Mon - April 5, 2004

Now there's a pity


Wherein our narrator whinges about the lack of WiFi in Auckland International Airport.

They have these lovely desk stations, one of which I'm sitting at now, typing away. They even have phone jacks. And just 4 meters to my right, there's a bank of 3 computers, each of which eat NZ $2 coins, and provide you with internet/web access.

But there's no WiFi. My poor little AirPort smells *nothing* in the air. I'm not sure why this is - perhaps the business travellers passing through the airport here are too fagged, shagged and ragged to actually care to go online. But my goodness, they do it in Sydney, and whatever they do in Sydney, they do in Auckland - sooner or later.

I had it figured out pretty quickly: New Zealand is the little brother to Australia's big brother. Like all brother-brother relationships, it's fraught will all sorts of testosterone-fuled issues of competition and one-upsmanship. New Zealand has very nearly the same flag as Australia - except the stars are red, not white. (There may be other differences, but they're too subtle for my eyes to discern.) The currency looks very similar - it's plastic, just like Australia's - except the two dollar coin is *larger* than the one dollar coin, which makes perfect sense, actually, but has been consistently confusing me, because I'm acclimated to the Australian 2-dollar "pound" coin (because it looks very much like a british pound, and has about the same value) which is smaller than the Australian dollar.

Oh the comforts of home!

But back to it. The big brother has a checkered past (that convict thing), but, like the prodigal son, has fallen back into a very comfortable middle age. New Zealand never did anything wrong - being the comfortable satellite colony of Britain (they were offered independence in 1907, and didn't accept it until 1947) and an altogether comfortable, sophisticated culture. The biggest thing New Zealand has working against it - its low population - is precisely the thing it's working so hard to preserve. It's a fiendishly difficult country to immigrate to, yet about 25% of the population are first generation immigrants. There are close to 4 million Kiwis in the country - although about 10% of them are in Australia at any point in time (permanent residents of either country can move back and forth between them at will), and at least another few hundred thousand are in Britain, the USA, or just backpacking around the world.

I can understand why they cut out and see the world. Auckland, with a population of about 1.4 million, began to feel awfully small after just a few days - not impossibly small, but relatively small. Sydney, with its 4 million population began to feel positively gigantic, and Sydneysiders are always griping about how small Sydney is, relative to London or New York or (lately) Shanghai. But Australia allows 1% of its population to be supplemented by immigration each year. (Perhaps in a few years, one of those immigrants will be me.) New Zealand used to do this, but has cut back lately, so that maybe just .5% of its population, on a yearly basis, is new immigrants.

So New Zealand is far away from everything - except Australia - which is far away from everything else. It really is far away here. It took a long time to check in at the airport this afternoon, basically because everyone packs everything including the kitchen sink when they leave the country. It's a long, long way to anywhere, so folks had more luggage than I'm normally accustomed to seeing in a check-in line. Acres of luggage, bikes, surfboards, and so on.

I had a very successful day today, lecturing at the Auckland University of Technology and dispensing some free advice to the faculty of various parts of the college of Arts. First thing this morning I gave a lecture to a classroom of design students - one of my favorite jobs, because I really managed to blow their minds. Too much, perhaps, because, at the end of the hour, there were no questions. "Too many," one girl muttered, when the call went up for questions. Heheheh. That first was a more or less off-the-cuff talk about design in the age of active materials, not so much a retread of the lecture I gave at RMIT as an elaboration on the same themes. I borrowed from a Scientific American article I'd read on the plane to Auckland, all about the origin of the linguistic assignments for colors. Pre-modern cultures generally have the same three words for color: black, white and red.

Which brings me to my walk through the Auckland Museum on Sunday afternoon. It's world famous for its incredible collection of Maori artifacts, and I spent an hour feasting on this fully realized and thoroughly unique Polynesian culture. They had a reconstruction of a ceremonial hut (I believe it had simply been reassembled inside the museum). that you could doff your shoes and walk through. Inside, beautiful wood carvings (tikis, more or less) adorned nearly every available inch of wall surface. Everything was painted, was colored - and all of it in red, white and black.

Look back to Lasceaux, Catal Huyuk, Uxmal, it doesn't matter: the colors of the "primitives" are black, white and red. Whether they noted blue and described it as "black-like' is unknown. But it makes sense. Black is cool and dark. White is light. And red is warm - in addition to its role as the color of lifeblood.

Oh, and the men are better looking in Australia. More redheads here in Auckland (because exposure to the sun won't kill them) but, on the whole, Sydneysiders are just prettier to look at. Lucky for me.

Posted at 04:53 PM    

Sun - March 7, 2004

There's No You in Qantas


Wherein our narrator enjoys some in-flight entertainment.

There has never been an in-flight fatality on a Qantas flight. This makes Qantas by far the safest major airline in the world. In ranking, I think Qantas comes in 11th or 12th largest - right behind Singapore, and maybe China Airlines. It is the monopoly carrier in Australia, although it is now facing some competition from Virgin Blue (Richard Branson, cherry picking once again) and has been forced to start up a low-cost carrier, branded as JetStar, to carry passengers to inexpensive holiday destinations. They may offer cheap flights, but no way that'll cut into their lucrative profits in the intercity trade. At least, not now.

I've flown Qantas before, on my trip to Melbourne in November for SPAA. It was comfortable and efficient. Same today. Although I struck out early, I didn't get to the airport till about 7:30 - for a flight that left at 8:15 AM. In the US, that would have meant I'd miss my flight, what with security and all. And although the line at the check-in counter was quite long, it moved quickly, so by 7:45 I was on my way to the gate, and onto the plane.

So not only is this a cheap flight, courtesy FUTUREPROOF, I'm in the cheap seats. There are 29 rows on this 737-800, and I'm sitting in row 28. This is only marginally alleviated by the fact across the isle from me is David Barda, a man-about-town in Sydney, publisher of IF Magazine (which is all about Australian cinema production) and someone who is growing to be more-than-an-acquaintance,, if only because we're seeing each other so often.

One good thing: the in-flight entertainment included an episode of the Australian sitcom "Kath & Kim," which everyone has been telling me is the best comedy on Australian TV. Having now seen an episode, I believe it. Headphones on, I was probably making quite a scene of myself, because I was laughing out loud (and quite loud) at a couple of points. Cardonnay, anyone? (It's French. The "haich" is silent.) It's full of Australianisms - and so I was informed - but I'm getting enough of a grasp of the culture here (after all, I do work with filmmakers and creatives who are supposed to be keen observers of Australian culture) that I could get at least most of the jokes. It's actually a universal comedy, in the wicked strain of "Absolutely Fabulous" - something that works well in the UK and Australia, but would probably be perceived as too cruel in America. Except, of course, for "The Simpsons," which somehow manages to break every rule of expectations, and succeeds, perhaps because of that. Or did. "The Simpsons," after thirteen seasons, is beginning to look more like a dissociative diatribe written by a bunch of pre-psychotic media studies academics.

Ah, the captain is on the PA, announcing that it's 16 degrees in Adelaide - brrr, I brought light clothes, because it *was* 34 in Adelaide last week - and telling us we've gone below 10,000 feet, on our way into land. Soon they'll ask me to turn the iBook off. Ah. There is is. And so to sleep.

Posted at 09:52 AM    

Tue - November 18, 2003

Heading South


Wherein our narrator travels to Australia's second city.

I'm up at about 10km, on a more-or-less smooth Quantus flight from Sydney to Melbourne. As I was being cheap, I decided to risk taking the train to the airport. It was completely easy to do - though I'm not sure my ticket actually worked in the turnstile. It fed me some error message, but let me out, so I decided to ignore it, and headed into the airport. I have heard the Sydneysiders discuss the airport line - which was completed for the 2000 Olympic games - as a bit of a boondoggle that no one uses. But I was on a train relatively crowded with soon-to-be-passengers, so I don't get what all the fuss is about. Probably it's coming from the owners of the taxi companies, who are losing those sweet AUD $50 fares to ferry passengers from the airport to the CBD. Oh well. You heard the same thing when San Francisco built the BART out to its airport - something that only opened a few months ago.

There was WiFi at the airport, so I paid Telstra (evil) AUD $8 for 30 minutes of access. Rather too expensive, but whatever. I actually got to handle a few last minute emails, and sent my SPAA docs to my Yahoo! email account, just in case some catastrophic failure wipes out my computer, my CDs, the copies I sent to SPAA, etc. The absolute worst-case scenario.

I've packed a lot of black clothing. I understand that Mebournians tend to favor black, though Karen - a friend of mine from SF who is now in Melbourne - is reporting that she's seeing less black than she'd find in San Francisco. Not that that, as a metric, is particularly meaningful.

My only neurotic moment now concerns connectivity - or the lack of it - available at my hotel. It'll be difficult if I can't check my emails, etc., when I'm in my hotel room. I didn't have any problem in June, at the Holiday Inn (of all places, but it was by far the nicest Holiday Inn I'd ever stayed in or visited) but the Grand Hyatt Melbourne may be another matter altogether. It's hard to know, because the website seemed to say something about 128Kb ISDN access available in the rooms. But what that means, I have no idea. Hopefully, like every other major 21st century hotel, they've got broadband in the rooms. If they don't, I'm gonna be pissed.

Ah, I can feel the gentle shift of descent beginning. Whee!

Posted at 02:02 PM    

Sat - October 11, 2003

Baby Baby it's a WiFi World


In which our narrator hops on a for-pay network.

In SFO. Waiting for my group to be boarded on the flight to Sydney. Using T-Mobile WiFi for $6/hour. Which sorta sucks because everything thus far has been free. But whatever. It's nice to be able to publish the blog entry I wrote at LAX. And this one. Even though it doesn't say very much.

All airports need more plugs and more WiFi. Lots more WiFi.

Well, that's it till Sydney. Let's just hope that everything goes smoothly at Immigration, or there'll be another nasty chapter added to this blog.

Posted at 10:17 PM    

October is the Cruelest Month


Wherein our narrator, typing on his keyboard at a succession of airports, air planes, etc., relates the harrowing tale which led him to nearly cancel his trip, but, with the intervention of a Deux Ex Machina, is assured a happy ending.

I haven't posted a blog entry since a few hours after Ahnold became Governor-elect of California. Well, more precisely, I did type one in on Wednesday, but iBlog, despite its charms, seems to have eaten it.

So, to recap: On Wednesday morning I woke up at 6 AM and started to call the Australian Embassy again, assuring them I could be reached in San Diego. About an hour and a half later, I got a call from Beth Foster at the embassy. Lo, she exists, and is not just the figment of some voice mail demon.

She says they've received my application. Good, I say. But, she says, she's never seen a US citizen file this visa (form 456 for a 456 visa) before. What? Why did you file it? Because that's what AFTRS told me to do, I said. OK, well, you could have filed the form 977 visa. Online.

Online. In other words, all of this weeks of waiting in limbo has been completely, utterly unnecessary. She tells me that we can continue with the visa process - but several other pieces of documentation will be required, including a letter of recommendation from Malcolm, Dean of AFTRS, letters of recommendation from folks in the US, my c.v., etc. In other words, a *lot* of stuff. Or she can cancel this and file a 977 visa request. Which will go through that day. All I have to do is send a cover letter indicating that I wish her to do this.

I ask her for her fax number, and twenty minutes later she has the document. She says she'll send an email that evening, with the tracking number for the overnight return of my passport.

I can hardly believe it. I'm pissed, but I'm also elated. I'm finally going.

I type all of these details in an email to Peter Giles and send it off. He's very happy that we're nearing the end of all this madness, and chagrined that I've been on the ground for nearly three weeks, waiting for permissions that we never needed. I call United and make plane reservations; that's a story in itself: because I'm flying on miles, using a "Saver" award (which means they only deduct 60,000 of the 79,000+ miles I have in my account) I can't just immediately request any seat on any plane. I have to wait for availability. As it turns out, if I had my passport in hand, I could have flown out that night. Otherwise, I need to wait until Saturday (when is when I'm writing this) to leave. And I can't take the direct flight from LA. I have to fly to SFO, then take the direct flight to Sydney from there. Puddle jump, then fly across the Great Puddle.

About the return: I wanted to return before Christmas, ideally on Friday the 19th of December. No go. The earliest I could manage was the 28th, my sister's 40th birthday. So I'll be in Australia for Lithia (heh) and Christmas. Well, actually I kind of wanted to be in Australia for Christmas, enjoying the holiday as midsummer festival rather than midwinter. But I didn't really want to miss spending time with my family. Now, the choice made for me, I can have my cake and eat it too. Whee!

And so it goes. I actually consider packing, though I don't get around to it until Friday morning.

Thursday was somewhat more complex. I basically do as little as possible during the day - because I'm feeling a touch of my seasonal depression, I suppose, and San Diego has been little but gloomy since I arrived two weeks ago. But at around 5 PM, I get an email from Peter Giles:

Mark,

did the embassy talk to at all about this 977 ETA regarding whether you need to
be a registered company (as opposed to an individual) to work in Australia? Our
HR manager is a little worried about this aspect of the visa - just wondering
whether this was addressed in your conversations with the embassy and whether
you have anything in writing from them? Is it possible to contact the washington
embassy again about this or to pass on the embassy contact to me for us to chase
up directly?

Peter

Gah. That's the only thing I can think to say. I do believe I mentioned that I was working for myself, but I'm not really sure - the call was very early in the morning, and, quite frankly, I was glad to be nearing the end of the tunnel. The HR manager is "worried" - this is clearly code for "doesn't think it's going to work out" - and what does this mean? It means, in short, they're not sure they can employ me when I get there. That's just about the last thing I need to hear, right about now. Just when I thought everything was going so swimmingly.

Watch Mark lose it. I've been treated to the whipsaw that is the immigration process in Australia - Peter reported in an earlier email that he asked three different people if the 977 visa was correct and got three different answers - and all I want now is some stability. One way or another. If that means pulling the plug on this whole mess, so be it.

So, shortly after I sent a "well, look into it, Peter" note, I sent another one:

Peter -

I believe it’s now time for me to express some things clearly

This whole visa situation has passed so far beyond anything that might normally be construed as reasonable as to cause me to question the entire effort required to consult for AFTRS.
The fact that there is still no reasonable answer on this question is unbelievable, the fact that people are still raising more questions is even more unbelievable.
I am now quite concerned that if I get on a plane on Saturday night, I’ll only find out when I get to Sydney that it will not be possible for me to be paid by AFTRS, because I have the wrong visa, or because nobody knows if I have the right visa, or whatever.
I am unwilling to get onto a plane unless and until someone at AFTRS assures me definitively that, no matter what problems we encounter, I will be working there and I will be paid.

I believe this is all perfectly reasonable. Given the trouble I have put myself through on your behalf, I believe it entirely reasonable to expect nothing less before I get on a plane.

I am aware that it is Friday in Australia; I hope you can get some answers for my concerns today. If you do not, then I will not be coming to Sydney on Monday, and, quite frankly, I may not come at all. This is getting to be far too much trouble.

Mark

One of the things I've learned over my years is how to bare my teeth, but gently, subtly, so that people are quite clear that I'm perturbed, with actually scarring them in the process of so informing them. Truth be told, I used to be a lot less gentle, and an email I might have sent in 1995 after having been through what I've been through probably would have cause the recipient's computer to explode upon receipt. Fortunately I've matured - for the most part, so all I do is send a gentle, veiled threat: fix this now or I'm not coming.

Sydney is a small town; I'm doing emails with Shilo - who got me this position - and Brendan. Between the two of them they know everyone in the interactive community in Sydney, a community which expecting my imminent arrival. Indeed, I had to cancel a paid speaking gig in Sydney for today because I wasn't there. (I offered to appear via iChat AV, but that was a no go. Whatever. They're missing the point.) Both offer to call Peter - in fact, I had to command Shilo to put down the phone - to find out what was wrong, and what could be done. But I was sure I had lit an appropriate fire under Peter. He'd fix it, or he's watch this whole scheme come flaming to earth. Which would be quite a black eye for all concerned. Excepting your humble narrator, the victim of this bureaucratic snafu.

I heard nothing for five hours. Then Peter wrote me back:

Mark,
Sorry to confuse you. Our HR Dept was not willing to guarantee that we could pay
you under the ETA 977. They got legal advice on this and had to go to Malcolm to
make the final call on guaranteeing to pay you while you were here. A maze of
bureacracy that you probably didn't need to know about except that you were
about to get on a plane and it needed to be resolved once and for all. Could you
please let me know that you have successfully received Malcolm's email - it's
intended to confirm for everyone that the School still wants this to go ahead
and there is no doubt about anything.

Peter

Well, at least he's gotten the Dean involved. But as I read this I haven't seen Malcolm's email, and it's 5:30 PM on a Friday afternoon in Australia. No, knowing Australians as I do, it seems unlikely that anyone is still at AFTRS at this hour. By this point I've decided, reservations or not, that I am not getting on a plane on Saturday night unless and until I have definitive confirmation that I will be able to work and be paid under this visa. I'll sit here and stew under my own juices, if that's what it takes. And if it's not cleared up by Tuesday, I'll pull the plug.

Fortunately, about a half hour later - minutes after the Moon has gone full, I get the following email from Malcolm:

Dear Mark,

I'd like to confirm your three month consultancy at AFTRS starting Monday 13th
October to assist us formulate new curriculum in the field of interactive media.
We have had legal advice the AFTRS can pay you as previously negotiated under
the terms of your ETA 977 visa. You will be have tax deducted from your pay but
can re-claim this amount when you exit Australia and declare it as US income.

We very much look forward to working with you and regret that the visa process
has been so fraught with obstructions.


Malcolm Long
Director
Australian Film Television and Radio School

There it is, the definitive Deus ex Machina. The god of AFTRS has spoken from the heights of Olympus. I have received the commandment. I am coming, I am working, and everything is fine.

I suddenly begin to feel a lot better.

Which explains why I am now sitting at gate 73, terminal 7 of LAX, waiting for a shuttle flight to SFO. At long last, I am on my way.

Posted at 07:18 PM    

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