It just slipped out.

She looked at me like I was stupid, and Bulgarian, and said, "Do you mean the newsagent?"

Christine has told anyone who will listen about this minor event, every time while pointing and laughing at yours truly.

Now here's the thing: Australians shorten everything, either by adding an "ie," a "y," or  an "o." A fisherman is a "fisho." Chewing gum is "chewie." A mosquito is a "mozzie." A present is a "prezzy." A car registration is a "rego" (soft g, just like in registration). If something is expensive it's "exy." A freaking fireman is a "firie," for god's sake. They shorten, in short, everything.

But not "newsagent." The one Australian word I decide to use on my own, that I take out for a little linguistic test run—no no no no no. Not that one. Wrong.

"If it was going too be shortened," said Christine's sister, Shannon, "it'd be news-o, not news-ie." Everyone agreed with her.

There's a rule, apparently, in Australia, regarding the shortening of words, and whether you shorten it with an "o" or "ie." Everyone, apparently, knows this rule. And so I have been informed that not only did I shorten a word that is one of the only words in the entire English language that is not under any circumstances to be shortened, I shortened it in a way that it would not be done if it were to be done at all. I was wrong, and I was wrong wrongly.

Well, enough is enough.

I will henceforth be using the word "newsie" whenever I approach, enter, mill about in, leave, or just think about a newsagent. I will speak about "newsies" to my friends, to relatives overseas, to strangers that I meet on the street. "Do you know where the nearest newsie is? Is that a good newsie? Does the newsie have chewie? Is the chewie exy at the newsie? Have you ever been spanked in a newsie? I have. Delicious good fun, being spanked in a newsie..."

I will shout "newsie!" into the windows of sleeping children, so as to infiltrate their dreams with this brand new word.

I will hire small airplanes to drag banners through the sky saying, "Get the latest news—at the newsie—you bastards!"

I will write letters to the editor of every newspaper in the country, and I will mention "newsies" in said letters at least fifteen times each, even if it makes no sense at all to do so. I will newsie the freaking newsie out of all the newsiest newsies in newsie-dom.

I will use the word "newsie" so often that Australians will start using the word themselves, thinking that it's a perfectly natural word, that they've been using it all their lives, never knowing that it was me, it was me that planted that word in their minds, in their language, in their country.

This is my personal quest for one simple and perfectly sensible short word: "newsie."

Post Cyclone Yasi News

Cairns.com has a very good rundown, town by town. Just a few:

Cardwell
Copped the worst of the cyclone as winds of 290km/h belted the town before it was inundated by a 5m storm surge. Up to 210 homes damaged. The town was isolated as fallen trees and debris blocked the road and cut off both sides of the highway.

Ingham
No treated water or power. Shops in Herbert St sustained damage from wind gusts and the Herbert River peaked at 12m. Cut off as the Bruce Highway is closed by flooding on both sides.

Townsville
The CBD was inundated by tidal surge. Waves up to 9.5m were recorded at The Strand. Power cut to 85,000 homes. Residents told to boil water after water treatment plan sustained damage.

Super-Cyclone Yasi Approaching Queensland [updates 4*]

* News.com.au constant updates here; ABC here.

* Live-cam in northern Queensland (Townsville):



Live Broadcasting by Ustream

Because, you know, Queensland's just had it too easy lately:

Meteorologists are warning that a huge cyclone heading towards Australia could be the most life-threatening storm in generations.

Tropical Cyclone Yasi has been upgraded to a category five, which is severe.

Tropical Cyclone Yasi is set to hit the northern coast of Queensland state late today or early tomorrow.

The weather bureau says there's an extremely serious threat to life and property, especially between the towns of Port Douglas and Townsville.

Thousands of residents and holidaymakers have been flown out, while two hospitals in the town of Cairns have been evacuated.

They're expecting wind gusts NEARING 200 MPH. That is just sick.

Look at this:

You can see the storm plain enough. The white line on the left shows the outline of the Cape York Peninsula. Humongous!

Get out now:

State Premier Anna Bligh said the timing meant a very dangerous storm surge could be expected across a large stretch of the north Queensland coast.

‘‘I cannot say in strong enough terms, you have to take this window of opportunity to evacuate,’’ Ms Bligh told people at risk of the surge.

The cyclone is expected to make landfall between Cairns and Cardwell at 10pm (Queensland time) tonight, coinciding with the high tide.

‘‘It will close within the next three hours. Do not bother to pack bags, just grab each other and get to a place of safety.’’

Oh—and it's coming in on a high tide. Perfect.

Jesus. Good luck, once again, Queenslanders.

* Oy weh:

*4: Latest storm track prediction: