So much space and land makes for gardens and garden maintenance that can be hell to a young person's ears when in a fragile state before a berocca and bowl of cereal come Saturday mid morning.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Suburban Saturday Morning Soundtrack
I just realised that I haven't woken up to the sound of a lawnmower or weed whacker on a weekend in about a year and how Australian that noise is.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Certainties in the Universe: Storms will rage, seasons will turn, Amy Winehouse will always be a crackwhore, and I am unique
"There is a
vitality,
a life force,
an energy,
a quickening
that is translated through you into action,
and because there is only one of you in all time,
this expression is unique.
And if you block it,
it will never exist through any other medium
and will be lost. "
— Martha Graham
vitality,
a life force,
an energy,
a quickening
that is translated through you into action,
and because there is only one of you in all time,
this expression is unique.
And if you block it,
it will never exist through any other medium
and will be lost. "
— Martha Graham
Return leg forfeited
I realised this afternoon that I was booked on a flight to go home to Australia, yesterday.
Helsinki - Tokyo - Sydney - Adelaide : The return leg of my year long ticket.
Depending on how you see it, you could say that I am now stranded in the Netherlands.
Not a bad place to be today; as I type I'm looking out of one of the arched windows in my living room, with sunlight beaming on my face and radiating over the whole room, overlooking the bright green foliage and tree tops of the park outside my apartment. I can hear kids calling out to each other, from the primary school courtyard over the road, and can see a hint of each boat that passes by on the canal to the right of my house, peeping through the natural frames of tree branches. Murmurs of a motorcycle being parked on the sidewalk stand out from the buzz and whines of passing traffic, and the sky is a brilliant hue of azure.
Yep. All in all, it's not too bad being stranded in Amsterdam today.
The Ten Minute Writer
I started the second of my 2 writing courses tonight.
The reason I am doing these courses, is largely, to get more out of my time here in Amsterdam, experience new things, and also, to meet new people, and add another dimension to my life here, other than, working, sleeping, lazing and exploring.
I am also trying to get used to the idea of exposing my writing to people that don't know me, to get different opinions on my writing style and structure, which is highly daunting, and something I have never done before. And also, to have a bit of fun, and not take it all too seriously.
I came to a startling realisation tonight which simultaneously scared me, and surprised me.
Given the same writing tasks, all 7 writers came up with 7 very different interpretations and vastly different types of prose - and I couldn't help to compare what I wrote about (subject matter) and the way I wrote about it (style) to the others, and I suddenly felt very out of my league.
"Write something autobiographical, and in the story, slip in 1 lie. We're all going to take turns guessing the lie later when you read each of yours out. You have 10 minutes. Start... now!" my writing leader announced.
10 minutes later, I am listening to some seriously good stories - a variety of eloquent, descriptive, highly visual, tragic, personal, whimsical, flippant, and deep stories... all very very diverse.
Topics that were raised in prose around me included death of close family members, moving cities, coming of age, and multifaceted family relationships.
What did I write about?
A ham and cheese toastie I really wanted to eat last night but didn't, and the bung eye I woke up with this morning.
I'm not kidding. Really. I'm not fucking kidding.
This leads me to question whether
a) I am really a shallow human being, with no more concerns in life than my next meal, and my looks, and ultimately, if I am going to become - or worse, if I am already - a writer with the creative potential and depth to that of a glossy Paris Hilton poster.
b) I am going to be any good as a writer.
c) Trying to make writing my living is really such a good idea.
Granted, I have actually done this sort of writing exercise before. Actually, the same one, with my writing teacher, at another function that he invited me to attend. With many people, on the night, stuck for what to write about, he suggested writing about the day we had just experienced, or the day before that. I decided tonight to follow the same formula.
Anyway, here is the story I wrote as my "Ten Minute, One lie, Autobiographical" story.
Instantly, I knew what it was.
I couldn't believe it.
When I had gone to bed earlier that night, everything was fine.
Ok, well, that's not true, everything wasn't fine.
I had come home from my cooking class quite late, after having post class drinks with my classmates for the first time, and wobbled into my apartment, desperate for something to eat. Ever since it has started getting warmer here, the light always deceives me, and one drink always turns into..., well, multiple. Rummaging through my fridge, I can only see the last remnants of a loaf of bread, a packet of english ham, and a slice of Gouda cheese. I am immediately racked with guilt at the singular thought pulsing through my mind - making a toastie at 11pm at night was not cohesive with my self induced pact to only eat healthy food at reasonable hours.
Luckily, my flatmate walks in and we start talking about the ins and outs of religion, and afterwards, I am distracted enough to forgo the toastie and head straight to bed. But now, I feel as if my body is punishing me for staying out too late, drinking on a Tuesday night, depriving it of dinner - it clearly really wanted that toastie - and all the while I'm fighting off some sort of Northern European hybrid strain of hayfever and a pesky cold.
I had woken up in discomfort, and my hand touched my face to sense the source of the grievance - The Swollen Eye.
It always happens when I'm stressed out or behaving badly and amazingly, without any prior warning. It appears suddenly, like a crazed hitchhiker in the headlights, on a stormy night.
Next time, I'll just give in and eat the damn toastie.
The reason I am doing these courses, is largely, to get more out of my time here in Amsterdam, experience new things, and also, to meet new people, and add another dimension to my life here, other than, working, sleeping, lazing and exploring.
I am also trying to get used to the idea of exposing my writing to people that don't know me, to get different opinions on my writing style and structure, which is highly daunting, and something I have never done before. And also, to have a bit of fun, and not take it all too seriously.
I came to a startling realisation tonight which simultaneously scared me, and surprised me.
Given the same writing tasks, all 7 writers came up with 7 very different interpretations and vastly different types of prose - and I couldn't help to compare what I wrote about (subject matter) and the way I wrote about it (style) to the others, and I suddenly felt very out of my league.
"Write something autobiographical, and in the story, slip in 1 lie. We're all going to take turns guessing the lie later when you read each of yours out. You have 10 minutes. Start... now!" my writing leader announced.
10 minutes later, I am listening to some seriously good stories - a variety of eloquent, descriptive, highly visual, tragic, personal, whimsical, flippant, and deep stories... all very very diverse.
Topics that were raised in prose around me included death of close family members, moving cities, coming of age, and multifaceted family relationships.
What did I write about?
A ham and cheese toastie I really wanted to eat last night but didn't, and the bung eye I woke up with this morning.
I'm not kidding. Really. I'm not fucking kidding.
This leads me to question whether
a) I am really a shallow human being, with no more concerns in life than my next meal, and my looks, and ultimately, if I am going to become - or worse, if I am already - a writer with the creative potential and depth to that of a glossy Paris Hilton poster.
b) I am going to be any good as a writer.
c) Trying to make writing my living is really such a good idea.
Granted, I have actually done this sort of writing exercise before. Actually, the same one, with my writing teacher, at another function that he invited me to attend. With many people, on the night, stuck for what to write about, he suggested writing about the day we had just experienced, or the day before that. I decided tonight to follow the same formula.
Anyway, here is the story I wrote as my "Ten Minute, One lie, Autobiographical" story.
Instantly, I knew what it was.
I couldn't believe it.
When I had gone to bed earlier that night, everything was fine.
Ok, well, that's not true, everything wasn't fine.
I had come home from my cooking class quite late, after having post class drinks with my classmates for the first time, and wobbled into my apartment, desperate for something to eat. Ever since it has started getting warmer here, the light always deceives me, and one drink always turns into..., well, multiple. Rummaging through my fridge, I can only see the last remnants of a loaf of bread, a packet of english ham, and a slice of Gouda cheese. I am immediately racked with guilt at the singular thought pulsing through my mind - making a toastie at 11pm at night was not cohesive with my self induced pact to only eat healthy food at reasonable hours.
Luckily, my flatmate walks in and we start talking about the ins and outs of religion, and afterwards, I am distracted enough to forgo the toastie and head straight to bed. But now, I feel as if my body is punishing me for staying out too late, drinking on a Tuesday night, depriving it of dinner - it clearly really wanted that toastie - and all the while I'm fighting off some sort of Northern European hybrid strain of hayfever and a pesky cold.
I had woken up in discomfort, and my hand touched my face to sense the source of the grievance - The Swollen Eye.
It always happens when I'm stressed out or behaving badly and amazingly, without any prior warning. It appears suddenly, like a crazed hitchhiker in the headlights, on a stormy night.
Next time, I'll just give in and eat the damn toastie.
Something I can be proud of
Pia launched the big Window display for her new book; "Amsterdam: Made by Hand", yesterday.
Naturally (as you can tell from what I write on this blog), I am very proud to know someone as creative, inspiring and talented as her; the book is pretty special.
I am also proud to say that I assisted a highly skilled and respected stylist physically manifest one of her own dreams. Just as she is helping me, in whatever way she can, I like to think I have helped her with my time and efforts in making a dream come true for her, by taking some of the load off her by investing my energy so that the burden of her task is not so great.
I also had a lot of fun doing it, and learnt a lot from her as well. In addition, I stretched my creative side even more by coming up with some taglines for her to consider using to promote her book, in the Window display. I am pleased to say that she used one of them, and the fruits of my copywriting labour are now in a highly visible place in Amsterdam!
And she has given me an honourable mention in her latest blog post - Take a look at the final Window display.
Happy clients make for inspired writers!
Naturally (as you can tell from what I write on this blog), I am very proud to know someone as creative, inspiring and talented as her; the book is pretty special.
I am also proud to say that I assisted a highly skilled and respected stylist physically manifest one of her own dreams. Just as she is helping me, in whatever way she can, I like to think I have helped her with my time and efforts in making a dream come true for her, by taking some of the load off her by investing my energy so that the burden of her task is not so great.
I also had a lot of fun doing it, and learnt a lot from her as well. In addition, I stretched my creative side even more by coming up with some taglines for her to consider using to promote her book, in the Window display. I am pleased to say that she used one of them, and the fruits of my copywriting labour are now in a highly visible place in Amsterdam!
And she has given me an honourable mention in her latest blog post - Take a look at the final Window display.
Happy clients make for inspired writers!
Trust It.
We are so many selves.
It's not just the long-ago child within us who needs tenderness and inclusion, but the person we were last year, wanted to be yesterday, tried to become in one job or in one winter, in one love affair or in one house where even now, we can close our eyes and smell the rooms.
What brings together these ever-shifting selves of infinite reaction and returnings is this: There is always one true inner voice...
Trust it.
- Gloria Steninem
It's not just the long-ago child within us who needs tenderness and inclusion, but the person we were last year, wanted to be yesterday, tried to become in one job or in one winter, in one love affair or in one house where even now, we can close our eyes and smell the rooms.
What brings together these ever-shifting selves of infinite reaction and returnings is this: There is always one true inner voice...
Trust it.
- Gloria Steninem
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Paper, Scissors, Boat ...
Apart from interviewing Marjan Ippel, (Amsterdam's own "Carrie Bradshaw of Food") for my Cultural journalism class at 9am on Saturday morning, I also helped Pia making her window display for her book launch, which she is creating today.
I will take some pictures when she's done making it, and post them up here.
More news on the weekend to come!
I will take some pictures when she's done making it, and post them up here.
More news on the weekend to come!
You can take the American out of America but....
Tuesday 1st June, 9.38am, Boss' office
Me:... So, we need to rename one of our characters in the promotional video, because we've given him a scandanavian name, and the actor is clearly english, with a full on english accent. I quite like the name Sam, but his name is Sam and I think that it will be hard for him to get into character if he shares the same name as his character.
Boss: Yes, good point, but I think that it needs to remain a casual name, not like Alistair or anything like that.
Me: Well, I was thinking, maybe Max? or Tom? Not too european, not too western?
Boss: Mmmm... yeah... maybe. I know, how about, "Chuck"?
Me: You can't be serious?
Boss: Huh? What's wrong with that?
Me: No one in their right mind, outside of the United States would give their son such an unfortunate name. It actually means "vomit" in Australia.
Boss: What?!? Why? It's a good name!
Me: Do you honestly believe that?! Wow. You are just American to the core, aren't you?
Me:... So, we need to rename one of our characters in the promotional video, because we've given him a scandanavian name, and the actor is clearly english, with a full on english accent. I quite like the name Sam, but his name is Sam and I think that it will be hard for him to get into character if he shares the same name as his character.
Boss: Yes, good point, but I think that it needs to remain a casual name, not like Alistair or anything like that.
Me: Well, I was thinking, maybe Max? or Tom? Not too european, not too western?
Boss: Mmmm... yeah... maybe. I know, how about, "Chuck"?
Me: You can't be serious?
Boss: Huh? What's wrong with that?
Me: No one in their right mind, outside of the United States would give their son such an unfortunate name. It actually means "vomit" in Australia.
Boss: What?!? Why? It's a good name!
Me: Do you honestly believe that?! Wow. You are just American to the core, aren't you?
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