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.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
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?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
"Health kick!" or "How I became a moody so and so."
It's been well over a year now, since I started taking a hard line approach to my health and fitness. Something about spiralling into my mid-thirties and my growing appreciation for fashionable clothing had lit the fire under my wobbly arse and I have really started making an effort.
Things have been going well - if appearances are to go by - but can I just say, though most will wax lyrical about all the benefits of a healthier lifestyle (and yes, there are many) no one really tells you about all the shite things.
Like how freakin hard it can be. How moody you get. Oh and what's that? Constipation you say? Well I never. Oh but yes, wait a minute, I did.
And sweat. Oh yeah no pain no gain right? Well, that pain also comes in the form of pyshcological suffering - being the smelly lady in the supermarket checkout queue for example. The red faced smelly lady. Yep, that is me, most evenings, around 6pmish.
I must admit though, I do love my smaller pairs of jeans and there is a lot to be said for the benefits of visible cheekbones.
Cheese dreams are something of a forgotten past and I have not had chocolate in God knows how long. (6 weeks, 4 days and 18 minutes).
I must say I have a Toblerone on my desk - a Christmas gift from a work colleague - and it remains in the gold wrapping a whopping 6 days since I received it. But I could very well punch someone in the face should they ask me about it. Actually even if they don't ask me about it. In general, I could just punch someone in their stupid face.
I think it's time I regift the Toblerone. Stupid Toblerone. Fancy Triangle chocolate fancy schmancy stupid face punch.
Things have been going well - if appearances are to go by - but can I just say, though most will wax lyrical about all the benefits of a healthier lifestyle (and yes, there are many) no one really tells you about all the shite things.
Like how freakin hard it can be. How moody you get. Oh and what's that? Constipation you say? Well I never. Oh but yes, wait a minute, I did.
And sweat. Oh yeah no pain no gain right? Well, that pain also comes in the form of pyshcological suffering - being the smelly lady in the supermarket checkout queue for example. The red faced smelly lady. Yep, that is me, most evenings, around 6pmish.
I must admit though, I do love my smaller pairs of jeans and there is a lot to be said for the benefits of visible cheekbones.
Cheese dreams are something of a forgotten past and I have not had chocolate in God knows how long. (6 weeks, 4 days and 18 minutes).
I must say I have a Toblerone on my desk - a Christmas gift from a work colleague - and it remains in the gold wrapping a whopping 6 days since I received it. But I could very well punch someone in the face should they ask me about it. Actually even if they don't ask me about it. In general, I could just punch someone in their stupid face.
I think it's time I regift the Toblerone. Stupid Toblerone. Fancy Triangle chocolate fancy schmancy stupid face punch.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Alright one more!
I am pretty proud of my hair in this photo.... it was very high. Very very high.
Photo courtesy of the fabulous Stephen Reinhardt www.sgr.com.au
And to lighten the mood....
After that long post, I figure a silly one would not go astray.
Sometimes I land gigs.
Sometimes those gigs mean we get to dress up....
Can you guess who we are meant to be???
Good luck with that!
Sometimes I land gigs.
Sometimes those gigs mean we get to dress up....
Can you guess who we are meant to be???
Good luck with that!
Friday, December 04, 2009
5 Weddings, 2 Christenings and a Funeral
Yes it's true. My life, well, 2009 anyway, has somewhat resembled the makings of a Richard Curtis film.
I mean, the title works, the cast are in equal amounts hilarious and touching, all beautiful examples of various walks of life - with more than a few possessing pin-up looks and everyman charisma.
There were travels abroad (when the budget was more confident), there were travels interstate, for intimate adventures or grand expeditions. There were dinner table family moments and OTT party scenes, complete with lighting rigs and smoke machines.
The heroine of the piece (and for my ego's sake, can we all just pretend that I am said heroine) had highs and lows. Felt love, shared love, triumphed and failed, was humbled and grateful and has ended the year facing the right direction and in a smaller pair of jeans. Not bad.
Five weddings. Yep, five weddings. What brilliant fabulous things. Each wedding has been incredibly different and original.
The first - Matt and Kathleen, Hunter Valley NSW. Set amongst vineyards, full of music and laughter, a showcase of two wonderful people whom I met as they met - a wedding with all the trimmings and a lashing of Broadway and Disney.
The second - Mairi and Stephen, Edinburgh Scotland. Fancy schmancy and oozing class, but laced with a brilliant sense of humour. The venue was over 500 years old but the feeling was fresh and light - laughter at every turn including a rather rowdy heckling (as is tradition) of the speeches and all the guests dancing a caille - whooping it up and making the merry!
The third - Jordan and Alicia, The Vanguard Newtown Sydney. A rockstar affair. What seemed to start as a right "concert style" up on stage with lights and music and thunderous applause, quickly turned into a touching and intimate affair. Surprising and uplifting and every part them. The only wedding I have been to that had the Golden Girls theme song. The dress was "tizzy" and people did indeed dress up! What a pure delight.
The fourth - Lee and Marlo. The Argyle The Rocks, Sydney. Pure class. The dress was cocktail and it was. These two have been together for ages and it felt like a warm and glorious hug with wonderful family and friends being able to celebrate the marriage with them. Personal touches everywhere to be seen - notably a lolly banquet that could be said, will live on in many a memory. (for me, its the regret of not eating enough of those lollies - I sometimes have lolly-regret flashbacks....)
Around about now the Christenings and funeral kicked in. I know a lot of people aren't big on religion and don't see the point of a Christening or why they could be so moving. Leaving all the religion stuff to the side, these two events that I was invited to, were really special. People inviting me into their lives, their families, to be part of a community that these parents want to see support and love their new little tiny people.
It is a privilege to be at a Christening - to be singled out as important in another family's (that isn't your own) life. Not being a parent, I have no way of knowing what it must feel like to have a life entirely reliant on my own. To be responsible for, not only the tangible things like feeding and clothing this person, but to have the responsibility of their hopes and dreams. Guiding these souls into a world they eventually have to work out for themselves, armed only with the values and qualities you have helped nurture and support. Holy sh*t! It sounds terrifying!!!! So I am honoured that my friends invited me a long and I am so happy for them and their new additions. It seems there was a baby boom this year - no less than 8 little ones have been welcomed into the world by friends of mine. This makes me particularly happy.
Obviously at the other end of the life cycle is the leaving of this world. Only a month ago, my Aunty Lorrie (actually, my Dad's Aunty to be technical) passed away. She was the last remaining Hennessy girl - three sisters including my Nan, who, having lost their own Mother very young, embarked on lives full of adventure and tragedy. Just as I had during my Nan's funeral two years ago, I sat listening to tales of Aunty Lorries life. She was a real roustabout. A right proper tomboy who worked on the farm. She helped raise her eldest sister Pat's children after Pat died prematurely leaving behind four young kids and then helped with her sister Marie's kids (my Nan) after her husband died, leaving her with five young kids. She had time for everyone and let it be known, is the reason I blame for being a chubby kid, because she was, hands down, the best maker of baked dinners and caramel tarts in the land. One serving was never enough!
I am forever amazed by the lives of the members in my family and am all at once humbled by their ability to laugh and look to the future. Such tragedies should leave massive scars and yet these people who shaped me showered me with happy times. Family gatherings are brilliant business to the Buckley folk and I am thankful that their hardships made them closer and I am so very grateful to have led the fortunate life I have as a result.
This brings me to the fifth wedding. It was that perfect timing, after a loss, that reminds you life moves forever forward.
Gillian and Wade, The Painted Fish, Fremantle. Being an out of town wedding, you usually get a few people that will make the effort - this wedding was almost entirely made of guests who had happily made, well, it turns out not much effort at all. This is because it was pure joy to be there! The wedding itself was on a Saturday, but this was a four day event - starting on the Friday night and ending on Monday morning. A reunion of friends and family, its safe to say, who all truly love each other. The atmosphere all weekend was of chilled, blissful jubilation. I still have a smile on my face and warm feeling in my chest. A swell of all the right emotions and a weekend I will remember for a very long time.
Though the year has had hundreds of other events, its these eight that have made me stop and think and learn and grow.
How freaking lucky am I? And to think, I did actually start 2009 by winning the lotto! True. Sure it was not enough to buy a new car - but it did start the year with Woo and a Hoo. Pretty freaking lucky alright.
I mean, the title works, the cast are in equal amounts hilarious and touching, all beautiful examples of various walks of life - with more than a few possessing pin-up looks and everyman charisma.
There were travels abroad (when the budget was more confident), there were travels interstate, for intimate adventures or grand expeditions. There were dinner table family moments and OTT party scenes, complete with lighting rigs and smoke machines.
The heroine of the piece (and for my ego's sake, can we all just pretend that I am said heroine) had highs and lows. Felt love, shared love, triumphed and failed, was humbled and grateful and has ended the year facing the right direction and in a smaller pair of jeans. Not bad.
Five weddings. Yep, five weddings. What brilliant fabulous things. Each wedding has been incredibly different and original.
The first - Matt and Kathleen, Hunter Valley NSW. Set amongst vineyards, full of music and laughter, a showcase of two wonderful people whom I met as they met - a wedding with all the trimmings and a lashing of Broadway and Disney.
The second - Mairi and Stephen, Edinburgh Scotland. Fancy schmancy and oozing class, but laced with a brilliant sense of humour. The venue was over 500 years old but the feeling was fresh and light - laughter at every turn including a rather rowdy heckling (as is tradition) of the speeches and all the guests dancing a caille - whooping it up and making the merry!
The third - Jordan and Alicia, The Vanguard Newtown Sydney. A rockstar affair. What seemed to start as a right "concert style" up on stage with lights and music and thunderous applause, quickly turned into a touching and intimate affair. Surprising and uplifting and every part them. The only wedding I have been to that had the Golden Girls theme song. The dress was "tizzy" and people did indeed dress up! What a pure delight.
The fourth - Lee and Marlo. The Argyle The Rocks, Sydney. Pure class. The dress was cocktail and it was. These two have been together for ages and it felt like a warm and glorious hug with wonderful family and friends being able to celebrate the marriage with them. Personal touches everywhere to be seen - notably a lolly banquet that could be said, will live on in many a memory. (for me, its the regret of not eating enough of those lollies - I sometimes have lolly-regret flashbacks....)
Around about now the Christenings and funeral kicked in. I know a lot of people aren't big on religion and don't see the point of a Christening or why they could be so moving. Leaving all the religion stuff to the side, these two events that I was invited to, were really special. People inviting me into their lives, their families, to be part of a community that these parents want to see support and love their new little tiny people.
It is a privilege to be at a Christening - to be singled out as important in another family's (that isn't your own) life. Not being a parent, I have no way of knowing what it must feel like to have a life entirely reliant on my own. To be responsible for, not only the tangible things like feeding and clothing this person, but to have the responsibility of their hopes and dreams. Guiding these souls into a world they eventually have to work out for themselves, armed only with the values and qualities you have helped nurture and support. Holy sh*t! It sounds terrifying!!!! So I am honoured that my friends invited me a long and I am so happy for them and their new additions. It seems there was a baby boom this year - no less than 8 little ones have been welcomed into the world by friends of mine. This makes me particularly happy.
Obviously at the other end of the life cycle is the leaving of this world. Only a month ago, my Aunty Lorrie (actually, my Dad's Aunty to be technical) passed away. She was the last remaining Hennessy girl - three sisters including my Nan, who, having lost their own Mother very young, embarked on lives full of adventure and tragedy. Just as I had during my Nan's funeral two years ago, I sat listening to tales of Aunty Lorries life. She was a real roustabout. A right proper tomboy who worked on the farm. She helped raise her eldest sister Pat's children after Pat died prematurely leaving behind four young kids and then helped with her sister Marie's kids (my Nan) after her husband died, leaving her with five young kids. She had time for everyone and let it be known, is the reason I blame for being a chubby kid, because she was, hands down, the best maker of baked dinners and caramel tarts in the land. One serving was never enough!
I am forever amazed by the lives of the members in my family and am all at once humbled by their ability to laugh and look to the future. Such tragedies should leave massive scars and yet these people who shaped me showered me with happy times. Family gatherings are brilliant business to the Buckley folk and I am thankful that their hardships made them closer and I am so very grateful to have led the fortunate life I have as a result.
This brings me to the fifth wedding. It was that perfect timing, after a loss, that reminds you life moves forever forward.
Gillian and Wade, The Painted Fish, Fremantle. Being an out of town wedding, you usually get a few people that will make the effort - this wedding was almost entirely made of guests who had happily made, well, it turns out not much effort at all. This is because it was pure joy to be there! The wedding itself was on a Saturday, but this was a four day event - starting on the Friday night and ending on Monday morning. A reunion of friends and family, its safe to say, who all truly love each other. The atmosphere all weekend was of chilled, blissful jubilation. I still have a smile on my face and warm feeling in my chest. A swell of all the right emotions and a weekend I will remember for a very long time.
Though the year has had hundreds of other events, its these eight that have made me stop and think and learn and grow.
How freaking lucky am I? And to think, I did actually start 2009 by winning the lotto! True. Sure it was not enough to buy a new car - but it did start the year with Woo and a Hoo. Pretty freaking lucky alright.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Pre Post Post.
There is a post on the horizon. I just bloody well need to find my swag full of words, my typing skills and my freakin focus! Oh but its coming, yes, its coming. I cannot promise a good post, but a post I do promise.
I am sleepy. Oh so sleepy.
I am sleepy. Oh so sleepy.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Neglected, rejected and dejected.
When I was a kid, I dealt with rejection fairly swiftly, mostly by crying to my Mother. She would always assure me that the rejector was an idiot and that I was, quite simply put, The Best. (My Mum is awesome by the way!)
That would be enough back then. Just to be told by my Mum or Dad that I was special and before I knew it, something else would distract me and I would be feeling happy in no time.
As we get older though, it becomes increasingly difficult.
When I was a teenager, I was, it is more than safe to say, the one on the shelf. Rejection of the heart is not as easy to explain to a spotty teen compared to why you were not invited to Briget De Ferdinando's birthday party, however, my Mum would still assure me that the rejector/s were idiots and I was still, The Best.
Then I made the stupid decision to be a performer. A life BUILT on rejection. You have all heard it before, actors traipsing from audition to audition to get one damn role. I have done not too badly in my time - nothing to write home about sure, but have landed a few gigs a year, enough to keep me well flown across states and sometimes continents. Although I have had my share of disappointments.
I learnt early on, as the "average looking girl", that not only was I not destined to be in huge demand, that I would also not necessarily want many of the jobs that come my way.
Any potential part that has the description "she's a big girl but we want to love her" or "a pretty face with generous curves" or "everyday" and even on occasion "she is fat" are usually parts I have been put forward for. I am not trying to be funny here, I have seen the briefs for these parts. I am THAT girl.
Over the years I have made amends with my niche look and generally avoid anything that would probably make me feel bad. One of the ways I had combated this was to throw myself into the world of music and improvised comedy - where I can be anything I want to. Even a not-everyday-looking person - because that's the beauty of something you make up. Even you cannot really know what you are going to be endowed as, so there are no preconceptions. Just potential.
Improv has been very good for me and my self-esteem. I have been privileged and delighted over the last five years to have performed in many shows and festivals and really, rejection has not been something I have really thought about in a long time. I have gone for auditions during this time, for TV shows and commercials, those that I have been unsuccessful in I have not really thought too much on it. There seems to be no point losing sleep over it.
Until last week.
It seemed that everyone, EVERYONE was on the receiving end of an audition. Something any improviser would have loved to be a part of. Something very cool. Over three days it became clear that a heap of my colleagues, peers - friends - were called up and slotted in at a convenient time to show off their skills.
Except me.
I did not get a call. I did not get an email. I had been rejected. Worst still, I had been neglected. I was not even in the running. At first, my reaction was a tad disappointed. However as the days went by and more people seemed to be "getting the call" I became upset. Very upset. I was angry and jealous. I wanted to be happy for my friends, but my own dismay was preventing me from genuinely being able to enjoy their successes. And why should I not be happy for them? I know some of the most beautiful talented people on the planet. I really do. I would love nothing more than to see these wonderful people shine before the world.
My dark, heavy heart just would not let me.
So how, as an adult, can I deal with this? Unlike other events that have dented my self-confidence, this one has really taken a hit. I am not recovering like I used to.
What I really want to do is to throw a massive tantrum. I want to cry. I want my Mum to give me a hug and tell me that I am The Best. I won't actually allow her to call anyone an idiot, heaven forbid I ever want to work in this town again!
I can feel myself bouncing back a little bit. Just as I am writing this, I have been called by my agent with the news that I am on a "strong hold" for a TV commercial I went for. This is great news and the opposite of rejection. Maybe its true what they say about closing doors and windows opening.
Or maybe they are all idiots and like my Mum says, I really am The Best? She is probably biased though.
But she is awesome.
That would be enough back then. Just to be told by my Mum or Dad that I was special and before I knew it, something else would distract me and I would be feeling happy in no time.
As we get older though, it becomes increasingly difficult.
When I was a teenager, I was, it is more than safe to say, the one on the shelf. Rejection of the heart is not as easy to explain to a spotty teen compared to why you were not invited to Briget De Ferdinando's birthday party, however, my Mum would still assure me that the rejector/s were idiots and I was still, The Best.
Then I made the stupid decision to be a performer. A life BUILT on rejection. You have all heard it before, actors traipsing from audition to audition to get one damn role. I have done not too badly in my time - nothing to write home about sure, but have landed a few gigs a year, enough to keep me well flown across states and sometimes continents. Although I have had my share of disappointments.
I learnt early on, as the "average looking girl", that not only was I not destined to be in huge demand, that I would also not necessarily want many of the jobs that come my way.
Any potential part that has the description "she's a big girl but we want to love her" or "a pretty face with generous curves" or "everyday" and even on occasion "she is fat" are usually parts I have been put forward for. I am not trying to be funny here, I have seen the briefs for these parts. I am THAT girl.
Over the years I have made amends with my niche look and generally avoid anything that would probably make me feel bad. One of the ways I had combated this was to throw myself into the world of music and improvised comedy - where I can be anything I want to. Even a not-everyday-looking person - because that's the beauty of something you make up. Even you cannot really know what you are going to be endowed as, so there are no preconceptions. Just potential.
Improv has been very good for me and my self-esteem. I have been privileged and delighted over the last five years to have performed in many shows and festivals and really, rejection has not been something I have really thought about in a long time. I have gone for auditions during this time, for TV shows and commercials, those that I have been unsuccessful in I have not really thought too much on it. There seems to be no point losing sleep over it.
Until last week.
It seemed that everyone, EVERYONE was on the receiving end of an audition. Something any improviser would have loved to be a part of. Something very cool. Over three days it became clear that a heap of my colleagues, peers - friends - were called up and slotted in at a convenient time to show off their skills.
Except me.
I did not get a call. I did not get an email. I had been rejected. Worst still, I had been neglected. I was not even in the running. At first, my reaction was a tad disappointed. However as the days went by and more people seemed to be "getting the call" I became upset. Very upset. I was angry and jealous. I wanted to be happy for my friends, but my own dismay was preventing me from genuinely being able to enjoy their successes. And why should I not be happy for them? I know some of the most beautiful talented people on the planet. I really do. I would love nothing more than to see these wonderful people shine before the world.
My dark, heavy heart just would not let me.
So how, as an adult, can I deal with this? Unlike other events that have dented my self-confidence, this one has really taken a hit. I am not recovering like I used to.
What I really want to do is to throw a massive tantrum. I want to cry. I want my Mum to give me a hug and tell me that I am The Best. I won't actually allow her to call anyone an idiot, heaven forbid I ever want to work in this town again!
I can feel myself bouncing back a little bit. Just as I am writing this, I have been called by my agent with the news that I am on a "strong hold" for a TV commercial I went for. This is great news and the opposite of rejection. Maybe its true what they say about closing doors and windows opening.
Or maybe they are all idiots and like my Mum says, I really am The Best? She is probably biased though.
But she is awesome.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I scream! You scream! We all scream.....
I used to get really sad when I would see a dropped ice cream cone. Both for the waste of the delicious creamy treat and the shattered child, no longer in possession of the delicious creamy treat.
What if the child only had enough money for the one ice cream? How tragic to spend your hard saved pennies only to see them melting on the hot footpath, lapped up by fat ants (fants). Worse still, what if the kid was with his/her mates and now they all stand, ice creams weighing down their porky hands, singing in unison "you've got no ice cream, you can't afford it, your mum's on welfare...." - thank you Eddie Murphy. For some reason, in my head, its always the poor skinny kid whose ice cream ends up on the ground. (I tell you, I probably would've benefited from a few ice creams not making it into my belly!) These thoughts break my heart. All because of the conclusions I draw from this melting sticky mess on the ground.
Today, I took a different approach. I saw the spilt mess and starting to frown, stopped my thoughts from going to this dark world of childhood shattered dreams. What if, work with me for a minute, what if it wasn't a kid who dropped the ice cream? What if it was an undercover cop? This cop has been on this stakeout see, for days - and this day its hot. The car he sits in all day is like an oven. Surely he can treat himself to one ice cream, to take the edge off this slow cooker that is his current place of work.
Then, just as the cop takes his first lick, THE DEAL GOES DOWN! Instantly the cop gives chase, dropping the ice cream without hesitation in hot pursuit of the crim he has been waiting for. Justice. It's worth the wait for when the judge slams down his gavel sentencing this scumbag to 20 years incarceration. The crims mother calls out from the gallery "you can't lock my baby away" ... "well maybe you shoulda taught him some manners lady" says the cop. Case closed.
Yes, I find this much more a rewarding train of thought.
What if the child only had enough money for the one ice cream? How tragic to spend your hard saved pennies only to see them melting on the hot footpath, lapped up by fat ants (fants). Worse still, what if the kid was with his/her mates and now they all stand, ice creams weighing down their porky hands, singing in unison "you've got no ice cream, you can't afford it, your mum's on welfare...." - thank you Eddie Murphy. For some reason, in my head, its always the poor skinny kid whose ice cream ends up on the ground. (I tell you, I probably would've benefited from a few ice creams not making it into my belly!) These thoughts break my heart. All because of the conclusions I draw from this melting sticky mess on the ground.
Today, I took a different approach. I saw the spilt mess and starting to frown, stopped my thoughts from going to this dark world of childhood shattered dreams. What if, work with me for a minute, what if it wasn't a kid who dropped the ice cream? What if it was an undercover cop? This cop has been on this stakeout see, for days - and this day its hot. The car he sits in all day is like an oven. Surely he can treat himself to one ice cream, to take the edge off this slow cooker that is his current place of work.
Then, just as the cop takes his first lick, THE DEAL GOES DOWN! Instantly the cop gives chase, dropping the ice cream without hesitation in hot pursuit of the crim he has been waiting for. Justice. It's worth the wait for when the judge slams down his gavel sentencing this scumbag to 20 years incarceration. The crims mother calls out from the gallery "you can't lock my baby away" ... "well maybe you shoulda taught him some manners lady" says the cop. Case closed.
Yes, I find this much more a rewarding train of thought.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Auf Wiedersehen Again
I recently had a show down with Qantas. By show down, I actually mean I wrote a complaint email to them about downgrading my Frequent Flyer status from Silver to Bronze. Apparently, even though I fly more than enough to gain "status points" (these are different from actual points gained from flying, but are accumulated by the kind of ticket you buy) the fact that I choose a cheaper ticket over a more expensive "status friendly" ticket means I do not qualify to maintain a higher "status". This makes no sense to me, so I am sure I am making no sense to any of you lovely readers out there.
Anyway, this has no real point, except for this issue actually pointing it out clearly to me, that I fly a lot.
Most recently I made a very quick journey to Edinburgh so that I could be present at a friends wedding. Mairi had invited me, I think, not really believing I would make it. But I am so very very pleased to say I did. It was such a good decision to be there - and for anyone thinking about making a trip to be at someones wedding, please do. Unless of course its really financially irresponsible of you to be there or you have another very important commitment.
Being able to see Mairi walk down the aisle with her Dad, to the sounds of bagpipes was quite overwhelming for me. Our overseas friendship has lasted over a decade now, and though I had always hoped, I never really thought I would be at her wedding day. But there I was and there SHE was getting hitched and stuff in a bloody brilliant building and all. It was bloody fantastic!
Of course, it was all over way too soon and seemed we had only just said hello, caught up on the most important gossip (boys) and then it was good bye again.
Kevin from Dublin decided to take advantage of me being close by (well, close enough) and bless him he came over to Edinburgh to spend a crazy 20 hours with me. With such little time, and on the preview day of the Fringe Festival, all we could do was walk, talk about the most important gossip (boys) and see a few shows. Just like Mairi, we picked up where we last left off, but way too soon it was hugs, tears and good byes. I see a pattern emerging.
On my way home I stopped by London where I was meeting Ailbhe, who like Kevin, made the loveliest of efforts to come meet me from Dublin. No sooner had we caught sight of each other but we were straight into the important stuff. Giggling, gossip (boys), drinks and shopping - pretty much in that order. London, like Edinburgh, practically faded into the background as two friends who had way too much to catch up on and way too little time to do it, skipped and laughed and traversed these gorgeous cities.
And then another good bye. Three big big goodbyes in less than a week. Four if you count saying good bye to Susie, who really should be counted as even though I will see her soon enough, time and distance brings all the soppy emotions to the surface, and hells bells I miss that girl.
And suddenly I am back home. Fighting off the post travel missing friends from far away blues, my first job is to get to Melbourne. So that's where I was this past weekend, catching up with the boy from the gossip and generally feeling like life is pretty much freaking awesome. There were many faces this weekend, shows to get me motivated and laughs to keep me smiling and many a moment that will warm the heart should the blues come a knocking.
And then good bye again. At this stage I was really feeling a little bit "over" the whole good bye thing. I know I will see these people again. If anything, having these friendships and knowing how easy it is to maintain them has of course made the world feel smaller - but I am always missing someone.
My sister lives in Adelaide and there are days when I miss her and my nephews so much, I could just jump in my car and start driving. The alternate action is to purchase a plane ticket. I fly down there in a few weeks and so the countdown begins again. The sad thing though, is I know, the moment I arrive, I begin to anticipate the good bye. This can only mean one thing - that I will no doubt be booking a few more flights in the near future.
A very wise man (and rather handsome might I add) said to me that the great thing about the good bye is the lovely anticipation of the next meeting. The "having someone to miss" factor. There is a strange and magical comfort in this for me. I have friends to miss. I have nephews to get incredibly excited about seeing - and for them to get excited about seeing me. And I, most importantly, have brilliant beautiful friends at close hand who make life the lovely adventure it is (I don't want any of my more localised mates thinking I do not love and appreciate them!)
But, I reckon, since I have to suffer the blues associated with the good byes and get my fix of friendship by flying the skies and the jet lag and the baggage requirements and the nausea and the queuing and the waiting and the neck ache and the turbulence and the taxi fares, that Qantas should bloody hell leave my bloody status credits alone.
Anyway, this has no real point, except for this issue actually pointing it out clearly to me, that I fly a lot.
Most recently I made a very quick journey to Edinburgh so that I could be present at a friends wedding. Mairi had invited me, I think, not really believing I would make it. But I am so very very pleased to say I did. It was such a good decision to be there - and for anyone thinking about making a trip to be at someones wedding, please do. Unless of course its really financially irresponsible of you to be there or you have another very important commitment.
Being able to see Mairi walk down the aisle with her Dad, to the sounds of bagpipes was quite overwhelming for me. Our overseas friendship has lasted over a decade now, and though I had always hoped, I never really thought I would be at her wedding day. But there I was and there SHE was getting hitched and stuff in a bloody brilliant building and all. It was bloody fantastic!
Of course, it was all over way too soon and seemed we had only just said hello, caught up on the most important gossip (boys) and then it was good bye again.
Kevin from Dublin decided to take advantage of me being close by (well, close enough) and bless him he came over to Edinburgh to spend a crazy 20 hours with me. With such little time, and on the preview day of the Fringe Festival, all we could do was walk, talk about the most important gossip (boys) and see a few shows. Just like Mairi, we picked up where we last left off, but way too soon it was hugs, tears and good byes. I see a pattern emerging.
On my way home I stopped by London where I was meeting Ailbhe, who like Kevin, made the loveliest of efforts to come meet me from Dublin. No sooner had we caught sight of each other but we were straight into the important stuff. Giggling, gossip (boys), drinks and shopping - pretty much in that order. London, like Edinburgh, practically faded into the background as two friends who had way too much to catch up on and way too little time to do it, skipped and laughed and traversed these gorgeous cities.
And then another good bye. Three big big goodbyes in less than a week. Four if you count saying good bye to Susie, who really should be counted as even though I will see her soon enough, time and distance brings all the soppy emotions to the surface, and hells bells I miss that girl.
And suddenly I am back home. Fighting off the post travel missing friends from far away blues, my first job is to get to Melbourne. So that's where I was this past weekend, catching up with the boy from the gossip and generally feeling like life is pretty much freaking awesome. There were many faces this weekend, shows to get me motivated and laughs to keep me smiling and many a moment that will warm the heart should the blues come a knocking.
And then good bye again. At this stage I was really feeling a little bit "over" the whole good bye thing. I know I will see these people again. If anything, having these friendships and knowing how easy it is to maintain them has of course made the world feel smaller - but I am always missing someone.
My sister lives in Adelaide and there are days when I miss her and my nephews so much, I could just jump in my car and start driving. The alternate action is to purchase a plane ticket. I fly down there in a few weeks and so the countdown begins again. The sad thing though, is I know, the moment I arrive, I begin to anticipate the good bye. This can only mean one thing - that I will no doubt be booking a few more flights in the near future.
A very wise man (and rather handsome might I add) said to me that the great thing about the good bye is the lovely anticipation of the next meeting. The "having someone to miss" factor. There is a strange and magical comfort in this for me. I have friends to miss. I have nephews to get incredibly excited about seeing - and for them to get excited about seeing me. And I, most importantly, have brilliant beautiful friends at close hand who make life the lovely adventure it is (I don't want any of my more localised mates thinking I do not love and appreciate them!)
But, I reckon, since I have to suffer the blues associated with the good byes and get my fix of friendship by flying the skies and the jet lag and the baggage requirements and the nausea and the queuing and the waiting and the neck ache and the turbulence and the taxi fares, that Qantas should bloody hell leave my bloody status credits alone.
Friday, July 03, 2009
New Headshots! Finally!
My last shot was taken in 2005 - and recently a casting agent scolded me because it was not up to date enough. (nothing like being treated like a 10yr old before an audition to give you all the confidence you need....)
So, here are my new shots. I reckon they are a pretty good representation.... dontcha think?
So, here are my new shots. I reckon they are a pretty good representation.... dontcha think?
Monday, June 22, 2009
What a difference a 'tude makes
Since mid 2001, I have been taking singing lessons. Sounds like a long time to be learning how to sing I know, and I can confidently say, I'll continue taking lessons for quite some time.
Any trained singer would probably say the same thing - just like an athlete needs to continue to train, so to does a singer. You need to master your technique, learn to apply it to different styles of music, flex the muscle, learn to be "show" ready.
One week you may have everything in your control - pitch, tone, support, interpretation, the next week you are flat, lazy, forcing the sound, in short - a mess.
So you go home and practice - breathing exercises, tilting exercises, belting exercises, exercises for support, connecting with the song - working out what the hell the song is really about. You come back for your next lesson and you have, fingers crossed, improved.
I spent years doing this. Every week though I felt good, I felt like a student and the mistakes just meant that I was learning and growing.
When I was younger, in high school, I had an incident that for the next decade silenced me and led me to believe I would never sing. My music teacher at the time had, during a performance at a school assembly, asked me to stand at the back and "mouth the words". Adding that I was flat. (Referring to my voice of course - I doubt I would ever be described as flat in any other context, something I am finally, at 33, quite proud of!)
In a strange roundabout way, this incident has actually shaped me as a singer. I really wanted to prove ol' Miss Tooth that she was wrong and get back something that I dearly loved doing up until then. When I was ready, at 26, I found a teacher who, thankfully, was exactly who I needed. Over the last few years, he has been able to mould, direct and influence my voice. When I first started with him, I was so nervous that I would sing with my back to him. He has always been patient yet demands results.
Over the years I have found my strengths, worked on my weaknesses and have slowly, but surely worked out what kind of voice I have and what kind of singer I want to be. I don't just mean that I am an Alto Belter. I mean, I know what kind of voice I have. I know where its warm spots are, where it soars, where I need to steer clear of or at least have a contingency plan for. All the things that come from being with the same teacher for so long.
Most recently, in fact only last week, I declared that I felt like a singer. I have been able to sing for a while now, but only over the last twelve months have a felt like a singer. And it has made such a remarkable difference to how I feel about everything and how I approach everything.
It may be a long time, if ever, til I am able to actually show Miss Tooth that I don't stand at the back of the choir and mouth the words anymore. But I have finally gotten back what it was she took away, as well as a whole lot more on the journey.
So now all there is left for me to do is get out of the karaoke dens and onto a real stage. Next stop - Amanda Buckley is "A Whiter Shade of Pale" ....
Any trained singer would probably say the same thing - just like an athlete needs to continue to train, so to does a singer. You need to master your technique, learn to apply it to different styles of music, flex the muscle, learn to be "show" ready.
One week you may have everything in your control - pitch, tone, support, interpretation, the next week you are flat, lazy, forcing the sound, in short - a mess.
So you go home and practice - breathing exercises, tilting exercises, belting exercises, exercises for support, connecting with the song - working out what the hell the song is really about. You come back for your next lesson and you have, fingers crossed, improved.
I spent years doing this. Every week though I felt good, I felt like a student and the mistakes just meant that I was learning and growing.
When I was younger, in high school, I had an incident that for the next decade silenced me and led me to believe I would never sing. My music teacher at the time had, during a performance at a school assembly, asked me to stand at the back and "mouth the words". Adding that I was flat. (Referring to my voice of course - I doubt I would ever be described as flat in any other context, something I am finally, at 33, quite proud of!)
In a strange roundabout way, this incident has actually shaped me as a singer. I really wanted to prove ol' Miss Tooth that she was wrong and get back something that I dearly loved doing up until then. When I was ready, at 26, I found a teacher who, thankfully, was exactly who I needed. Over the last few years, he has been able to mould, direct and influence my voice. When I first started with him, I was so nervous that I would sing with my back to him. He has always been patient yet demands results.
Over the years I have found my strengths, worked on my weaknesses and have slowly, but surely worked out what kind of voice I have and what kind of singer I want to be. I don't just mean that I am an Alto Belter. I mean, I know what kind of voice I have. I know where its warm spots are, where it soars, where I need to steer clear of or at least have a contingency plan for. All the things that come from being with the same teacher for so long.
Most recently, in fact only last week, I declared that I felt like a singer. I have been able to sing for a while now, but only over the last twelve months have a felt like a singer. And it has made such a remarkable difference to how I feel about everything and how I approach everything.
It may be a long time, if ever, til I am able to actually show Miss Tooth that I don't stand at the back of the choir and mouth the words anymore. But I have finally gotten back what it was she took away, as well as a whole lot more on the journey.
So now all there is left for me to do is get out of the karaoke dens and onto a real stage. Next stop - Amanda Buckley is "A Whiter Shade of Pale" ....
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Too Long Between Posts!
It has been a little too long between posts and I feel that, although I have tried (and failed) in the past to avoid "update" posts, there is no avoiding it this time.
WARNING - UPDATE POST FOLLOWING
Right, so -
Melbourne International Comedy Festival! This year I performed in Beaconsfield the Musical and what a wonderful experience it was. It was so warmly received and (brag alert) got some fab reviews including the coveted 4.5stars in The Age. As well as Beacy (as we affectionately call it) we got to write and perform for the open/close of Axed! and we appeared in one of the gorgeous Ali McGregors Late night Variety Night Shows ... again, what a pleasure!
Though, my personal highlight, once again, came in the form of 80's Enough - the fantastically awesome 80's cover band fronted by the one and only "Flash Dan". I was lucky enough to be invited up on stage for the closing night party at Hi-Fi Bar and sung Flashdance (What a Feeling!) I will happily carry that memory for a very very long time. Truly wonderful if not the smallest bit overwhelming - I hope everyone gets to feel such warmth and excitement from friends as I did that night. My friends, I have to admit, are probably the best out of all the friends you can have. I have not even mentioned all the great, inspiring and clever shows I got to see and see my friends in, which is rather remiss of me, so let me simply say, twas a grand month!
After Melbourne (which, given the leaving of a city I love and containing loved ones) I was incredibly thankful to dive straight into Sydney's Comedy Festival.
Susie and I were commissioned to write some live commercials for the sponsors of a Gala event. We were so proud and happy, both with our writing and performance of said commercials - how blessed am I that I can work with one of my best friends! We then went right on into our season of iMPro3 Shuffle - Suz's brainchild. Long form improvised comedy inspired by a random MP3 player taken from the audience. This is a show we love to do, mainly because it reunites us with the complete 4 Coasters - Toby Truslove and Cale Bain. We get to invite some of our favourite people to play with us and bang - we got a show!
National Theatresports time came round too, seeing our friends from Perth and Melbourne and Brisbane all drop in for some improvised good times and WAY too much drinking.
Amor and I took in the talents of Wayne Brady at the State Theatre. One talented man, and one pert behind!
With the finishing of the festivals (and the leaving of friends and loved ones yet again) I looked certain to fall into depression - but then - I flew to Melbourne. A surprise ticket to Martin Shorts one man show (Just crazy brilliant) Amazing seats at Avenue Q (WOOHOO - starring the amazing Luke Joslin) a fancy schmancy stay at The Hotel Windsor (Robes AND Slippers) made for a truly remarkable weekend. Note to self though AB - you cannot drink like you used to!
And just like that (after the saying goodbye to loved ones and friends YET again) I was rescued from the complete set of Blues by the June Long Weekend, Radelaide, My Nephews and The Cabaret Festival.
Oh my Lord. Bernadette Peters. She was everything I could have hoped she would be. I am so very very glad I went to see her, great excuse to visit my sister and her family and this time round meant I got to catch up with the Awesome Axis lads. It has also given me enough inspiration to jump aboard that Monkey driven Speedboat and make some real progress on the show I am (still) writing. I can actually see it taking shape now. Look out world. I have something I want to say. And by say I mean sing. And I plan on singing it soon!
Now, staring down the barrel of about 5 weeks of nothing much, the plan is to fight off the depressing loneliness with good old fashioned writing sessions. Right, self indulgent ranting monologues, here I come!
WARNING - UPDATE POST FOLLOWING
Right, so -
Melbourne International Comedy Festival! This year I performed in Beaconsfield the Musical and what a wonderful experience it was. It was so warmly received and (brag alert) got some fab reviews including the coveted 4.5stars in The Age. As well as Beacy (as we affectionately call it) we got to write and perform for the open/close of Axed! and we appeared in one of the gorgeous Ali McGregors Late night Variety Night Shows ... again, what a pleasure!
Though, my personal highlight, once again, came in the form of 80's Enough - the fantastically awesome 80's cover band fronted by the one and only "Flash Dan". I was lucky enough to be invited up on stage for the closing night party at Hi-Fi Bar and sung Flashdance (What a Feeling!) I will happily carry that memory for a very very long time. Truly wonderful if not the smallest bit overwhelming - I hope everyone gets to feel such warmth and excitement from friends as I did that night. My friends, I have to admit, are probably the best out of all the friends you can have. I have not even mentioned all the great, inspiring and clever shows I got to see and see my friends in, which is rather remiss of me, so let me simply say, twas a grand month!
After Melbourne (which, given the leaving of a city I love and containing loved ones) I was incredibly thankful to dive straight into Sydney's Comedy Festival.
Susie and I were commissioned to write some live commercials for the sponsors of a Gala event. We were so proud and happy, both with our writing and performance of said commercials - how blessed am I that I can work with one of my best friends! We then went right on into our season of iMPro3 Shuffle - Suz's brainchild. Long form improvised comedy inspired by a random MP3 player taken from the audience. This is a show we love to do, mainly because it reunites us with the complete 4 Coasters - Toby Truslove and Cale Bain. We get to invite some of our favourite people to play with us and bang - we got a show!
National Theatresports time came round too, seeing our friends from Perth and Melbourne and Brisbane all drop in for some improvised good times and WAY too much drinking.
Amor and I took in the talents of Wayne Brady at the State Theatre. One talented man, and one pert behind!
With the finishing of the festivals (and the leaving of friends and loved ones yet again) I looked certain to fall into depression - but then - I flew to Melbourne. A surprise ticket to Martin Shorts one man show (Just crazy brilliant) Amazing seats at Avenue Q (WOOHOO - starring the amazing Luke Joslin) a fancy schmancy stay at The Hotel Windsor (Robes AND Slippers) made for a truly remarkable weekend. Note to self though AB - you cannot drink like you used to!
And just like that (after the saying goodbye to loved ones and friends YET again) I was rescued from the complete set of Blues by the June Long Weekend, Radelaide, My Nephews and The Cabaret Festival.
Oh my Lord. Bernadette Peters. She was everything I could have hoped she would be. I am so very very glad I went to see her, great excuse to visit my sister and her family and this time round meant I got to catch up with the Awesome Axis lads. It has also given me enough inspiration to jump aboard that Monkey driven Speedboat and make some real progress on the show I am (still) writing. I can actually see it taking shape now. Look out world. I have something I want to say. And by say I mean sing. And I plan on singing it soon!
Now, staring down the barrel of about 5 weeks of nothing much, the plan is to fight off the depressing loneliness with good old fashioned writing sessions. Right, self indulgent ranting monologues, here I come!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
