I still can't seem to rationalize with Blogspot and get my pictures to appear in any sensible order. Alas. Things are going very well, but also very busy. My commute, I've calculated, takes about 70 minutes in each direction. Walk to/from Baalbergen residence is almost 40 minutes, even using my lankiness to the utmost. Train is 20. Then a 10 minute walk to campus, and to my building. This is becoming strenuous-- now that I've established a work routine with my professor, we've got loads to do. It feels like I spend so much of my life on a train, or walking around in the dark. I still love these walks, but it's hard when there are many things to do. I just don't know how so many people commute every day to work such distances, or even more! It's amazing. Kudos to those hard-working citizens. I curtsy in your general direction. 
Right. Well, since the pictures are just in what ever order pleases them, I'll tell you what there is and you can play the fun game of "match up pictures" yourself. You'll do fine-- I believe in you.
Most of the pictures are of my building and the main quad it surrounds. It's really a stately old place-- in fact, it is the oldest building on campus. And, they tell me, Uni Sydney is the oldest university in the entire southern hemisphere. I'm not sure whether I'm impressed by this or not.
The building does have a pleasing number of gargoyles, lions, and half-naked Greek men decorating the halls and doorways, though.
I mean sculptures of half-naked Greek men, of course. *cough*
The picture of the large tree in front of an extremely ugly building is proof that, lest we at Notre Dame consider Hesburgh Library an atrocity, that worse does in fact exist in the world. What is it with university libraries and ugliness?
The picture of the clock/bell tower is still the philosophy building. In fact, the department chair (Huw Price) has his office up there. Formidable, no? The three little houses in a row is part of the Aboriginal neighborhood I walk through on my way back to the train station after work. Most of the houses are not in such good repair.
Finally, I've got pictures of my host parents, Arie and Ditta. They are a most hilarious family. Arie is a jolly Dutchman (he came to Australia in his early 20s and never left. Sounds good to me) who straight off the airplane got into a passionate discussion with me about politics. This, I am finding, is not at all taboo in Australia. In fact, they cannot understand why Americans are so polite with our politics and our politicians. YES, they say we are POLITE. Ditta reminds me a great deal of Kim Casseday. . The first day I was here I went to church with them, and Ditta explained with much chagrin that their congregation had decided to do a study of Rick Warren's book on community for several weeks. Then followed a hilariously long digression by Ditta on the particular merits (rather, demerits) of said author, including mention of her great dislike of the church's new obsession with giving "warm fuzzies" all the time, in keeping with Warren's suggestions (which Ditta feels are distinctly American). Ditta is a magnificent smart aleck, and we get along quite well. Arie answers the phone with a different name every time. "Hello, Ball-bearings!" "Hello, Bell-burgers!" and so forth. He gives me a hard time about everything. It's great.
Finally, I've got pictures of my host parents, Arie and Ditta. They are a most hilarious family. Arie is a jolly Dutchman (he came to Australia in his early 20s and never left. Sounds good to me) who straight off the airplane got into a passionate discussion with me about politics. This, I am finding, is not at all taboo in Australia. In fact, they cannot understand why Americans are so polite with our politics and our politicians. YES, they say we are POLITE. Ditta reminds me a great deal of Kim Casseday. . The first day I was here I went to church with them, and Ditta explained with much chagrin that their congregation had decided to do a study of Rick Warren's book on community for several weeks. Then followed a hilariously long digression by Ditta on the particular merits (rather, demerits) of said author, including mention of her great dislike of the church's new obsession with giving "warm fuzzies" all the time, in keeping with Warren's suggestions (which Ditta feels are distinctly American). Ditta is a magnificent smart aleck, and we get along quite well. Arie answers the phone with a different name every time. "Hello, Ball-bearings!" "Hello, Bell-burgers!" and so forth. He gives me a hard time about everything. It's great.The last picture (I think) is of the second floor, where Jodie has here room and I have mine, as well as a kitchen, bathroom, and common area. It's wonderfully cozy, and I've slept as well as a baby sleeps when a baby sleeps well, every night since I've arrived. I also have skylights in my room that open! Onto the roof!
Now, I know you're thinking, "I'll bet Elise climbs out the skylight and onto the roof and ends up breaking her ankles. Both of them." I'd be lying if I said the thought of scaling the roof hadn't crossed my mind on several occasions, but since the roof is covered with stoney-thingies and not frictionally-maximal shingles, and the slant of the roof is non-trivial, AND that Arie has warned me that possums like to wander around up there...all these things have dissuaded me from climbing out. I do *not* want to stick my face right into that of a possum. Ghastly creatures, they are.
Oh, and also there's a picture of the local spider enclave. I wasn't kidding, as you now can see. (Well, you can't exactly see the spiders. But you can see evidence of spiders)
I'm afraid I've got to get back to work. This was a boring post but for the pictures...sorry. Guess I'm just tired today. Maybe later tonight I will tell you about my dinner at my professor's house on Sunday, or about the hyper kid on the train, or about my first and amazing experiences with Australian desserts... wow. I mean, wow. These people make cakes the size of a Trans-Am wheel made entirely of various consistencies of meringue. But more on that another time.
p.s. As per the title of this post: the first person who can guess (without cheating on Google or wherever) what this Aussie term means...wins. It is by far the most ridiculous (and therefore my favorite) Aussie term so far.