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!

• 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.

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?)

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!

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.

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.

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?

"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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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" ....

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!

Possibly one of the more awkward conversations I have had to participate in.

Chris writes "AB, just call me, easier to explain. My work number is 0407....."

So, annoyed that he demands I call him instead of him just calling me, I dial his digits, with what can only be described as "a bit of a 'tude".

"Hello? Hello? Nup, can't hear you..... wait.......nup. You'll have to leave a message".

WORST. VOICEMAIL MESSAGE. EVER.

So I tell him what I think in the message I leave, "That is shite. No way I am calling you again now. Shittest message ever. Not funny, just shite. You've done your dash Chris. That's the last time I call you".

Of course, to me and Chris, who I have known since I was 16, this would be par for the course message leaving. I mean, those messages are not funny. They are definitely not original. All they are, is in fact, annoying.

I email him again instead, "You're message is stupid and I will not call you again".
He writes "Aw come on AB you sourpuss. I'm free now, call me again."

I call again. Voicemail. No way. I hang up. Email again "You can call me from now on"

My phone rings. Our conversation goes like this:
Me: Hello.
Him: What do you mean my message is shit? This is my work phone.
Me: You know that stupid "hello? hello?" business. STUPID (like I said, I had an attitude)
Him: What are you talking about?
Me: What?
Him: What?
Me: Huh?
Him: What are you talking about?
Me: Well at least I have your new number.
Him: Its not new.
Me: Yes it is .... 0407 etc.
Him: No, my number is 0408...
Me: That's not what you sent in your email.
Him: HA.
Me: What?
Him: I gave you the wrong number. You dialled the wrong number.

Right then, my land line rings - the same phone that I had minutes earlier dialled 0407 from and left a message on basically saying "you are shit" with.

"Hello?"
"Ahhh yeah. I got two missed calls from this number....."
"Yeah, that was me. Sorry. I thought you were my friend."
"You left a message"
"Yeah. Like I said I thought you were my friend. Sorry. Sorry. I really do apologise."
"OK."
"Bye?"
Click.

Yeah. I basically called him shit. It was recorded. I should not have really expected the usual chit chat. Oh well. I still think his message was indeed, shit.

Wisdom of Bjork

Lately, I find myself, gazing at stars
Hearing guitars
Like someone in love

Lately I seem to walk as if I had wings
Bump into things
Like someone in love

Sometimes the things I do astound me - mostly whenever you're around me.

(insert gutteral gurgling sound here).

Oh Bjork. I know what you mean......(at least I think they are the lyrics.)

Here we go again....

Like most things in a calendar year, April comes around every twelve months or so. And yep, here it comes again.
I love April. I always have, but year after year, my love of this fourth month grows.

As a kid it was the fact that it pretty much meant Easter holidays - chocolate, Easter Showbags, chocolate, crisp mornings and weekend barbeque's. Basketball tournaments where I could run around with the other basketball brats, making prank phone calls from the stadium office and sausage sizzles for breakfast when my parents were manning the deck.

As an adult it started becoming that month when I began really feeling the effects of seasonal change. Those crisp mornings started bringing on nostalgic memories - and you knew the year was well and truly underway. With summer dimming rapidly out of daylight savings time, it meant time to roll up the sleeves and get down to work.

Then April, and its Easter counterpart, brought with it the Byron Bay Blues and Roots Festival. I only managed a few of these before the soon to be discussed Comedy Festival took precedence, but this festival of music and food and all round loving up is still my favourite of all the festivals and has secured it place in my heart with memories of old friends waiting in the "shower train" and eating slices of pizza while dancing in a field to our first taste of Ozomatli or Michael Franti. We would sit up late playing more music back in our rented house, drinking wine, playing cards or backgammon and laughing with such warmth and familiarity that even now, fills me with pure joy.

But suddenly came The Melbourne International Comedy Festival. This year will be my fourth and from January onwards, friends and fellow performers start counting down.... how many months, weeks, days, hours till opening night. There is all the prep work - the idea, the writing (I usually leave this up to others:) the meetings, the rehearsals, the budgeting, the advertising, the anticipation!!!! And suddenly, you have four more sleeps and its Tullamarine here you come!
Its more than the festival itself though - its reuniting with people you met last year, hung out with, got to know, actually became buddies with and you all said "see you next year" and you genuinely hoped you would.
Also, its a month in Melbourne. Not just a stolen weekend, a fly by Friday night see you Sunday afternoon thing. Its four whole weeks....and the chance to catch up nice and proper with the city. And maybe someone you might just have a crush on. Yeah, that's probably the best part. The real reason I love April so much.

Oh yeah, and there is still chocolate right?

If I had a band, and the band had an album....

Thank you Lliam for making it look fancy.