So I am looooong overdue for an update and I do indeed have a hell of a lot to write about.
Only problem is, I feel so overwhelmed by all the bits and bobs going on in my head as well as my actual day to day life, that to sit down and start writing about it is well, a tad too much just now.
Instead, I will owe you one. As soon as I can clear the thoughts from fuzzy emotions into actual sentences containing proper thoughts and ideas (at the moment, my inner dialogue is merely making a series of ahhhh's and ohhhh's as well as the occasional gasp and then giggle. Useless really!)
In the meantime, here is a teaser - I am moving out of my flat (where I have been residing the last 5 years). I am leaving my job on January 21st (where I have been working for the last 10 years) AND I am relocating to Melbourne (where I have been stealing kisses from for nearly 4 years). Yeah. When I change, I mutha-flipping change!!!
And with that, Merry Christmas and New Year! All the best to you and your families!!! Be well and be safe and be happy!
xxx
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Thursday, September 02, 2010
How I became an old lady. At 34.
This morning as I left my apartment, I found a small box of chocolates and a note hanging from my door handle:
"Dear Amanda, I would really like to apologise for the way my friends behaved last night and that you had to find the mess that you did...."
Yep. I am that neighbour. The one who knocks on the door of your apartment and says "I am so embarrassed to have to say this but, could you please pick up your rubbish and keep the noise down as I have to work early in the morning ..."
Surely there was a time when I was the one at the receiving end of such complaints? Actually, no. Looking back, no. Not even once. Oh there was that one time my neighbour decided to bang on my wall at 11am on a Sunday because I was laughing too loud.
Actually my laugh is about the only thing people have complained to me about. Which, when you really think about it is absurd! "Please keep the happy to a minimum M'am as some of us have to be killjoys in the morning!"
I won't lie, I am now quite embarrassed about the incident that drove my neighbours to buying chocolates and writing apologies. It means I have to be on my best behaviour for I have cast the first stone ... And I don't want to have to hang my head in shame and buy little boxes of Ferrer Rocher in an attempt to keep the peace! NO! I shall not! You watch how quiet I can be! And neat!!!
Oh let's face it. I am an old Nanna and I know it. I am the first to give a pursed lip "uh uhuh" look to a child who wants to put their grubby hands all over the magazines while in queue at the checkout. I tut-tut the cigarette butt droppers and if you think its OK to "taste" a grape before you buy it, well, you and I are not of the same breed.
No, I might as well let my pantyhose sag around my knees and let my chin hair grow to its unrealised glory - I am a 34 year old Nanna. And proud of it.
"Dear Amanda, I would really like to apologise for the way my friends behaved last night and that you had to find the mess that you did...."
Yep. I am that neighbour. The one who knocks on the door of your apartment and says "I am so embarrassed to have to say this but, could you please pick up your rubbish and keep the noise down as I have to work early in the morning ..."
Surely there was a time when I was the one at the receiving end of such complaints? Actually, no. Looking back, no. Not even once. Oh there was that one time my neighbour decided to bang on my wall at 11am on a Sunday because I was laughing too loud.
Actually my laugh is about the only thing people have complained to me about. Which, when you really think about it is absurd! "Please keep the happy to a minimum M'am as some of us have to be killjoys in the morning!"
I won't lie, I am now quite embarrassed about the incident that drove my neighbours to buying chocolates and writing apologies. It means I have to be on my best behaviour for I have cast the first stone ... And I don't want to have to hang my head in shame and buy little boxes of Ferrer Rocher in an attempt to keep the peace! NO! I shall not! You watch how quiet I can be! And neat!!!
Oh let's face it. I am an old Nanna and I know it. I am the first to give a pursed lip "uh uhuh" look to a child who wants to put their grubby hands all over the magazines while in queue at the checkout. I tut-tut the cigarette butt droppers and if you think its OK to "taste" a grape before you buy it, well, you and I are not of the same breed.
No, I might as well let my pantyhose sag around my knees and let my chin hair grow to its unrealised glory - I am a 34 year old Nanna. And proud of it.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Good Bye Uncle John
Recently my Mum rang me. It was early in the morning -well, early for her- and so immediately I felt like something was amiss.
She said that John O'Leary had died. She said it twice. I heard her clearly, but still needed her to repeat it - but it could not have been true. John O'Leary could not have died. No way. This was just not possible.
Immediately, like we do with death, my head was swimming with thoughts and regrets. When was the last time I saw him? What had we spoken about? Did he know I loved him and that although he technically was my Dad's cousin and not actually my Uncle, I thought of him in every way as my Uncle and that my childhood is littered with stories and memories of Uncle John.
He was that man. You know, the one who was a rodeo champion in the Northern Territory, that went on a crazy cowboy adventure through New Zealand, who was a prison warden at Goulburn Gaol, who was a beekeeper, who was a fisherman, who was a handyman, who was a storyteller, who was a larrikan. Who was a character. Who was the joy and laughter of every family gathering.
The last few times I have gone to Goulburn, it has been to attend a funeral. We would usually have met at Uncle Johns. We would have also gone back to Uncle Johns after the service, to talk, remember, laugh. How could it be that there we would all be again, but this time for Uncle John? It was just not right. I still struggle to believe he is not going to enter the room asking if any of the guys need a beer or if the ladies need their wine glasses refilled.
And his wife. Marleine. I cannot stop thinking about her. These two people made marriage look great. Only last year they renewed their vows. I cannot stop thinking how lucky it was they did that. How happy together they have been for years and years. I hurt for Marleine. I have no idea how she must feel. But by gosh did he love her. That's a pretty comforting thought. He loved her and she loved him and we all knew it.
Perhaps it is because of the age similarities that I have also dwelled a little too long about my parents and what will happen when.... well, I don't even want to write it.
I have actually been surprised by how moved I have been. Both at the feeling of loss but also at the warmth and comfort I have seen throughout my family. I don't think I have ever hugged my brother so tightly.
It's been a sad week - and I think there are some sad times to come - but I am so so lucky. To be a part of a family like mine, well, I will never take that for granted for a minute. Nor will I ever forget what a great man John O'Leary was. He is going to be missed, but as they say, he won't be forgotten. Not for a long long time. That is for sure.
She said that John O'Leary had died. She said it twice. I heard her clearly, but still needed her to repeat it - but it could not have been true. John O'Leary could not have died. No way. This was just not possible.
Immediately, like we do with death, my head was swimming with thoughts and regrets. When was the last time I saw him? What had we spoken about? Did he know I loved him and that although he technically was my Dad's cousin and not actually my Uncle, I thought of him in every way as my Uncle and that my childhood is littered with stories and memories of Uncle John.
He was that man. You know, the one who was a rodeo champion in the Northern Territory, that went on a crazy cowboy adventure through New Zealand, who was a prison warden at Goulburn Gaol, who was a beekeeper, who was a fisherman, who was a handyman, who was a storyteller, who was a larrikan. Who was a character. Who was the joy and laughter of every family gathering.
The last few times I have gone to Goulburn, it has been to attend a funeral. We would usually have met at Uncle Johns. We would have also gone back to Uncle Johns after the service, to talk, remember, laugh. How could it be that there we would all be again, but this time for Uncle John? It was just not right. I still struggle to believe he is not going to enter the room asking if any of the guys need a beer or if the ladies need their wine glasses refilled.
And his wife. Marleine. I cannot stop thinking about her. These two people made marriage look great. Only last year they renewed their vows. I cannot stop thinking how lucky it was they did that. How happy together they have been for years and years. I hurt for Marleine. I have no idea how she must feel. But by gosh did he love her. That's a pretty comforting thought. He loved her and she loved him and we all knew it.
Perhaps it is because of the age similarities that I have also dwelled a little too long about my parents and what will happen when.... well, I don't even want to write it.
I have actually been surprised by how moved I have been. Both at the feeling of loss but also at the warmth and comfort I have seen throughout my family. I don't think I have ever hugged my brother so tightly.
It's been a sad week - and I think there are some sad times to come - but I am so so lucky. To be a part of a family like mine, well, I will never take that for granted for a minute. Nor will I ever forget what a great man John O'Leary was. He is going to be missed, but as they say, he won't be forgotten. Not for a long long time. That is for sure.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Happy Good Time Excitement Adventures!
The last couple of weeks have been pretty exciting.
I have been lucky enough to score a few gigs, which I never want to take for granted, but most excitingly, I went to the USA.
A few of my favourite people (both personally and professionally) went to New York to perform in the Upright Citizens Brigade's annual Del Close Marathon. It's basically laughapalooza for improv - over 50 hours non-stop-back-to-back-across-3-venues of improvised goodness.
It started a couple of months ago when Lisa Ricketts cheekily suggested we make an application for the marathon.
Late in May we got the green light and bam, it was all happening. Flights booked, hotels booked, visas waivered, friends contacted and weather channels watched, I counted down the days til it was time to pack officially (as opposed to rehearsal packing) and get my butt to the airport.
I have been to the States before, and this trip could not have been more different. A decade ago I landed in New York and it was cold and big and scary. It was also bright and vibrant and fantastic. It was the first Tuesday in November 2000 - election day, that myself and a friend arrived - and when we left some four weeks later, there still was not a clear President. The 11th of September was just another day on the calendar then too, and $1AUD was worth 50c USD. We made a very lame attempt at travelling across the States, in fact only stopping in New York, Memphis, Chicago, LA, Las Vegas and Hawaii's big island. Just the tip really, of what there is to see. We got the gist though, of just how different countries could be - and of just how different cities could be. I remember leaving thinking how much I really wanted to come back as soon as I could.
This time round, it was just such a different experience. Age probably has a lot to do with it, but there is a lot to be said for having people to visit. Los Angeles was a brilliant time. I caught up with Steve Brandon. He is the first person I know to have won a Green Card and he is certainly putting it to brilliant use. Seeing LA through his eyes made it feel so much more familiar. Staying on his couch and not in a hotel too automatically makes things more chilled.
It's safe to say Steve knows how to host! He took me shopping, to a taping of a dating game show hosted by Jerry Springer, to great restaurants, to a VIP back lot tour of Paramount Studios, to UCB LA, he hosted a games night at his house as well so I got to meet his friends - and all this in the first 36 hours!
I headed to New York on the red eye the night after arriving in LA. This was an experience. It seems that this is how America does its business. People fly into LA first thing in the morning from NYC and catch the red eye back, probably going straight into the office. There were many suited up types, sleeping pills in hand and inflatable pillows at the ready. A LOT is riding on getting sleep on this flight and I gotta admit, I felt the pressure. The flight was an 11.59pm departure. 5.5hrs long. Landing in New York at 8.30am.
Firstly, I flew American Airlines. Big mistake. No pillows and no blankets. Also no service at all. Secondly, I had packed some over the counter "relaxation" pills thinking this would be all I need, but no dice. I took one. No reaction. I took the second and finally started feeling sleepy but then the cold dry air (and me sans blanket!) caught the back of my throat and I had a major coughing attack which woke me right back up again. I had a little "tired" sob in the toilet and then resolved myself to harden the f**k up and sleep! Somehow this pep talk worked but some 90mins later the cabin was being prepared for landing and I was disturbed from my relaxed state, resulting in an occasional cranky spell over the days that followed. They were short lived however, as adrenaline and good friends are the worlds best mood enhancers! (sleep be damned!)
The week that followed was a blur - a rush and yet a slow motion reveal of faces, smells, tastes and sounds. Shows and shows and shows followed by a few more shows. Meals eaten while standing in queues, beers served straight from the keg in college style fervour, polite interest being mistake for flirting, crowded streets, sweaty subways and so much laughter.
The Del Close Marathon and our show in it certainly deserve its very own post - so I will do that, but til then I will simply say it was a long way to come but well worth the journey.
Though the main reason for being away was of course the DCM12, you cannot be in New York and not be the tourist.
I had not seen my lovely Susie in a month and a highlight would definitely have to be going on the Sex and the City tour with her. It was several hours of viewing the city from a lovely air conditioned bus, stopping for Magnolia Cupcakes, Cosmos and many many photo opportunities. We also got lots of shopping time in and lots of running around with smiles on our faces.
I also had the joy of catching up with Matt and Kat Foster, more winners of the Green Card. And those two are also putting it into fabulous use. Matt is acting in a regional tour of My Fair Lady and Kat is working with a fertility clinic. I got to go out to Queens to see where they live - a mere 15mins from the centre of Manhattan by subway! Brilliant. I love that I can now visualise where they are (like I can with Steve in LA). It makes the world seem smaller somehow.
Spending time just wandering about rather than racing from one landmark to another was really great - I felt much more relaxed than I did 10 years ago. I still have so much more to see and so definitely plan to go back, but got much more of a feeling for the city than if I had just raced around ticking things of my list of "to see and do".
Because of the DCM12 we got to talk much more to locals (and so many visitors from other parts of the States) which makes a massive difference to a travelling experience as well. It just makes the places you visit seem so much more real. People are tops. No doubt about it. Well, apart from the one New Yorker (like the bad apple) who elbowed me in the boob and pushed me into the street. I was too happy to be on the receiving end of such a cliche though to be angry and probably looked like a right royal loon laughing instead of yelling. Oh well. No damage to my boob is the main thing.
I was ready to go back to LA though, the heat in NYC was intense, and had two brilliant days with Steve and Carly (another Aussie living there.) They treated me to more shopping destinations, more good food and a night at a bar called Howl at the Moon where once again I think my polite chit chat was mistaken for flirting! I even managed to get a quick sing song in with the "duelling piano" house band. It was a pretty brilliant way to round off the trip.
Just like that though, I am home. Straight back to work with not a lot to do but look at my photos and think about warmer weather (so I can wear all the clothes I brought home with me!).
Thankfully gigs have started to come in already. Friendly faces are around the corner and the arms of a handsome man whom I certainly am flirting with (make no mistake it is not polite chit chat) is only 11 sleeps away......
I have been lucky enough to score a few gigs, which I never want to take for granted, but most excitingly, I went to the USA.
A few of my favourite people (both personally and professionally) went to New York to perform in the Upright Citizens Brigade's annual Del Close Marathon. It's basically laughapalooza for improv - over 50 hours non-stop-back-to-back-across-3-venues of improvised goodness.
It started a couple of months ago when Lisa Ricketts cheekily suggested we make an application for the marathon.
Late in May we got the green light and bam, it was all happening. Flights booked, hotels booked, visas waivered, friends contacted and weather channels watched, I counted down the days til it was time to pack officially (as opposed to rehearsal packing) and get my butt to the airport.
I have been to the States before, and this trip could not have been more different. A decade ago I landed in New York and it was cold and big and scary. It was also bright and vibrant and fantastic. It was the first Tuesday in November 2000 - election day, that myself and a friend arrived - and when we left some four weeks later, there still was not a clear President. The 11th of September was just another day on the calendar then too, and $1AUD was worth 50c USD. We made a very lame attempt at travelling across the States, in fact only stopping in New York, Memphis, Chicago, LA, Las Vegas and Hawaii's big island. Just the tip really, of what there is to see. We got the gist though, of just how different countries could be - and of just how different cities could be. I remember leaving thinking how much I really wanted to come back as soon as I could.
This time round, it was just such a different experience. Age probably has a lot to do with it, but there is a lot to be said for having people to visit. Los Angeles was a brilliant time. I caught up with Steve Brandon. He is the first person I know to have won a Green Card and he is certainly putting it to brilliant use. Seeing LA through his eyes made it feel so much more familiar. Staying on his couch and not in a hotel too automatically makes things more chilled.
It's safe to say Steve knows how to host! He took me shopping, to a taping of a dating game show hosted by Jerry Springer, to great restaurants, to a VIP back lot tour of Paramount Studios, to UCB LA, he hosted a games night at his house as well so I got to meet his friends - and all this in the first 36 hours!
I headed to New York on the red eye the night after arriving in LA. This was an experience. It seems that this is how America does its business. People fly into LA first thing in the morning from NYC and catch the red eye back, probably going straight into the office. There were many suited up types, sleeping pills in hand and inflatable pillows at the ready. A LOT is riding on getting sleep on this flight and I gotta admit, I felt the pressure. The flight was an 11.59pm departure. 5.5hrs long. Landing in New York at 8.30am.
Firstly, I flew American Airlines. Big mistake. No pillows and no blankets. Also no service at all. Secondly, I had packed some over the counter "relaxation" pills thinking this would be all I need, but no dice. I took one. No reaction. I took the second and finally started feeling sleepy but then the cold dry air (and me sans blanket!) caught the back of my throat and I had a major coughing attack which woke me right back up again. I had a little "tired" sob in the toilet and then resolved myself to harden the f**k up and sleep! Somehow this pep talk worked but some 90mins later the cabin was being prepared for landing and I was disturbed from my relaxed state, resulting in an occasional cranky spell over the days that followed. They were short lived however, as adrenaline and good friends are the worlds best mood enhancers! (sleep be damned!)
The week that followed was a blur - a rush and yet a slow motion reveal of faces, smells, tastes and sounds. Shows and shows and shows followed by a few more shows. Meals eaten while standing in queues, beers served straight from the keg in college style fervour, polite interest being mistake for flirting, crowded streets, sweaty subways and so much laughter.
The Del Close Marathon and our show in it certainly deserve its very own post - so I will do that, but til then I will simply say it was a long way to come but well worth the journey.
Though the main reason for being away was of course the DCM12, you cannot be in New York and not be the tourist.
I had not seen my lovely Susie in a month and a highlight would definitely have to be going on the Sex and the City tour with her. It was several hours of viewing the city from a lovely air conditioned bus, stopping for Magnolia Cupcakes, Cosmos and many many photo opportunities. We also got lots of shopping time in and lots of running around with smiles on our faces.
I also had the joy of catching up with Matt and Kat Foster, more winners of the Green Card. And those two are also putting it into fabulous use. Matt is acting in a regional tour of My Fair Lady and Kat is working with a fertility clinic. I got to go out to Queens to see where they live - a mere 15mins from the centre of Manhattan by subway! Brilliant. I love that I can now visualise where they are (like I can with Steve in LA). It makes the world seem smaller somehow.
Spending time just wandering about rather than racing from one landmark to another was really great - I felt much more relaxed than I did 10 years ago. I still have so much more to see and so definitely plan to go back, but got much more of a feeling for the city than if I had just raced around ticking things of my list of "to see and do".
Because of the DCM12 we got to talk much more to locals (and so many visitors from other parts of the States) which makes a massive difference to a travelling experience as well. It just makes the places you visit seem so much more real. People are tops. No doubt about it. Well, apart from the one New Yorker (like the bad apple) who elbowed me in the boob and pushed me into the street. I was too happy to be on the receiving end of such a cliche though to be angry and probably looked like a right royal loon laughing instead of yelling. Oh well. No damage to my boob is the main thing.
I was ready to go back to LA though, the heat in NYC was intense, and had two brilliant days with Steve and Carly (another Aussie living there.) They treated me to more shopping destinations, more good food and a night at a bar called Howl at the Moon where once again I think my polite chit chat was mistaken for flirting! I even managed to get a quick sing song in with the "duelling piano" house band. It was a pretty brilliant way to round off the trip.
Just like that though, I am home. Straight back to work with not a lot to do but look at my photos and think about warmer weather (so I can wear all the clothes I brought home with me!).
Thankfully gigs have started to come in already. Friendly faces are around the corner and the arms of a handsome man whom I certainly am flirting with (make no mistake it is not polite chit chat) is only 11 sleeps away......
Friday, July 09, 2010
A happier post from me, Amanda Buckley.
A lot of my thoughts have probably been coming off a tad on the whingey whiney woe is me slant. So I have decided to shake that stuff off for a while, although it remains somewhere in the back of my already full of not-very-helpful-bits-and-bobs mind, and focus on some super happy good times! Yay!
So here is just a quick snapshot of totally lovely happy things that make me happy and I think are lovely!
So here is just a quick snapshot of totally lovely happy things that make me happy and I think are lovely!
- My Boyfriend. He is super handsome and funny and smart and talented. I am very lucky. Very very lucky and very very grateful.
- I saw Sir Ian McKellan and Roger Rees at the Opera House in Waiting for Godot. It was fantastic - funny, sad, moving, scary, ridiculous - everything it has never been in any of the previous versions I have seen. Other productions have had a few of these things - but the cast of this one captured it all. They performed with such joy and reckless abandon. It was a pricey ticket, but worth it. I am so glad I saw it and that I saw it with someone who probably enjoyed it even more than me was brilliant.
- My nephews! I have 3 and all of them are very gorgeous and smart. I went to Adelaide recently to visit 2 of them. I asked my eldest nephew Jackson, who is 5, to "tell me some exciting news!" and he said "ummm, I love you!" I, of course, burst into tears.
- I auditioned for Fame the Musical! It was my first official professional musical theatre audition and..... I survived it! Better than that, I reckon I did a job that was not too shabby. I am sure on the scale of things I was less than pitch perfect. I possibly made up a few of my own notes. I set my own pace and rhythm. Hell, I probably rewrote lyrics and invented my own time signature BUT I sang 2 songs and they did not stop me. I did not wee in my pants and I did not hyperventilate. I wanted to, oh how I wanted to, but I didn't. This all might sound like a terrible audition, but it wasn't. It was great. I was absolutely buzzing afterwards and though I know I was not their choice for the role of Mabel (the worlds fattest dancer) I reckon I couldn't have been happier. I was the happiest reject I think they have ever seen! I cannot wait for the next opportunity to be rejected!
- In a fortnight, I am headed OS to the US! Woohoo! I am part of a small troupe performing in the Del Close Marathon in New York. It's a festival of Improv and I cannot wait to jump on stage with my friends and let loose! Two of us were also randomly selected (names in a hat I reckon) to play in a "Gathering of the Tribes" mixer and I could not feel luckier. I also get the chance to catch up with some friends who have been living in the States AND I get to .... SHOP! Woohoo!
I am sure there is more I can add - like nailing the vegie and barley soup recipe I have been experimenting with ! - but this is pretty bloody good for starters.
Life's not bad at all Buckley, not bad at all.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Studies in Time and Motion (or Clockwatching)
Months have gone by since my last post - and though I could list a whole heap of things that I have been up to in that time (Comedy Festivals, interstate trips, shows, working out Boot Camp style and being crazy in love with an awesome man) for the most part, I feel like time has just stood still.
This is mainly due to one thing. My job.
Now to be fair, I should give a little history.
I have been employed by a pretty great company for 9 years. Before that I have worked at approx 18 jobs and the record length of full time employment was just over a year. I had never been fired from a job and had happily moved on whenever I a) got bored or b) cried in the shower at the thought of having to go into the office that day.
Then there is this job.
I am good at it. Over the years I have picked things up quickly. Spoken my mind and been listened to. Changed things for the better. Made a difference. In general, I did not mind getting up every day and heading off to the office - even when that office changed its location daily and even though the day started at a stupid 7am.
Things did start to change though.
The last 2 years in particular. Things that I had thought were important I realised no one else did. Things I had stood up for, fought for and worked hard for were suddenly for nothing. People had always said to me "you know, one day we'll wipe that smile from your face" referring to the idea that I would become as "institutionalised" and "cynical" as the rest of them.
I honestly thought I would never be like that.
And yet.... I am.
We all moved into a new big sparkly building. Revolving doors. Fancy toilets. Coffee machines. These were just shiny distractions though, covering up the fact that we were being centralised. That we were being reformed. Reorganised. Reviewed.
Suddenly we have union meetings and tense discussions and work bans. All very grown up. All very uncomfortable.
And even pushing all of that aside, I basically, through not being assigned a desk (apparently full time employment for 9 years does not guarantee me somewhere to sit!) have not really done anything for a few months.
I sit somewhere different pretty much everyday. Because I move, people don't see me and eventually forget about me. Now even though I am quite a noisy person, lately I have just been really quiet. It's a mini experiment really. I am just waiting for someone to notice I am not about. That I have not done anything for weeks and weeks.
A few weeks ago I found a deserted desk - bona fide vacant - and I have taken up residence. It's on the Northern sunny side of the building. The department I work for is on the colder Southern side.
Out of sight, out of mind. This is indeed how it would seem.
The problem now though, since I still insist on being a do-gooder and turning up at 7am every day and staying put til 3.25pm, is how to fill though hours.
You see, the less you do, the less you can do. Boredom breeds laziness. I can barely be bothered finishing this post, but since it's the first thing I have really put any thought into this week, I have the tiniest feeling of accomplishment waiting in the wings for me the moment I hit "publish post" - this task I shall follow through!
So, how to kill a work day? (day after day after day?)
This is mainly due to one thing. My job.
Now to be fair, I should give a little history.
I have been employed by a pretty great company for 9 years. Before that I have worked at approx 18 jobs and the record length of full time employment was just over a year. I had never been fired from a job and had happily moved on whenever I a) got bored or b) cried in the shower at the thought of having to go into the office that day.
Then there is this job.
I am good at it. Over the years I have picked things up quickly. Spoken my mind and been listened to. Changed things for the better. Made a difference. In general, I did not mind getting up every day and heading off to the office - even when that office changed its location daily and even though the day started at a stupid 7am.
Things did start to change though.
The last 2 years in particular. Things that I had thought were important I realised no one else did. Things I had stood up for, fought for and worked hard for were suddenly for nothing. People had always said to me "you know, one day we'll wipe that smile from your face" referring to the idea that I would become as "institutionalised" and "cynical" as the rest of them.
I honestly thought I would never be like that.
And yet.... I am.
We all moved into a new big sparkly building. Revolving doors. Fancy toilets. Coffee machines. These were just shiny distractions though, covering up the fact that we were being centralised. That we were being reformed. Reorganised. Reviewed.
Suddenly we have union meetings and tense discussions and work bans. All very grown up. All very uncomfortable.
And even pushing all of that aside, I basically, through not being assigned a desk (apparently full time employment for 9 years does not guarantee me somewhere to sit!) have not really done anything for a few months.
I sit somewhere different pretty much everyday. Because I move, people don't see me and eventually forget about me. Now even though I am quite a noisy person, lately I have just been really quiet. It's a mini experiment really. I am just waiting for someone to notice I am not about. That I have not done anything for weeks and weeks.
A few weeks ago I found a deserted desk - bona fide vacant - and I have taken up residence. It's on the Northern sunny side of the building. The department I work for is on the colder Southern side.
Out of sight, out of mind. This is indeed how it would seem.
The problem now though, since I still insist on being a do-gooder and turning up at 7am every day and staying put til 3.25pm, is how to fill though hours.
You see, the less you do, the less you can do. Boredom breeds laziness. I can barely be bothered finishing this post, but since it's the first thing I have really put any thought into this week, I have the tiniest feeling of accomplishment waiting in the wings for me the moment I hit "publish post" - this task I shall follow through!
So, how to kill a work day? (day after day after day?)
Firstly - breakfast. I have breakfast at work everyday, after all I start at 7am. But you can bet I make breakfast slowly here, waiting for the oats to become porridge, filling up the sugar canisters, the coffee and tea canisters, cleaning up the benches and wiping down the sinks. This, coupled with the actual eating of breakfast at my newly acquired desk takes me til about 7.30am.
Then there is washing up to be done. After all, dried porridge is hard to remove. You gotta wash that bowl right away. While you're there, how bout you say hello to some work colleagues. Ask about their weekend, heck, tell them about yours, I am pretty sure you just got yourself all the way to 8am.
Now for emails. You have to read them. All of them. All those newsletters you get from various places telling you about holiday deals or first release concert tickets - read them. Maybe even reply to a few.
Open an excel document, perhaps a word document. Just have it there, in case. These days I certainly don't hide the fact that I have nothing to do, but I used to have a spreadsheet open to at least give the impression that I am not just reading the entire Internet. Quite often I would use the spreadsheet - to do my budget or list some songs that I know that I may one day decide to put in a one woman show, probably about the soul destroying effects of office work? (pretty sure that's been done a million times though!)
You'll need toilets breaks and cups of tea. Water bottle refills. Trips to the stationary cupboard. These should all be accompanied with friendly hellos to your fellow man. Before you know it, it's time for lunch.
Call your mum. That usually kills a good half hour.
The rest of the day is spent reading other peoples blogs, entering on line competitions, donating plasma at the blood bank (that's once a month for me and takes up a glorious 2 hours!) making lists, designing the weeks dinner menus and tweeting. Before you can say "employee of the month" the clock hits 3.25pm you have to pack up your belongings my friend, for you just killed a day.
There comes a time however, mine came last Friday, when you cannot do this any longer. When the boredom is so intense that you lose your shit over a the smallest thing and find yourself in a day of meetings concerning your future and how management can put into place some damage control. Apparently things are about to change for me and I have a few weeks ahead where I can start feeling productive again. I hope so ... oh my freaking god I really do hope so!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Excorcising the Demons
Miss Tooth came back to haunt me yesterday. I thought I had put it behind me, I really did. But there she was, whispering in my ear, sending chills down my spine and robbing me of any confidence I thought I had.
I have taken singing lessons. I have performed in front of hundreds of people. I love to sing. I am a singer.
So why then, WHY THEN does a woman I have not seen in nearly twenty years still manage to strip any sense of worth from me the moment I put myself out on a limb?
Because I let her.
Well F**k Off Lynda Tooth and leave me alone.
There. Done.
Apparently she is a Nun now. Great. I just told a Nun to f**k off. Bugger.
I have taken singing lessons. I have performed in front of hundreds of people. I love to sing. I am a singer.
So why then, WHY THEN does a woman I have not seen in nearly twenty years still manage to strip any sense of worth from me the moment I put myself out on a limb?
Because I let her.
Well F**k Off Lynda Tooth and leave me alone.
There. Done.
Apparently she is a Nun now. Great. I just told a Nun to f**k off. Bugger.
Friday, February 19, 2010
So you think you can dance?
There was news recently that the Rock Eisteddfod was not going ahead this year because it could not get sponsorship. It's really such a shame because I know first hand just how fantastic the Rock Eisteddfod competition is and how much effort schools put into them.
I was in Year Ten when I was first able to be a part of one.
My school had never entered before but I know we all used to watch it on the tele and it was freakin awesome.
Audition time came around and I put my name down without question. Though looking back, I probably should have asked many questions and all of them to myself.
I didn't actually have any history as a dancer. Sure I was part of a physical culture troupe, but that was when I was three and that was also when "participating" was viewed as a skill.
I did take some dance classes when I was about ten. My friend Nicole really really wanted to take classes but her Mum would only let her if I would do them too. So her Mum spoke with my Mum and I did them. I should point out that Nicole was four years my junior and well, when I say we were friends, it was more like I was her chaperone. So I took lessons, at ten with all the six year old kids. And they all danced rings around me. Probably because I was too busy being awkward and embarrassed and constantly mistaken as the "simple" older child who had to "stay back" with the beginners.
So though my previous dance experience would not have necessarily lifted me to the status of an actual dancer, I still believed I had what it took. I mean, I could throw some shapes.
The day came around and I, along with dozens of other hopefuls all took part in a gruelling round of chorey.
The judging panel consisted of an English/Drama teacher, a PE teacher and a History teacher - all three very experienced at Rock Eisteddfods apparently and all three assured us that we had done a great job and that the decision was going to be a tough one.
A few days later, on the Year Ten notice board, a list of names was posted. These were the successful few - the chosen ones. We all crowded around searching for our names .... and there it was.
Amanda Buckley.
Wait a minute - that was my name!
Amanda Buckley.
Wait a minute - that was my name AND there something else after it.
Amanda Buckley. Set Assistant.
Wait a minute - WTF?
Set Assistant.
Or as it turns out, painting. Painting pieces of material. Dressed in a smock. Way way way out of sight.
Oh they could pretty it up as much as they wanted:
"still part of the team"
"sets are the most important thing"
"the dancers can't do anything without the crew"
Yeah yeah yeah yeah whatever - I have heard that before. I am the LAST person you want painting your set - back then my motto was "Oh it'll do" - the master of slap up and slap dash.
This was not a consolation. No, alas, my Rock Eisteddfod dreams were in tatters. There would be no jazz hands for me. No dramatic message communicated through a step ball change. No raging without alcohol*.
If memory serves, when the time came around for our school to show off our wares, I sat in the audience, arms crossed moodily, and, preparing to deliver my harshest critique yet, found myself completely blown away by how amazingly it had all come together. Our school ROCKED!
The set looked amazing.
*the primary message of Rock Eisteddfod was drug and alcohol awareness and the slogan was "Rage without Alcohol". Just so you know.
I was in Year Ten when I was first able to be a part of one.
My school had never entered before but I know we all used to watch it on the tele and it was freakin awesome.
Audition time came around and I put my name down without question. Though looking back, I probably should have asked many questions and all of them to myself.
I didn't actually have any history as a dancer. Sure I was part of a physical culture troupe, but that was when I was three and that was also when "participating" was viewed as a skill.
I did take some dance classes when I was about ten. My friend Nicole really really wanted to take classes but her Mum would only let her if I would do them too. So her Mum spoke with my Mum and I did them. I should point out that Nicole was four years my junior and well, when I say we were friends, it was more like I was her chaperone. So I took lessons, at ten with all the six year old kids. And they all danced rings around me. Probably because I was too busy being awkward and embarrassed and constantly mistaken as the "simple" older child who had to "stay back" with the beginners.
So though my previous dance experience would not have necessarily lifted me to the status of an actual dancer, I still believed I had what it took. I mean, I could throw some shapes.
The day came around and I, along with dozens of other hopefuls all took part in a gruelling round of chorey.
The judging panel consisted of an English/Drama teacher, a PE teacher and a History teacher - all three very experienced at Rock Eisteddfods apparently and all three assured us that we had done a great job and that the decision was going to be a tough one.
A few days later, on the Year Ten notice board, a list of names was posted. These were the successful few - the chosen ones. We all crowded around searching for our names .... and there it was.
Amanda Buckley.
Wait a minute - that was my name!
Amanda Buckley.
Wait a minute - that was my name AND there something else after it.
Amanda Buckley. Set Assistant.
Wait a minute - WTF?
Set Assistant.
Or as it turns out, painting. Painting pieces of material. Dressed in a smock. Way way way out of sight.
Oh they could pretty it up as much as they wanted:
"still part of the team"
"sets are the most important thing"
"the dancers can't do anything without the crew"
Yeah yeah yeah yeah whatever - I have heard that before. I am the LAST person you want painting your set - back then my motto was "Oh it'll do" - the master of slap up and slap dash.
This was not a consolation. No, alas, my Rock Eisteddfod dreams were in tatters. There would be no jazz hands for me. No dramatic message communicated through a step ball change. No raging without alcohol*.
If memory serves, when the time came around for our school to show off our wares, I sat in the audience, arms crossed moodily, and, preparing to deliver my harshest critique yet, found myself completely blown away by how amazingly it had all come together. Our school ROCKED!
The set looked amazing.
*the primary message of Rock Eisteddfod was drug and alcohol awareness and the slogan was "Rage without Alcohol". Just so you know.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Writers Block.
For the past 18 months, I have been both struggling with / and avoiding the plan to write a little one woman show.
I like to sing. I like an audience. I like to sing in front of an audience even more. And there is my dilemma. To get an audience to come and spend an hour or so with me, I need to show them the courtesy and respect of actually giving them more than a few snappy numbers I reckon I sing alright.
I have thought about doing an Ethel Merman tribute. An ode to Mama Cass. A show where I would sing songs from musicals that I would never be cast for called Amanda Buckley is Out Cast (yeah, clever I know). A show called "Just your Standard Cabaret Show" where I sang, yep you guessed it, jazz standards. (just being cheekily clever now really aren't I?)
I was then reminded about the time I was asked by Queen Latifah if I "could get any more white?" Um well, I mean, I AM white. And quite white. But freckly. Actually more pink than anything else. Hey, What you talkin' bout Latifah?
Wait... could there be a show in this?
And what would I sing?
I know what I could call it.
And I have someone who has even made a poster for me.
But what to sing?
I could probably tell some stories about just how white I am.
Hmm, what would make a good soundtrack to that?
And what, apart from the obvious pigmentation, actually makes a person "white"?
Is it racist for a black person to call a white person white?
Is it racist for a white person to call a black person black?
Do I feel like Carrie Bradshaw in SATC when I ask questions in my blog? (Yep! teehee!)
And really, what would be a good selection of songs for this venture?
I ask these questions almost everyday. I attempt to write about this, everyday. It's there. Somewhere. Just a little bit out of my reach.
Damn you life and your interfering ways! How dare you send me MasterChef, 30 Rock, Mad Men and The Amazing Race to distract me!!!
But seriously, who thinks they know what I should sing?
I like to sing. I like an audience. I like to sing in front of an audience even more. And there is my dilemma. To get an audience to come and spend an hour or so with me, I need to show them the courtesy and respect of actually giving them more than a few snappy numbers I reckon I sing alright.
I have thought about doing an Ethel Merman tribute. An ode to Mama Cass. A show where I would sing songs from musicals that I would never be cast for called Amanda Buckley is Out Cast (yeah, clever I know). A show called "Just your Standard Cabaret Show" where I sang, yep you guessed it, jazz standards. (just being cheekily clever now really aren't I?)
I was then reminded about the time I was asked by Queen Latifah if I "could get any more white?" Um well, I mean, I AM white. And quite white. But freckly. Actually more pink than anything else. Hey, What you talkin' bout Latifah?
Wait... could there be a show in this?
And what would I sing?
I know what I could call it.
And I have someone who has even made a poster for me.
But what to sing?
I could probably tell some stories about just how white I am.
Hmm, what would make a good soundtrack to that?
And what, apart from the obvious pigmentation, actually makes a person "white"?
Is it racist for a black person to call a white person white?
Is it racist for a white person to call a black person black?
Do I feel like Carrie Bradshaw in SATC when I ask questions in my blog? (Yep! teehee!)
And really, what would be a good selection of songs for this venture?
I ask these questions almost everyday. I attempt to write about this, everyday. It's there. Somewhere. Just a little bit out of my reach.
Damn you life and your interfering ways! How dare you send me MasterChef, 30 Rock, Mad Men and The Amazing Race to distract me!!!
But seriously, who thinks they know what I should sing?
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