today is (obviously) february 29. leap day.
my mom has a cousin whose birthday is today. she was born in 1956. she is the mother of two grown daughters. she owns a house in maine.
and she is officially thirteen years old.
bizarre, no?
Friday, February 29, 2008
malled to death.
there was a big controversy in 1992 when mattel introduced a talking barbie doll. after generations of smiling vapidly and holding her arms just so, barbie was finally going to get a chance to share what she had to say. imagine the overwhelming disappointment when, after decades of preparation, she opened her mouth and spouted such enlightened bon mots as "math is hard!" and "let's go shopping!" feminism be damned, barbie wants to shop and use a scientific calculator! sixteen years later and paris hilton is spreading an even better message across the world. what a lucky time to be alive.
while i don't agree with barbie on the math issue, i must say that i think she's onto something with the shopping. i like shopping. i do. i like nothing more than to stumble upon an unexpectedly free weekday morning and while away the time nosing through shops, stopping to try on a pair of pants or an accent, see how much the first season of six feet under is this week. i like to buy things every so often, but even more do i enjoy the luxury of the excursion. i feel decadent and carefree. and i feel even more decadent and carefree when i can street shop. shopping + open air = a good time for all involved.
imagine my great pleasure upon arriving in sydney and discovering that here almost all the shopping is done in a streetfront manner. the streets are lined with countless shops, shops hocking goods from the highest end ferragamo clutch to the lowest end second-hand adult books. look down what appears to be a mere alley or thoroughfare and you will discover a splendid open air plaza or galleria, three stories of boutiques and stationery shops and cafes twisting toward the sunny sky. there are several main streets dedicated to pedestrian traffic and breathing fresh air as you hop from soul pattinson chemists to surfdiveswim next door. the closest thing to a shopping centre in downtown sydney is a grand and perfectly ornate building simply called the queen victoria building. it is decidedly not a cadillac-fairview establishment, let me tell you.
i have grown rather accustom to this easy, breezy shopping culture and i must say that i enjoy it immensely. and so it was much to my chagrin earlier today when i looked up and found myself in what was unequivocally a mall. a mall, for pete's sake! recycled air. escalators. stirrup pants. it was all there. and you know what the worst part is? there was a kmart in the mall. a g.d. kmart. where am i? ingersoll, ontario?
the breathtaking crush of north america came almost immediately. i felt like if i didn't move quickly someone would ask me if i wanted to supersize my pop. or force me into a tracksuit.
so blinkingly out into the sunlight i staggered, gasping for air. fresh air. outdoor air. thank goodness. the malls will be there when i get home. but the streets of sydney and i only have so much time together. i think we're going to make the most of it if you don't mind.
while i don't agree with barbie on the math issue, i must say that i think she's onto something with the shopping. i like shopping. i do. i like nothing more than to stumble upon an unexpectedly free weekday morning and while away the time nosing through shops, stopping to try on a pair of pants or an accent, see how much the first season of six feet under is this week. i like to buy things every so often, but even more do i enjoy the luxury of the excursion. i feel decadent and carefree. and i feel even more decadent and carefree when i can street shop. shopping + open air = a good time for all involved.
imagine my great pleasure upon arriving in sydney and discovering that here almost all the shopping is done in a streetfront manner. the streets are lined with countless shops, shops hocking goods from the highest end ferragamo clutch to the lowest end second-hand adult books. look down what appears to be a mere alley or thoroughfare and you will discover a splendid open air plaza or galleria, three stories of boutiques and stationery shops and cafes twisting toward the sunny sky. there are several main streets dedicated to pedestrian traffic and breathing fresh air as you hop from soul pattinson chemists to surfdiveswim next door. the closest thing to a shopping centre in downtown sydney is a grand and perfectly ornate building simply called the queen victoria building. it is decidedly not a cadillac-fairview establishment, let me tell you.
i have grown rather accustom to this easy, breezy shopping culture and i must say that i enjoy it immensely. and so it was much to my chagrin earlier today when i looked up and found myself in what was unequivocally a mall. a mall, for pete's sake! recycled air. escalators. stirrup pants. it was all there. and you know what the worst part is? there was a kmart in the mall. a g.d. kmart. where am i? ingersoll, ontario?
the breathtaking crush of north america came almost immediately. i felt like if i didn't move quickly someone would ask me if i wanted to supersize my pop. or force me into a tracksuit.
so blinkingly out into the sunlight i staggered, gasping for air. fresh air. outdoor air. thank goodness. the malls will be there when i get home. but the streets of sydney and i only have so much time together. i think we're going to make the most of it if you don't mind.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
best beach day yet.
when a day at the beach was perfect- and i mean perfect- my mom would immediately and without hesitation deem it the "best beach day yet!" the yet came to be a bit of a joke as pretty much every day became the best beach day yet- yet meaning since yesterday i guess. but my mom was thrilled every time the sun came out, every time she caught a wave to shore -"a ten!" she would announce, grinning through the wet hair in her face. thrilled to be alive and on the beach and with family and the best of friends.
sunday was february 24th here, but for most of the day it was february 23rd at home. i spent sunday at manly beach. i had gone early in the morning to watch wendy, one of my initial hosts, compete in an ocean swim. and i spent the whole day there, returning home on the bus after five. and the day was perfect. perfect. though with one notable exception.
the sky dawned cloudless, yawning blue from east to west. the sun was hot and the breeze off the water just enough to keep you from sweating but not enough to keep you from wanting to go in the water. the ocean was 24 degrees with crashing waves perfect for body surfing and general merriment. the beach was packed and bustling but not overcrowed, the air full of the unique convivial energy that infuses public places in australia. we were there together somehow, sharing this perfect day.
i cannot tell you how much my mom would have loved sunday.
it was, without a doubt, the best beach day yet.
sunday was february 24th here, but for most of the day it was february 23rd at home. i spent sunday at manly beach. i had gone early in the morning to watch wendy, one of my initial hosts, compete in an ocean swim. and i spent the whole day there, returning home on the bus after five. and the day was perfect. perfect. though with one notable exception.
the sky dawned cloudless, yawning blue from east to west. the sun was hot and the breeze off the water just enough to keep you from sweating but not enough to keep you from wanting to go in the water. the ocean was 24 degrees with crashing waves perfect for body surfing and general merriment. the beach was packed and bustling but not overcrowed, the air full of the unique convivial energy that infuses public places in australia. we were there together somehow, sharing this perfect day.
i cannot tell you how much my mom would have loved sunday.
it was, without a doubt, the best beach day yet.
bridge over untroubled water.
i am living on the lower north shore of sydney. this means that to get to the city proper i must cross the fabled sydney harbour bridge. well, perhaps it isn't exactly fabled- i don't think aesop was big up on the bridge- but it certainly is, along with the opera house, the city's most distinguishable landmark. and it is impressive. and huge.
the bridge was built in the early part of the last century with all architectural sights set on erecting the longest single arch span ever constructed. you can imagine their mild consternation when mere weeks before the bridge was completed in 1932 the bayonne bridge opened in new york at- get this- just 25 inches longer! can you imagine losing the world's biggest bridge-building pissing contest by a distance shorter than the height of amy winehouse's beehive? the outrage! anyhow, at 1650 feet this bridge is nothing to sneeze at.
(for the record- i am not some freakish bridge expert; the facts are gathered from a book i'm reading about australia.)
but back to not sneezing at the bridge. 1650 feet is a big bridge. and there is nothing modern or fancy about the bridge- it is breathtaking in its simplicty. girders. towers. endless blue sky behind. even with grey sky it is breathtaking. and so this graceful, hulking arch is my conduit into and out of the city.
so far i have crossed the bridge in a car, on a bus, in a train, and, most favourably, on foot. twice now i have put one foot in front of the other 1650 times (give or take) and walked my way over the blue swells of the pacific into the top of the city. the view from the bridge is astounding: surrounded on all sides by the lush green of the banks of the harbour freckled with terracotta roofs, the smiling face of luna park to the west, the stranded rocks of fort denison to the east, and the unavoidable stunning brilliance of the opera house. and sky. everywhere you look there is sky. the sky here seems to go on forever, wider than you can see all at once, arching endlessly above until it knits itself to the ocean at the horizon.
i was planning on walking into the city again this morning but a thunderstorm waylaid my plans. so i took the bus across. and while all the sydneysiders kept their gaze to the papers in front of them or the text messages flashing across their blackberries, my eyes never left the world outside the window- the bridge below, the sky above, the harbour all around.
i can't get enough of it.
to the north to the south.
the bridge was built in the early part of the last century with all architectural sights set on erecting the longest single arch span ever constructed. you can imagine their mild consternation when mere weeks before the bridge was completed in 1932 the bayonne bridge opened in new york at- get this- just 25 inches longer! can you imagine losing the world's biggest bridge-building pissing contest by a distance shorter than the height of amy winehouse's beehive? the outrage! anyhow, at 1650 feet this bridge is nothing to sneeze at. (for the record- i am not some freakish bridge expert; the facts are gathered from a book i'm reading about australia.)
but back to not sneezing at the bridge. 1650 feet is a big bridge. and there is nothing modern or fancy about the bridge- it is breathtaking in its simplicty. girders. towers. endless blue sky behind. even with grey sky it is breathtaking. and so this graceful, hulking arch is my conduit into and out of the city.
so far i have crossed the bridge in a car, on a bus, in a train, and, most favourably, on foot. twice now i have put one foot in front of the other 1650 times (give or take) and walked my way over the blue swells of the pacific into the top of the city. the view from the bridge is astounding: surrounded on all sides by the lush green of the banks of the harbour freckled with terracotta roofs, the smiling face of luna park to the west, the stranded rocks of fort denison to the east, and the unavoidable stunning brilliance of the opera house. and sky. everywhere you look there is sky. the sky here seems to go on forever, wider than you can see all at once, arching endlessly above until it knits itself to the ocean at the horizon.
i was planning on walking into the city again this morning but a thunderstorm waylaid my plans. so i took the bus across. and while all the sydneysiders kept their gaze to the papers in front of them or the text messages flashing across their blackberries, my eyes never left the world outside the window- the bridge below, the sky above, the harbour all around.
i can't get enough of it.
to the north to the south.
Monday, February 25, 2008
oscar luncheon?
i love the academy awards.i have been devotedly following the oscars since i was eleven- that year forrest gump swept the broadcast, jessica lange won best actress before she destroyed her face with cosmetic surgery, and robert zemeckis's son alex was sitting on his lap when he won best director. i was allow to stay up until the very end of the show and watched, transfixed, on the living room carpet, eating an iced tea popsicle (my father had just discovered bulk shopping in a major way and our freezer had begun its life as a supplier of odd and sometimes questionable frozen treats). i loved the ceremony, the speeches, the eversobrief flash of the crestfallen across gary sinese's face. the winning costume designer (for priscilla, queen of the desert) was wearing a dress made of american express cards. life simply did not get any better than this.
i was officially obsessed. i used to hungrily follow the process from the first stirrings of buzz generated in entertainment weekly in june or july through the "for you consideration..." ads in variety right up through to whoopi goldberg wearing a sample of the costumes from each of tonight's five nominated films (i doubt that her whiteface queen elizabeth scenario would have gone over quite as well had ellen slathered on blackface and a bustier gown for last year's dreamgirls). i kept track of all of the prognostications, measured my odds, and would select my final predictions moments before the show- i treated this with a zeal and fervor that most reserve for an extremist religion or a hatred of teri hatcher. i made my sister and the camacho sisters who lived next door play oscars with me- coke bottles and soccer trophies were the coveted statuettes and i would spend hours making up ballots and carefully selecting who would be which presenter and which british nominee would regretfully be unable to attend since there were only four of us. my friend jennifer and i had an annual oscar party at her house- one year i made a cake with gold icing. jenn and i used to have to take naps so that we could stay up until the end. i'm not lying- i was obsessed.
still am to a certain degree. i have less time to see movies and must admit to only having seen three of the best picture candidates this year. since i have seen fewer of the movies i am slightly less invested and a little less outraged when my favourites don't even get nominated (as i was when joan allen was egregiously overlooked for the ice storm or lisa kudrow bypassed for her stellar work in the opposite of sex- after she won the new york film critics award and all!). but i still love the oscars. i love the couture and the positioning, the glamour and the emotion, the opulence and the global pull of an awards show. i love the moments of unexpected hilarity, the touching raising of the statue to a heavens in honour of a loved one lost, the hair and the harry winston jewels, the split second of anything can happen right before the envelope opens. i love the oscars.
the ceremony starts in ten minutes. i won't get to see the show until 8:30 my time tonight after wolfgang puck has served up the governor's ball feast and tara reid has unsuccessfully tried to gain entrance to elton john's famed soiree. right now joan rives is probably mistaking jennifer hudson for mo'nique and maria menounos is butchering the pronunciation of saoirse ronan. and though i cannot believe it is happening without me, i must accept it as one of the many things that happen out of sync with my life here. and so i will eat my lunch under the australian sky and wait patiently until 8:30.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
i dream of jean shorts.
i wish i could say i am the kind of person who doesn't care what he is wearing. actually, that's a lie. i like clothing and dressing up and feeling socially appropriate and all that. i care what i wear. i somehow feel, though, that if i say i wish i didn't care i am afforded a higher moral status. this hardly seems fair.i have passed through the paralyzing teen years wherein i wouldn't leave the house without a full ensemble. i used to get ready before going to buy milk and a twizzler at the convenience store; now i wear something that i like to think passes for accidental cool, haphazard and breezy, kodiak boots with cutoff sweatpants, a tweed vest and a construction helmet. i likely look rather foolish, but i take pride in the fact that with age i have developed enough sense of self to not mind how i look every second.
my dad will read this and scoff. he is the kind of person who doesn't care what he is wearing. this is not to say that my dad dresses poorly- he often looks quite nice, even if he does sometimes buy his shirts in the same place that he buys his jumbo size case of tahini. costco fashion may not please the cavallis and gabannas, the wintours and beckhams of the world, but it suits my dad just fine. he will sigh as i admit to worrying about about my attire. but he just doesn't get it.
anyway. i am more or less comfortable in toronto. i may not be blazing sartorial trails with all the ugly-chic hipsters down queen west west way, but i like to sit comfortably somewhere between the middle and the back edge of the front. if i were a red carpet dress i might not be draped across cate blanchett, but i might score enough points to land on kate winslet. i'm certainly not being worn by diane keaton- that much i know. but let me stress- i feel more or less comfortable in toronto.
and now i am in sydney. and i feel as if i have brought all the wrong clothes. i somehow imagined that all australians would be outfitted in sturdy twills and matter-of-fact shades of brown. i imaged an entire nation in outfits not unlike the ups uniform. and shockingly, i have been proven wrong. there are people who dress as i expected, with khaki shorts and wide-brimmed hats. but they tend the grounds in the botanic gardens or drive tourist trains through the harbour. the majority of the city is astonishingly well-dressed, polished and trendy in a way i hardly expected. i was of course forgetting that i was coming to an up-and-coming world fashion capitol and not going to see dinner theatre in bobcajun, ontario. the city is full of working women in pocketed high-waisted skirts and businessmen in crisp blue work shirts, all french cuff with intricate cufflinks. and the shops and streets and parks and beaches are all full of people with remarkably effortless beach cool- shuffling flat slip-on shoes, pastel v-neck shirts, huge bright high-tops, non-existent skirts, big old sunglasses. and jean shorts. everyone is wearing jean shorts. cut-off jean shorts.
we are not talking boys in the band jean shorts popularized by gay men of several generations ago. nor are we talking about the super-short variety with the pockets hanging out a good three inches below the hem as popularized by britney spears at the height of her cheetos years. think zack morris on saved by the bell. think point break. the early nineties are back and they're alive and kicking in sydney. and i love it. and hate it.
i have two pairs of similar jean shorts. i love them. i have been wearing the better pair since last summer which makes me feel ahead of the curve- which i like. two pairs. both in a rubbermaid storage bin. in the laundry room of my house. in canada. perfect. in these bins one would also find a plethora of beachy casuals: deep vees in mauve and coastal blue, striped tank tops, white lightweight sweaters. and jean shorts. my ideal, oceans-away jean shorts.
i am getting along fine. i am enjoying sydney in the clothes i have which are probably far more appropriate than i am making them out to be. i did, however, check out jean shorts in a shop on market street. and they were $89.95. hello. and no thank you. i will suffer my burden with a silent, dignified bravery.
but i still want my jean shorts. and i still care what i am wearing. that's just the kind of guy i am.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
traffic.
yesterday i saw a woman driving a bus through downtown sydney. now the extraordinary part about this is not that a woman was driving the bus. that is commonplace. what really struck me was how this woman looked. this woman looked, for all intents and purposes, like helen mirren. dame helen mirren driving the 333 bondi express, prepay only. she was regal in that effortlessly relaxed kind of way. she had a bolt of silver hair swept into a dramatic side part. she was wearing what can only be described as a white peasant blouse. driving a bus.
i like this city.
..........
today a woman in a red car almost ran me down as i was walking through a pedestrian crossing on macquarie street by the state library. she had her window open and said a very genuine "i'm sorry" as she drove through. and i believed her. "it's okay," i assured her with an understanding half smile. and i meant it.
further down macquarie street traffic was stopped. a young man lay in the middle of the road. he had been hit by a passing car (not the aforementioned red one though- wouldn't that have been a 'run lola run' moment!) and all northbound vehicles were held in a growing queue. no one- and i must repeat no one- was honking or throwing empty big gulp cups or sneaking up the shoulder. people were waiting- patiently. they couldn't even see what was wrong, and yet there they stood, engines idling, moments ticking away. not going anywhere.
stop the traffic on yonge street for thirty seconds. tell me how long it takes before someone honks.
.............
there are many people who work in the heart of city (called the cbd- short for central business district) who live on the north shore and who don't take the train or bus across the harbour bridge to get home. these people rely instead on a bevy of ferries that depart from circular quay to carry them home.
around 4:30 the top of the city starts to get pretty busy. the footpaths (they are not called sidewalks, they are called footpaths. i think it makes them sound rather quaint)- anyway, the footpaths start to crowd with bustling commuters, most headed for the alphabetical bus stands on york street or to wynyard station. and then there are the choice few headed for the ferry docks. and man do they run.
now ferries are many things, but they are not necessarily speedy. i believe most harbour ferries clock out at an astounding seven kilometres an hour. and so i find it quite funny to be tearing through the city in heels to get aboard something most four year-olds can outswim. asleep.
but then what do i know? i've never had to take a boat to work.
i like this city.
..........
today a woman in a red car almost ran me down as i was walking through a pedestrian crossing on macquarie street by the state library. she had her window open and said a very genuine "i'm sorry" as she drove through. and i believed her. "it's okay," i assured her with an understanding half smile. and i meant it.
further down macquarie street traffic was stopped. a young man lay in the middle of the road. he had been hit by a passing car (not the aforementioned red one though- wouldn't that have been a 'run lola run' moment!) and all northbound vehicles were held in a growing queue. no one- and i must repeat no one- was honking or throwing empty big gulp cups or sneaking up the shoulder. people were waiting- patiently. they couldn't even see what was wrong, and yet there they stood, engines idling, moments ticking away. not going anywhere.
stop the traffic on yonge street for thirty seconds. tell me how long it takes before someone honks.
.............
there are many people who work in the heart of city (called the cbd- short for central business district) who live on the north shore and who don't take the train or bus across the harbour bridge to get home. these people rely instead on a bevy of ferries that depart from circular quay to carry them home.
around 4:30 the top of the city starts to get pretty busy. the footpaths (they are not called sidewalks, they are called footpaths. i think it makes them sound rather quaint)- anyway, the footpaths start to crowd with bustling commuters, most headed for the alphabetical bus stands on york street or to wynyard station. and then there are the choice few headed for the ferry docks. and man do they run.
now ferries are many things, but they are not necessarily speedy. i believe most harbour ferries clock out at an astounding seven kilometres an hour. and so i find it quite funny to be tearing through the city in heels to get aboard something most four year-olds can outswim. asleep.
but then what do i know? i've never had to take a boat to work.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
strawberry hills forever.
i got some work for a couple of evenings this week. it is at a gym in the south of sydney in an area called strawberry hills. there are a few hills but certainly no strawberries- i looked. misleading.
i was excited to get a job to meet some people and exercise what i like to call my conversational savvy and others like to call my run-on sentences and penchant for pop culture trivia. as my luck would have it i am working alone. for three hours in the evening. and hotmail is blocked on the computer. may i ask what kind of cruel joke this is?
last night i returned home from three measly hours of work, caught the tail end of 'so you think you can dance- australia' (cat deeley is sorely missed), and promptly fell asleep on the couch. at 9:30. and slept until just past 8 this morning.
working three hours a day and sleeping 10 plus hours a night? holler. sign me up.
i was excited to get a job to meet some people and exercise what i like to call my conversational savvy and others like to call my run-on sentences and penchant for pop culture trivia. as my luck would have it i am working alone. for three hours in the evening. and hotmail is blocked on the computer. may i ask what kind of cruel joke this is?
last night i returned home from three measly hours of work, caught the tail end of 'so you think you can dance- australia' (cat deeley is sorely missed), and promptly fell asleep on the couch. at 9:30. and slept until just past 8 this morning.
working three hours a day and sleeping 10 plus hours a night? holler. sign me up.
a day for family.
happy family day ontario. this new day feels even more imaginary to me since i am missing the first one. but happy family day nevertheless.
chris is spending today with my sister kate. they went to a cycling class at the gym and then back to chris's house for lunch- tortellini soup and a salad. they played a rousing tournament of clue- kate lost again and again as chris is very good at clue. it's okay- you can't beat kate at boggle, so it all evens out. now they are finishing the day by heading up to my family home to have dinner with my dad.
i can't tell you how happy this makes me.
it is a lot to let someone into your life the way you do in a relationship. it is even more to ask the people already in your life to let that person in as well. it makes me a little weepy to think of my family eating dinner without me but together with chris. weepy in the best possible way.
my sister and chris skyped me right after i woke up this morning. they were chatty and giggling and making fun of each other in the jovial, lighthearted way that they do. kate told me that she cleaned chris's kitchen sink for him. what on earth could be better than that? i can't imagine anything better.
when lily goldsmith introduced me to christina behind a halloween party years and years ago, i don't think she knew she was introducing best friends. when chris thompson brought me and jason face-to-face on the subway platform at yonge and bloor i don't think he knew he was starting us on a lifelong friendship. similarly when i sent kate to chris for help with her english essay two autumns ago i could only have hoped for the friendship they are building.
chris is spending today with my sister kate. they went to a cycling class at the gym and then back to chris's house for lunch- tortellini soup and a salad. they played a rousing tournament of clue- kate lost again and again as chris is very good at clue. it's okay- you can't beat kate at boggle, so it all evens out. now they are finishing the day by heading up to my family home to have dinner with my dad.
i can't tell you how happy this makes me.
it is a lot to let someone into your life the way you do in a relationship. it is even more to ask the people already in your life to let that person in as well. it makes me a little weepy to think of my family eating dinner without me but together with chris. weepy in the best possible way.
my sister and chris skyped me right after i woke up this morning. they were chatty and giggling and making fun of each other in the jovial, lighthearted way that they do. kate told me that she cleaned chris's kitchen sink for him. what on earth could be better than that? i can't imagine anything better.
when lily goldsmith introduced me to christina behind a halloween party years and years ago, i don't think she knew she was introducing best friends. when chris thompson brought me and jason face-to-face on the subway platform at yonge and bloor i don't think he knew he was starting us on a lifelong friendship. similarly when i sent kate to chris for help with her english essay two autumns ago i could only have hoped for the friendship they are building.
don't worry, i know how lucky i am.
Monday, February 18, 2008
drop a house on me.
i have found a place to live- i feel this merits a cheer. hooray! the path to securing lodging has been an illuminating experience. to say the very least.
i have read what feels like thousands of ads for houseshares, roomshares, and sublets, both short-term and long-term in terrace houses, town houses, walk-ups, gingerbread houses, etc. i have seen beautiful homes and nightmare homes. i have hauled myself from cbd to paddington, manly to bondi, hogwarts to fern gully to see these advertised homes. upon arriving at most places i have been struck by how dishonest most of the ads have been. most ads tell you that something is close to everything- everything revealing itself to be the local dental hospital and a bus service bay. scenic. these ads lie!
there was one decidedly honest ad i came across a few days ago. it was for a flat in bondi and it read something like this:
"furnished room for just you- travellers and students welcome, male preferred- in happening bondi. you would share with one other. i am a tranny (m2f) and offer private massage out of a room in the house. i am friendly and tidy and keep my clients out of your way. i'm often home late so don't mind if you're a night owl. if you are open-minded and fun, give deb a call at 0411 555 999."
i consider myself open-minded. i hope i am fun. i am a male (preferred) and a traveller. i fit the profile. but thanks deb, i think i'll keep looking. i don't want to live with a roommate who can't avoid bringing work home.
here's the thing that blows my mind about this- the place was still more expensive than i could afford! living in a rub and tug with a tranny (though beach adjacent) was far out of my price range- not just a bit more than i want to spend, a full $100/week. if i can't afford this, what on earth can i afford? i'm sure deb is lovely and i cast no judgement on her profession. and i certainly appreciate how straightforward her ad was. but what hope have i got?
the place i have found to live is on sydney's lower north shore. it is less than i was expecting to pay. i will have my own furnished room complete with a wee balcony right off my bedroom. the balcony overlooks the trees and gardens below. i will be living with a wonderful woman named sheila- south african by birth, sheila now makes her home in sydney and runs the aqua program at a gym down the road. and she never brings her work home with her.
i have read what feels like thousands of ads for houseshares, roomshares, and sublets, both short-term and long-term in terrace houses, town houses, walk-ups, gingerbread houses, etc. i have seen beautiful homes and nightmare homes. i have hauled myself from cbd to paddington, manly to bondi, hogwarts to fern gully to see these advertised homes. upon arriving at most places i have been struck by how dishonest most of the ads have been. most ads tell you that something is close to everything- everything revealing itself to be the local dental hospital and a bus service bay. scenic. these ads lie!
there was one decidedly honest ad i came across a few days ago. it was for a flat in bondi and it read something like this:
"furnished room for just you- travellers and students welcome, male preferred- in happening bondi. you would share with one other. i am a tranny (m2f) and offer private massage out of a room in the house. i am friendly and tidy and keep my clients out of your way. i'm often home late so don't mind if you're a night owl. if you are open-minded and fun, give deb a call at 0411 555 999."
i consider myself open-minded. i hope i am fun. i am a male (preferred) and a traveller. i fit the profile. but thanks deb, i think i'll keep looking. i don't want to live with a roommate who can't avoid bringing work home.
here's the thing that blows my mind about this- the place was still more expensive than i could afford! living in a rub and tug with a tranny (though beach adjacent) was far out of my price range- not just a bit more than i want to spend, a full $100/week. if i can't afford this, what on earth can i afford? i'm sure deb is lovely and i cast no judgement on her profession. and i certainly appreciate how straightforward her ad was. but what hope have i got?
the place i have found to live is on sydney's lower north shore. it is less than i was expecting to pay. i will have my own furnished room complete with a wee balcony right off my bedroom. the balcony overlooks the trees and gardens below. i will be living with a wonderful woman named sheila- south african by birth, sheila now makes her home in sydney and runs the aqua program at a gym down the road. and she never brings her work home with her.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
brighton le sands
today belinda took me to brighton le sands beach in south sydney. brighton le sands. brighton le sands. i keep saying it because it just sounds so fancy.
the sky was grey when we got there so we went for coffee and treats. i had mars bar cheese cake. hello.
we walked on the beach once the skies cleared up. i love sand underfoot- can't beat it.
the sky was grey when we got there so we went for coffee and treats. i had mars bar cheese cake. hello.
we walked on the beach once the skies cleared up. i love sand underfoot- can't beat it.
be frie/st nds
this is not about sydney. this is about friendship. deal with it.
i got an email today from jennifer, my oldest friend. jenn and i met at her fifth birthday party: my family had just moved to her neighbourhood and i was to be starting at her school that fall and so rita, her wonderful mother, kindly invited me to meet the kids i would be joining in sk that september. jennifer was not impressed and i certainly don't blame her. can you imagine your mom inviting some strange boy to your birthday? and then he has the audacity to wear suspenders? good grief.
it took several years and the relocation of jenn's original best friend (christina starr stubbing- i include that because i always marveled at the fact that her middle name was starr) for us to enter into best friendship. but once we were friends were unequivocally best friends. we were storybook friends, kindred spirits. we have similar colouring and were about the same height at the time and people used to ask if we were twins. we were ecstatic. it helped that we had the same black and multi-neon striped shorts. but we couldn't have been happier. happy as a clam. happy as two clams.
we had the same imagination- we played 't.v. movie' (not movie, specifically t.v. movie)- we were long-lost twins dreaming of a reunion and would sit at her bedroom window and pretend that it was a split screen and we would sing "i'll be home for christmas." seriously. i loved jenn- she knew the girl's part to the 'growing pains' theme song and she put mayo on everything. she would eat toast with just mayo for breakfast. we were inseparable. when one of us was in the washroom the other one would sit outside the door and we would talk the whole time. inseparable. perhaps that part isn't exactly storybook- but it was us.
jenn was my friend through everything- when things were tough with the boys who could hit the ball off the t and who loved 'wayne's world" i always knew jenn would be there. i left our school after grade six and life has taken us down different paths since but never too far apart that we forget our friendship. whenever i here her shriek or someone starts the beginning of light my candle from rent ("what you forget?" "gotta light?") i can't help but know that we share a connection that cannot be matched.
jenn emailed me this morning with exciting news- she is engaged to be married to a lovely guy who loves her. i am thrilled for her! she has a ring and was proposed to in the snow. she is going to become a wife someday soon. her news has got me thinking, deep down thinking. and thinking lots about her, about how much a part of my life she is and always will be.
congrats jenn. i hope your life always keeps you happy. i am so proud of you, proud in my most secret heart.
i can't wait to see how our t.v. movie turns out.
i got an email today from jennifer, my oldest friend. jenn and i met at her fifth birthday party: my family had just moved to her neighbourhood and i was to be starting at her school that fall and so rita, her wonderful mother, kindly invited me to meet the kids i would be joining in sk that september. jennifer was not impressed and i certainly don't blame her. can you imagine your mom inviting some strange boy to your birthday? and then he has the audacity to wear suspenders? good grief.
it took several years and the relocation of jenn's original best friend (christina starr stubbing- i include that because i always marveled at the fact that her middle name was starr) for us to enter into best friendship. but once we were friends were unequivocally best friends. we were storybook friends, kindred spirits. we have similar colouring and were about the same height at the time and people used to ask if we were twins. we were ecstatic. it helped that we had the same black and multi-neon striped shorts. but we couldn't have been happier. happy as a clam. happy as two clams.
we had the same imagination- we played 't.v. movie' (not movie, specifically t.v. movie)- we were long-lost twins dreaming of a reunion and would sit at her bedroom window and pretend that it was a split screen and we would sing "i'll be home for christmas." seriously. i loved jenn- she knew the girl's part to the 'growing pains' theme song and she put mayo on everything. she would eat toast with just mayo for breakfast. we were inseparable. when one of us was in the washroom the other one would sit outside the door and we would talk the whole time. inseparable. perhaps that part isn't exactly storybook- but it was us.
jenn was my friend through everything- when things were tough with the boys who could hit the ball off the t and who loved 'wayne's world" i always knew jenn would be there. i left our school after grade six and life has taken us down different paths since but never too far apart that we forget our friendship. whenever i here her shriek or someone starts the beginning of light my candle from rent ("what you forget?" "gotta light?") i can't help but know that we share a connection that cannot be matched.
jenn emailed me this morning with exciting news- she is engaged to be married to a lovely guy who loves her. i am thrilled for her! she has a ring and was proposed to in the snow. she is going to become a wife someday soon. her news has got me thinking, deep down thinking. and thinking lots about her, about how much a part of my life she is and always will be.
congrats jenn. i hope your life always keeps you happy. i am so proud of you, proud in my most secret heart.
i can't wait to see how our t.v. movie turns out.
Friday, February 15, 2008
helen househunt.
i have never really had to hunt for a house. my family moved several times when i was a child, but the decision-making rested with my parents by virtue of the fact that i was four. then when i moved out on my own at eighteen i moved directly into the house where my dear friend christina was already living. easy.
now i am hunting for a house, and might i add that i am doing it in a city i have little to no knowledge of. hunt is perhaps the wrong word. a house is not an easter egg. no one places the perfect house for you somewhere- you must search for a house. i am searching for a house and i think i finally have found a lovely place to stay on sydney's lower north shore. hooray!
but in the past week i have seen a number of houses, none of which (for better or for worse) were quite what they seemed in the adds on gumtree.com or domain.com.au. what follows is an exact record of my experience of one such house earlier this week copied word for word out of my journal:
have just come from shani and stu's in st. peter's. hello. on the agonizing walk (due to flip-flop blisters) a black cat crossed my path- in front of a cemetery! a pit bull barked and gnawed at me through a gate. i walked past a number of dilapidated storefronts, auto parts warehouses with slamming metal doors, and abandoned sheepskin dealers. then got to 307a prince's highway- shani and stu are a nice goth couple. and they have a pet snake. named scope- short for kaleidescope. he's an american cornbread- or something. and they live airport adjacent and the jet flying overhead shook the roof. and they live directly on a busy, noisy traffic artery clogged with pick-up trucks and service vans driven by guys who might not eat carrot cake cupcakes and listen to the 'juno' soundtrack. on my way out there was an actual cockroach on the stoop. honest to god.
funnily, none of this was in the ad.
though it is only $150/week....
the snake is actually called an american cornsnake but the rest is true. and the snake lived in an open tank. just for good measure.
..........
here is some info about the snake:
"the american cornsnake (elaphe guttata) or red rat snake is a north american species of rat snake. a corn snake suffocates its prey by wrapping its body around it. constricting prey is a basic instinct for a type of snake called a constrictor, and it will perform this action in the wild and in captivity."
that's all.
now i am hunting for a house, and might i add that i am doing it in a city i have little to no knowledge of. hunt is perhaps the wrong word. a house is not an easter egg. no one places the perfect house for you somewhere- you must search for a house. i am searching for a house and i think i finally have found a lovely place to stay on sydney's lower north shore. hooray!
but in the past week i have seen a number of houses, none of which (for better or for worse) were quite what they seemed in the adds on gumtree.com or domain.com.au. what follows is an exact record of my experience of one such house earlier this week copied word for word out of my journal:
feb 12/08
6:00pm
6:00pm
have just come from shani and stu's in st. peter's. hello. on the agonizing walk (due to flip-flop blisters) a black cat crossed my path- in front of a cemetery! a pit bull barked and gnawed at me through a gate. i walked past a number of dilapidated storefronts, auto parts warehouses with slamming metal doors, and abandoned sheepskin dealers. then got to 307a prince's highway- shani and stu are a nice goth couple. and they have a pet snake. named scope- short for kaleidescope. he's an american cornbread- or something. and they live airport adjacent and the jet flying overhead shook the roof. and they live directly on a busy, noisy traffic artery clogged with pick-up trucks and service vans driven by guys who might not eat carrot cake cupcakes and listen to the 'juno' soundtrack. on my way out there was an actual cockroach on the stoop. honest to god.
funnily, none of this was in the ad.
though it is only $150/week....
the snake is actually called an american cornsnake but the rest is true. and the snake lived in an open tank. just for good measure.
..........
here is some info about the snake:
"the american cornsnake (elaphe guttata) or red rat snake is a north american species of rat snake. a corn snake suffocates its prey by wrapping its body around it. constricting prey is a basic instinct for a type of snake called a constrictor, and it will perform this action in the wild and in captivity."
that's all.
you take my bag away.
there is a place at the front of every sydney bus where passengers are encouraged to leave their bags and parcels to make a bit more room on the bus. and the shocking thing is that people actually do leave their things there: backpacks, birthday presents, skateboards, pinatas, birthing stools, you name it. this shocks me!
if you asked someone on the ttc to kindly leave their bag at the front of the vehicle to make a more pleasant ride for everyone, they would likely- well, first they would likely ignore you since we are mostly afraid of making contact of any kind. then they might scoff and demand of you if you know just how much this lululemon yoga/diaper/colostomy bag cost them, thank you very much. and then they might spit at you. or not. but they certainly wouldn't leave their bag at the front of the bus.
i'm still clutching my pack on my lap when i ride the bus here, the reason being that it is small and unobtrusive. but give me time.
..........
if you asked someone on the ttc to kindly leave their bag at the front of the vehicle to make a more pleasant ride for everyone, they would likely- well, first they would likely ignore you since we are mostly afraid of making contact of any kind. then they might scoff and demand of you if you know just how much this lululemon yoga/diaper/colostomy bag cost them, thank you very much. and then they might spit at you. or not. but they certainly wouldn't leave their bag at the front of the bus.
i'm still clutching my pack on my lap when i ride the bus here, the reason being that it is small and unobtrusive. but give me time.
..........
this picture has nothing to do with the bus. but i took it yesterday and i think it is pretty.
unschedule me
the word "unschedule" is not a real word. it is not in the dictionary and the only reason your spell check might recognize it is perhaps because it has kind of become ultramod business slang. but i don't think it is a real word.it came into my vocabulary working at goodlife. personal trainers have to schedule their clients in order to get paid; consequently, if they need to remove the sessions without canceling them, they must unschedule the session. does that make sense?
the reason i bring it up is this: i think unschedule might be the truest way to describe what i am doing to myself here. i have come to realize after the past eight days in a decidedly laid-back country that i am just as decidedly on a schedule. i make my lunch the night before. i work. i know what time america's next top model is on. i, for the most part, know when it is someone's birthday. i can be in a rush like nobody's business.
but here. here, rushing is truly nobody's business. people don't seem to know how to rush. the city seems to permanently be on a long lunch, and just when you think they should all be getting back to the office, it's quitting time and everyone is on the bus home, fresh flowers in hand, white teeth gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
for the first time in a very long while my days have been filled with nothing. this is not to say that i'm not doing anything, but right now, before i start work of any kind, i am not on a schedule of any kind. i am, for lack of any better term, on vacation right now. perhaps there is a better term: i am on hiatus. i will return to working, but i'm on a rest period- reruns and reality tv shows can take over the ratings, i am on hiatus. and while this sounds lovely, it is also mildly disconcerting. i keep looking at the time expecting it to be 4:30- and it will be 2:17. the days are full of so much time! it is lovely- albeit strange.
and i am trying to adjust to sydney life. i brought my watch along and i have not been wearing it. granted this means that i won't get a watchtan, but it also means i am letting myself be a bit more adrift in the day. yesterday i was going to take the bus into the city to walk around the harbour and buy some cheap beach shoes in chinatown (which i did) but on my way i took myself for lunch- fish and chips at the naremburn shops beside where i'm staying. i ate my fish and chips on the sun-dappled patio that overlooks the road. and while i ate i watched three buses pass me by. three! this is a feat for me. i didn't scarf down lunch to gaspingly make the fast-approaching bus. i ate my sole and salty chips and read my book. and nothing happened- nothing was better or worse because i missed those buses. another one came along and it was just fine. and so was i.
so perhaps there is an even better term than hiatus. i am not on hiatus; i am in the process of unscheduling myself.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
blue sky
now i know toronto is buried under 60cm of snow. and i know it is freezing cold and more than a bit miserable. and i know that this is a record february for snowfall in toronto and that toronto has all but used up its $80million snow removal budget. but i need to talk about blue sky for a moment.
this morning dawned grey and rainy in sydney. it held no promise of sun. but (and i would like to think that this is mainly because i am here and i willed it so) the sun prevailed and burned its way through the cloud cover round about noon. and by the time i was taking the bus back from the city centre around 6pm the sky was achingly, perfectly blue.
that is not a square of blue. that is a photograph of the sky that was over my head today. the perfect sky. the perfect sky that stretched from horizon to horizon without interruption. the perfect sky.
there is a reason people live where the sky is this blue. it is the same reason that people live by the water. because it is good for the soul.
this morning dawned grey and rainy in sydney. it held no promise of sun. but (and i would like to think that this is mainly because i am here and i willed it so) the sun prevailed and burned its way through the cloud cover round about noon. and by the time i was taking the bus back from the city centre around 6pm the sky was achingly, perfectly blue.
that is not a square of blue. that is a photograph of the sky that was over my head today. the perfect sky. the perfect sky that stretched from horizon to horizon without interruption. the perfect sky.
there is a reason people live where the sky is this blue. it is the same reason that people live by the water. because it is good for the soul.
sydney vs. toronto: round one
so as in any travel situation, i am struck by the myriad differences between where i am now and where i come from. i think it is thrown into even starker contrast as the two cities that i'm comparing are not entirely dissimilar. sydney and toronto both have a population of about 4 million, they are both relatively safe and clean, both general failures at registering on the global "hot topics" sidebar. it's not as if i'm in bangladesh where one would expect great differences. but the differences, expected or not, are quite evident.
here are some of the main ones i have notes so far:
..i like to consider myself a polite person. i am respectful of social etiquette: i do not rush the subway doors, i generally hold doors for people, will pointedly say "bless you" if someone near me sneezes, and i always walk left, stand right. as a canadian, where traffic moves on the right side of the road, my inclination is to move right, to squeeze to the right, to sidestep to the right to avoid being run down by the office worker in her sensible shoes dashing for the express bus. but here, i'm WRONG! it goes against my very genetic make-up to step to the left- i simply cannot help the knee-jerk reaction to step aside, that aside being the right side. here, when i move to the right, i move further into the way; and so, i am impolite! i cannot abide this! i am actively training myself to shift to the lefthand side of everything.
..same goes for crossing the street. which way do you look first? left, then right. that's as easy as asking what the middle names are of the three daughters on 'full house' (margaret, judith, elizabeth). but here, you do that and you're as dead as dogstar, keanu reeves's band. training myself- right, then left.
..when jerry asked elaine what percentage of the population she thought was attractive, she answered a generous 25%. i tend to agree. i like to think that at least one in four north americans is at least passably good looking. (for the record- jerry thinks it is more like 4-6%, tops). i must say that after a full week in sydney, australians are on average 36-59% more attractive than us. everyone looks sunkissed and healthy and vital and relaxed. everyone looks like they just finished a half-ironman after a regatta at the country club and are on their way to model for abercrombie and fitch with a stop at the masseuse on the way. and this is not exclusive of the young. when i say everyone, i mean everyone. everyone smiles. everyone walks a bit slower. everyone is hot. they should put that on the tourist literature: "want to feel pale, uptight, and physically inadequate? have we got the city for you!"
..contrary to popular belief, the toilets do not actually flush the opposite way. in my experience so far, they rather fill with a quick rush of water that disappears just as speedily. no swirl. i can't say i'm disappointed. a toilet is just a toilet after all.
.. everyone has freckles. i think even the dogs have freckles.
..vegemite is not an option. vegemite is a horror. most of all, vegemite is not nutella.
do not eat vegemite. but do come to sydney. keep me company and let our freckles come out together.
here are some of the main ones i have notes so far:
..i like to consider myself a polite person. i am respectful of social etiquette: i do not rush the subway doors, i generally hold doors for people, will pointedly say "bless you" if someone near me sneezes, and i always walk left, stand right. as a canadian, where traffic moves on the right side of the road, my inclination is to move right, to squeeze to the right, to sidestep to the right to avoid being run down by the office worker in her sensible shoes dashing for the express bus. but here, i'm WRONG! it goes against my very genetic make-up to step to the left- i simply cannot help the knee-jerk reaction to step aside, that aside being the right side. here, when i move to the right, i move further into the way; and so, i am impolite! i cannot abide this! i am actively training myself to shift to the lefthand side of everything.
..same goes for crossing the street. which way do you look first? left, then right. that's as easy as asking what the middle names are of the three daughters on 'full house' (margaret, judith, elizabeth). but here, you do that and you're as dead as dogstar, keanu reeves's band. training myself- right, then left.
..when jerry asked elaine what percentage of the population she thought was attractive, she answered a generous 25%. i tend to agree. i like to think that at least one in four north americans is at least passably good looking. (for the record- jerry thinks it is more like 4-6%, tops). i must say that after a full week in sydney, australians are on average 36-59% more attractive than us. everyone looks sunkissed and healthy and vital and relaxed. everyone looks like they just finished a half-ironman after a regatta at the country club and are on their way to model for abercrombie and fitch with a stop at the masseuse on the way. and this is not exclusive of the young. when i say everyone, i mean everyone. everyone smiles. everyone walks a bit slower. everyone is hot. they should put that on the tourist literature: "want to feel pale, uptight, and physically inadequate? have we got the city for you!"
..contrary to popular belief, the toilets do not actually flush the opposite way. in my experience so far, they rather fill with a quick rush of water that disappears just as speedily. no swirl. i can't say i'm disappointed. a toilet is just a toilet after all.
.. everyone has freckles. i think even the dogs have freckles.
..vegemite is not an option. vegemite is a horror. most of all, vegemite is not nutella.
do not eat vegemite. but do come to sydney. keep me company and let our freckles come out together.
sydney so far.
well hello.
it's valentines day here and not yet valentines day at home. i am still adjusting to the great shift in hours between home and here. but it's getting better.
two people have been big cheerleaders in me starting a blog whilst (who says whilst?) traveling- my dear friend jason and my dad. so i assume they will both read it and anyone else who might want to can as well.
i was reading my friend jason's blog and he is a charming, consummate blogger. i would like to think i might be good at it, but that remains to be seen. jason's blog is all lovely and personalized- i think mainly because he understands what terms like "html" and "java" mean. i chalk this up to the fact that he most likely took computers at his regular high school while i was busy preparing for a career in balloon-animal making at my arts high school. so i'm proud that i've been able to make the font navy blue. and that is about as far is i will go.
i am in sydney, australia. i can hear a mynah bird outside the window of the home that i am staying in. it is a little bit grey today. i think i'm going to take the bus into the city and walk around the harbour. i will bring an umbrella just in case.
ms. tait, my wonderful grade 2-3 teacher used to say, "immediately, if not sooner!" she is a lovely woman with strong traces of her irish accent colouring her voice, and so the phrase has stayed with me all these years. when i got here i made a list of the things that i must do, immediately if not sooner. this is the list:
i miss home and everyone that comes with it. i am alone for the very first time in my life. it is tough, but i am tougher. that's what i tell my classes when they're doing push-ups. "this might be tough, but you are tougher." this is just one massive, seven month long push-up.
did i mention i hate push-ups?
it's valentines day here and not yet valentines day at home. i am still adjusting to the great shift in hours between home and here. but it's getting better.
two people have been big cheerleaders in me starting a blog whilst (who says whilst?) traveling- my dear friend jason and my dad. so i assume they will both read it and anyone else who might want to can as well.
i was reading my friend jason's blog and he is a charming, consummate blogger. i would like to think i might be good at it, but that remains to be seen. jason's blog is all lovely and personalized- i think mainly because he understands what terms like "html" and "java" mean. i chalk this up to the fact that he most likely took computers at his regular high school while i was busy preparing for a career in balloon-animal making at my arts high school. so i'm proud that i've been able to make the font navy blue. and that is about as far is i will go.
i am in sydney, australia. i can hear a mynah bird outside the window of the home that i am staying in. it is a little bit grey today. i think i'm going to take the bus into the city and walk around the harbour. i will bring an umbrella just in case.
ms. tait, my wonderful grade 2-3 teacher used to say, "immediately, if not sooner!" she is a lovely woman with strong traces of her irish accent colouring her voice, and so the phrase has stayed with me all these years. when i got here i made a list of the things that i must do, immediately if not sooner. this is the list:
- -find a house
- -find a job
- -get a bank account
- -get a phone
- -see the opera house and the harbour bridge
- -go to the beach
i miss home and everyone that comes with it. i am alone for the very first time in my life. it is tough, but i am tougher. that's what i tell my classes when they're doing push-ups. "this might be tough, but you are tougher." this is just one massive, seven month long push-up.
did i mention i hate push-ups?
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