If Australia does have a culture, what is it?

Is it even possible to point at any one something and say, ‘That’s what it means to be Australian.’

I think there are aspects of our culture that are distinctly Australian, but not by themselves. It’s only by putting them alongside other traits that can we get close to defining it.

So, while any definition of culture is ever-changing, this is my best stab at it. My Top 40 of what it means to be ‘Australian’.

No doubt I’ve left things off, or wrong, or just mucked this up entirely. Which is actually point one:

1) Talk yourself down and admit your faults, before anyone else has a chance.

2) Be sceptical of anyone who proclaims how proficient they are. Especially if it’s anything to do with sport or cooking.

3) Have a pair of home thongs, and going out thongs.

4) Know that by thongs I don’t mean underwear.

5) Be far more interested in sport than Australian politics.

6) Be more interested in real estate, shopping, growing grass, leash free dog parks and American politics, than Australian politics.

7) Be as proud of not knowing the national anthem just as much as someone who knows it is.

8) Believing that a four-burner barbecue is an acceptable replacement for a kitchen.

9) Leaving for a camping trip with nothing in your esky other than ice.

10) Despising technology and shopping, but lining up for the new iPhone.

11) Owning only one shirt with sleeves past your elbows.

12) Taking ownership of anything good that’s ever come out of New Zealand, while handing them any Australians who have gone overseas and done poorly. By poorly I mean Peter Andre, who was actually born in England.

13) Believing Russell Crowe is from New Zealand or Australia, depending on the day of the week.

14) Considering salt and vinegar chips to be a meal.

15) Calling them chips not crisps, pants not trousers, jumpers not sweaters, doonas not duvets, eggplant not aubergine and zucchini not courgette.

16) Being OK with dim sims being Chinese food that isn’t from China.

17) Believing that a footballer is a sportsperson who acts like they’ve broken a bone only when they’ve broken a bone. Not a soccer player.

18) Calling it soccer not football, unless it’s the World Cup and we’re still in it.

19) Considering the Ashes something that matters only to the English, until we win them back.

20) Knowing that a root is something at the bottom of plant, and something that never happens if you say it in public.

21) Cooking not just prawns on a barbecue, but anything including toast, soup and deep fried ice-cream. Which is also Chinese but not from China.

22) Often going outside in a singlet and shorts, and carrying an umbrella.

23) When it’s cold outside, putting on several jumpers but still wearing shorts.

24) When speaking, ending every sentence like you’re asking a question.

25) When speaking to a foreigner, claiming that deadly sharks, spiders and snakes are everywhere. In reality knowing they’re not and being as scared of them as everyone else.

26) If Steve Irwin were still alive, you’d vote for him as Prime Minister, but never Bindi Irwin.

27) Knowing a person is Australian not based on their appearance or colour of their skin, but whether or not every sentence they say sounds like a question.

28) Any dish from any country on the planet can be made Australian by adding pineapple. And egg.

29) Living less than thirty minutes from the beach, and always going on holiday to the beach.

30) Starting every anecdote from a holiday outside Australia with, ‘Being away made me really appreciate how good we have it here.’ And meaning it.

31) Accepting that anyone who is an Australian citizen is as Australian as anyone else.

32) Going to a drive-through bottle shop, and still insisting on getting out of your car to give the bloke a hand.

33) Being able to laugh at yourself just as hard as you laugh at anyone else.

34) Having rivalries forged through battles on the sporting field, not actual battles.

35) Believing that insulting friends or family is a sign of respect.

36) Strapping a surfboard, skis or a canoe to the top of your car four times more often than you actually use any of those things.

37) Your boss accepting a day at the races a valid reason for missing a day of work. As well as being hungover, and travelling interstate for a football final.

38) Considering that to ‘reckon’ is a thoughtful process, and not breaking anything.

39) Using a stubby holder for all drinks, including wine and cordial.

40) Any song worth singing along to in a pub involves a guitar, and knowing how to play an air instrument is a skill.

41) If a hand is offered you shake it, if someone needs help you give it, and allowing anyone to believe whatever they like as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.

So that’s my top forty (plus one). Of course I could easily do another forty, but I want to know, what do you think I’ve gotten wrong? What have I missed?

Xavier Toby is a writer and comedian. Follow him (@xaviertoby) on Twitter.

Does Australia have any culture? No.

That’s the opinion of many overseas, and right here in Australia.

Most recently, retired English cricketer David Gower said in response to a question about the upcoming Ashes series being a clash of cultures:

“I’m tempted to say, how can you have a clash of cultures when you’re playing against a country with no culture? That would almost be sledging.”

Read the full article here: http://bit.ly/167fchl

About a decade ago I travelled to Bali and Phuket and even beyond, and I began to see truth in similar statements.

We might have plenty of cultural festivals, the yoghurt range at most supermarket is superb, and our beer and bread is based on some of the finest yeast cultures on the planet.

But nearly every country I’ve visited features a traditional dress, music, food and architecture.

As a fourth generation white Australian male, what’s my culture?

A pie with a side of steak and prawns cooked on a barbecue, with pavlova for dessert?

Well pavlova is from New Zealand, and the rest of that meal has existed for well over two hundred years.

What about my traditional music, dance or clothing? A singlet, board shorts and thongs, drunkenly swaying to Crowded House or ACDC. Bands whose key members aren’t Australian either.

Even if that was traditional, it’s not something worth re-enacting at the airport to welcome visitors. However if that job were going, I’d gladly take it.

A couple of years ago I went travelling again, this time through parts of Europe and Asia. Instead of seeing what my culture lacked, this time I saw the advantages.

We’re often accused of not having a culture. By countries with thousands of years of well-documented history, ingrained rituals and religious practices.

Such as Israel and Palestine, whose historical baggage far exceeds the check in limits even for Qantas business class. Their history certainly isn’t holding back their development. Just like a lack of talent isn’t holding back the Australian cricket, rugby union or swimming teams. Instead of Israel and Palestine, insert the name of just about any nation on earth, and that statement still stands.

In Australia we have our own mammoth issues with history. When Europeans settled here just over 200 years ago, they bulldozed an established civilization many thousands of years old. Properly integrating with Aboriginal culture is easily one of the biggest problems facing Australia today.

Right now however, there are far more superfluous issues to be considered. Such as the advantages of being one of the most culturally diverse nations in the history of the planet.

In most countries, your clothing and race reveals whether or not you’re a local.

The only way you can tell a tourist in Australia is if they’re acting like one. Wearing a “Caution Koala’s next 10km” t-shirt and caught in a rip at Bondi Beach, marching around the Opera House behind a guide with a small flag on a stick, or stuck at a train station trying to decipher how to buy a ticket.

We might not have any typically Australian food, but you can get just about anything else, and its quality in terms of ingredients and preparation are admired on a global scale. For example, most visitors agree that our McDonalds and KCF are the best.

Unlike other countries, in Australia your accent doesn’t reveal the town or city or often even state that you’re from, and nobody gives a stuff about your family name, who your parents are, where you went to school or where your grew up.

Our rivalries have been forged through battles on the sporting field, not actual battles.

To me, Australia is a place where if a hand is offered you shake it, if someone needs help you give it, and you’re free to believe whatever you like as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.

Also, I reckon there are a few traits that mark me as distinctly Australian.

Such as knowing my football club song, how to fill out a box trifecta and a good price for a kilo of prawns, but not knowing every word of the national anthem, the date of the Queen’s actual birthday or where my name is “from”, and being equally proud of all those things.

Along with understanding the logic behind drive through bottle shops, believing that insulting friends or family is a sign of respect, and despite our efforts to capture typically Australian on film, I think this was best done by a bunch of drag queens in the desert.

Really though, the idea of “Australian” is very much a work in progress. We’re so diverse and have been together as a group such a short time, that any definition is still up for the defining.

Which is actually an amazingly privileged and unique position.

Compared to more established and less diverse countries, we have nowhere near the baggage. Through our actions and decisions, we all have a pivotal role in determining what it means to be Australian.

Our history is our future. Our culture is what we decide. Please, let’s not stuff it up. We are the lucky country.

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Illustration: Anthony Sawrey (First appeared: http://www.altmedia.net.au/australia-accused-of-racism-in-the-united-nations/23174)

Saying something racist is not okay. It doesn’t matter what your intention was, and whether or not you meant it.

It’s not okay even if you’re Eddie McGuire, or some other fool who’s spent so many years listening to and nodding along with their own opinion, that they’ve forgotten that other people don’t just exist to buy Collingwood memberships.

Anyway, let’s move on from that. Everyone else has, even though McGuire has been allowed to continue on with every one of his media and work commitments. Go Australia. Doing nothing about racism one outrage at a time.

So it’s not okay to say anything racist, but what about racist thoughts? Are they okay? Or should they be shouted down with the same justified outrage as racist words?

I’ll admit that I’ve had the odd racist thought, even as recently as last week, and every time it happens I’m a bit shocked with myself.

When I was last in Sydney, one particular experience settled this little dispute for me, and helped me define the difference between racist thoughts and racist actions.

I was staying with a friend whose washing machine was broken, so I went looking for a launderette. Not a commercial laundry where you pay someone to wash your clothes, but a launderette where you use the machines yourself.

At the first one, there was an Asian woman who couldn’t speak English.

This was a small surprise, because it was a proper business and not just her house. I certainly wasn’t roaming the suburbs like the Napisan guy just knocking on random doors asking to use a washing machine. That was never going to work, I didn’t have a camera crew, or a suit, or any Napisan.

In retrospect, I don’t think it was a launderette, but a commercial laundry where they charge you per bag of washing. I wasn’t willing to pay per bag, because I’m poor. Also, my clothes are surprisingly delicate. For instance, all my check shirts are very easy to shrink. Most of them actually started as tablecloths.

So I kept looking, but Google Maps was no help. It kept directing me to places that sold washing machines, as well as brothels and bakeries. Which I think was actually something to do with my internet browser history.

Inside the second place was another Asian who didn’t or wouldn’t speak English.

After I asked if I could do some washing, the way she stared at me, I felt like her face was saying, ‘How dare you come in here with your dirty washing, stupid round-eye.’

I left feeling stupid and angry. I didn’t even know if I was in the right place, because I couldn’t even communicate with her.

And I thought to myself, ‘You people come to my country, and you can’t even be bothered learning my language.’

How quick was that! Zero to racist in a split second, and that statement isn’t even remotely true. It’s not my country, or my language. I certainly didn’t discover Australia, or invent English.

I don’t even own a little part of Australia. Travelling around doing comedy all the time, I don’t even pay rent. Every implication of that statement is false. When the Europeans arrived, there were already people here, and they had a very different language to English.

Anyway into a third launderette. Working behind the counter was another Asian lady, and I thought, ‘Here we go again’. However I plastered on a smile, and asked nicely.

This woman was really helpful, and an hour later I had clean and dry clothes. I was so excited I put on my jeans straight out of the dryer, and the metal button burnt me in a very delicate place. On the elbow. Well, it wasn’t the elbow, but it was the same type of skin. The same type of slightly wrinkly, slightly hairy, and very delicate skin.

For a few weeks afterwards, I thought about my trials at the three launderettes. I can’t deny that I had some racist thoughts, but I think the important point is that I didn’t say or do anything racist.

You can’t stop thoughts, but you can control what you do with them.

If we couldn’t control our thoughts, I’m pretty sure not one baby would make it past one month old. Because of all the crying and shitting, and because all babies taste like Kentucky Fried Chicken. If you don’t believe me, try one.

With my racist thoughts, the pivotal thing is that I didn’t act on them. I didn’t yell at anyone or hurt anyone, get a shit tattoo with a map of Australia that says ‘full’, put a dumb sticker on my ute, or join a hate group. Not even a virtual one.

I certainly didn’t write a Facebook post like, ‘We Grew Here, You Flew Here.’

That’s a statement that first became popular during the Cronulla riots in December, 2005. It now seems to come up now whenever there’s any sort of racial tension, and I’ve got two major problems with it.

Firstly, if there are any criminals arriving in Australia today, by plane or boat, seriously what’s more Aussie than that? Real life reenactments of the First Fleet. That’s reality television gold.

Sometimes after I’ve said, people reply with, ‘Are you serious? I supposed you’d just let ‘em all in?’

And you know what, I would. This country population wise is 97% immigrants and 3% aboriginal. It does feel rude to draw a line now.

My second problem with ‘We Grew Here, They Flew Here’? Just because something rhymes, it doesn’t mean it’s true.

Like if was to say, ‘The finest tasting tea is made from human pee.’ That’s just gross.

Or, ‘The best Xmas roast is made from burnt toast.’ Well that’s just weird.

However if I said, ‘Anyone who believes that there’s any truth in the statement ‘We Grew Here, They Flew Here’ is a massive racist moron.’

Well that doesn’t rhyme, but is true.

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I’m so over the Apple Store. All the staff in that same shirt with hipster flourishes like over-styled hair, subtle tattoos and designer glasses. They’re like a really smug cult.

If those salespeople weren’t at the Apple Store, they’d be selling Foxtel subscriptions or sponsor kids or raffle tickets.

Then the ‘geniuses’ up the back. When they’re not at work, we all know they’re shooting at each other and designing farms and chatting up hot girls. Virtually.

At the register there’s always one hot girl, in black-rimmed glasses. Who the nerds are too scared to talk to, and she’s already knocked back all the sales guys. Since she’s dating the assistant manager.

Inside every Apple Store there’s really only ever four things for sale. iPhone, iPod, iPad or Macbook. Which you can get at about a hundred different stores. In the same shopping centre. For exactly the same price.

Whenever a new Apple Store opens people still line up overnight just to be the first in there. It’s not like they’re selling anything worth lining up for. Such as tickets to the Grand Final. Or a Kylie concert. Or another John Farnham comeback tour. Come on, who wouldn’t gladly go another round of ‘Whispering Jack’?

The Apple Stores are always packed and Apple are doing very well. They’ve actually got $76 billion in cash. Which is more than the whole US government.

Just imagine how many mixed lollies that would get you? Or spins on the $1 poker machine? Or lap dances? That much money would get you at least a brazillian lap dances. The brazillian is actually the official unit of currency in strip clubs.

Despite how much money they’re making, every Apple i-thingy isn’t waterproof.

Every iPhone can still be destroyed by something that’s so abundant that it falls from the sky, and we’ve got it on tap. It’s such a scam. It’s like having a flying car that melts when it rains.

So many people I know have ruined an iPhone by spilling something on it. Which we all know is code for, “I dropped it in the toilet”. What a person chooses to do next, I believe is one of the greatest dilemmas facing society today.

There’s poo in that toilet. And a phone. And what if it still works? It’s going to cost hundreds for a new one. How much would it take for a person to touch their own poo?

Everyone has a number, and it’s often a very different number. Finding out is actually a great party game. Play it at your next dinner party, just make sure until everyone has finished eating.

If it were me, I’d be straight in there. No hesitation, I’d be immediately into that toilet for that phone. Doesn’t even have to be my phone. Or my poo.

So I took my poo phone into the Apple Store and the genius up the back told me, “This phone has been water damaged.”

I replied, “Hey genius, I’m not here because it’s working. Can you fix it?”

He told me it’d be cheaper to get a new one.

So I told him about the time I had sex with a real girl and his head exploded. It was filled with green Skittles, which was a surprise. I thought it would’ve been filled with loneliness and disappointment.

That didn’t happen. What I did do was go up to the three fat corporate customers staring at iPhone 5’s and announce, “The battery life on these is shit. Also, still not waterproof. Watch as I demonstrate.”

After tipping water over all three, I don’t think I even ruined one. Now I know plenty of people who’ve been thrown out of pubs and clubs, but nobody else who’s been thrown out of an Apple Store. Except me. It took seven of those nerds to get me out of there.

And the hot girl at the register? I totally got her phone number. Well I would’ve if my phone wasn’t “water damaged”. And the court hadn’t ordered me to stay 20m from every Apple Store.

None of that happened either.

What did happen was that I left quietly, and then bought a secondhand iPhone 3 on ebay.

A week later, the hipster making my coffee noticed it and exclaimed, “Is that an iPhone 3? More like third world.”

After he finished laughing at himself, he continued.

“Do you go home and plug it into your Commodore 64 to recharge? Download all your music onto a tape? I’ve got a cassette tape cover for my iPhone 5. Ironically.”

He pointed me out to his over-tattooed co-workers and added, “I bet you still even make calls on landline. Or a payphone. Do they even still exist?”

So I paid for my one black coffee with a credit card, and a signature. Which made his head explode. It was filled with music that nobody could understand, from bands that never existed, played on instruments that hadn’t been invented yet.

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We’re told Reality TV is reality, but it’s as scripted and manufactured as any episode of True Blood or Dexter or Mad Men. Except nowhere near as good. Those shows have vampires, serial killers and far better looking people. Watch them instead.

You don’t believe me? You think that because it’s reality, it’s unpredictable and a true reflection of real life? Rubbish. Each Reality TV series has exactly the same storyline.

A group of people have a dream: chef, renovator, singer, husband, wife, dancer, losing weight, etc.

Challenges, eliminations, rules, judges and other halfwit contestants provide obstacles to that dream.

Further drama is imposed by back-story, estranged family and suddenly changing the rules. Along with medical emergencies that could be easily remedied with a good lie down and not being a melodramatic moron.

The dream often isn’t even that hard to achieve. You want to be a chef? Get a job as an apprentice chef. Lose weight? Join a gym, get a personal trainer, eat less and exercise more. Renovate a house? Buy a run down one and get started.

What people on reality television really want is attention. Don’t give it to them. Restrict it to the people who deserve it. Like pop stars, sportspeople and serial killers.

Then what actually happens during the taping of a show often has very little to do with what ends up making it to television. Reality TV has nothing to do with reality, and much more to do with fitting the footage into a package that’s fit for television.

It’s exactly the same as the way Tony Abbott is asked what he really thinks about women, immigrants and the poor behind closed doors, and then in public, he’s never allowed to say any of it.

Politicians and Reality TV show judges have a surprising amount in common.

In order to make an episode of Reality TV, they record hours of footage over several days from multiple angles, and then pick out anything that could be a disaster, argument or crisis. Rarely is there more than one. Often there isn’t any, and it has to be invented.

Next this seemingly major event is used to structure the episode. The editors trawl through the footage for facial expressions, comments and body language that might look interesting. They take things out of context if required, in order to make the most of this perceived pivotal event, which was probably barely noticed during filming.

Teasers and previews of the event are replayed continuously. Through commercials, social media ads, stories on the nightly news and in newspapers, along with constant clips played during the episode itself.

What’s promised is a true game changer, something that alters everything that can’t be missed, and after which nothing will be the same. When it’s finally revealed during the last minutes of the episode, it’s always completely underwhelming.

Afterwards there is another promise of an unbelievable secret or crisis, to be unveiled next week, and which always turns out to be similarly disappointing.

If these shows were forced to match the enthusiasm they have for what is going to be revealed to what actually happens, the only thing they’d be allowed to show on the adverts is a shrug, and all the presenters would be replaced by mannequins.

Reality TV preys on our need to know. ‘Deal or No Deal’ is a game show that does this so well that it doesn’t even need questions. Thus eliminating the need for the audience to do any thinking at all.

Again and again Reality TV is the pretty blonde, showing us a case with a number and asking, ‘Do you want to know what’s inside?’ We keep coming back. Instead of holding on for another disappointing reveal we should be asking ourselves, ‘Who cares?’

So what’s the main reason Reality TV’s so popular? It’s cheap. Disgustingly, disgracefully, despicably cheap. Blame who you want for Reality TV but if we all stopped watching, then the cameras would stop rolling.

I’ve actually discovered something far superior to Reality TV. It’s very similar but you’re the star, and every plot line revolves around you.

It’s called reality.

You do need to go outside and interact with other people, and all that is a little intimidating at first, but stick with it. You won’t regret it, I promise.

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