2010 ARIAs. Epic fail.

I would just like to join the rest of the nation in saying a big WTF to ARIA's organisers.

What the hell were you thinking??

I sincerely hope that Hilary Clinton wasn't channel surfing as she prepared to turn in for the night at Crown Towers. In fact, I hope that abomination of a broadcast was not watched by any member of the international community. How embarrassing.

We can at least thank social media for giving us a platform to air our grievances, and let those responsible know just how poorly we rated their effort. As one jaded-viewer said yesterday, watching the show was like witnessing a train wreck. A really, big ugly, train wreck.

How bad was the pseudo-Green Room presentation area? Aside from being poorly lit and grossly disorganised, what was going on with the random industry twits boozing on with their backs to the camera? And of all the talented people (read: actual nominees) we have in Australia, how on earth did Rebel Wilson, Dylan Lewis and Nat 'I don't know why I'm yelling' Bassingthwaite constitute an entertaining presenters line up? Honestly when Ricki Lee started playing for the gay vote while interviewing Eric Stonestreet (in fact a straight man who plays a gay character), I dry retched.

Although I did feel sorry for the Chaser boys who were left babysitting Bob Katter on live national television. What an absolute mongoose. (Yes I really hope Hilary wasn't watching that bit).

The fact that uber-kooks Angus and Julia took out the top gong was rather fitting in the end. They've made a fortune from their well practised social awkwardness, and let's face it, just by opening their mouths they could have everyone looking at their shoes during a perfectly good awards ceremony.

Between the Aussie cricket team and the ARIA's there wasn't much to be patriotic about last week, was there? Although in the interest of being constructive, I propose the following formats are considered for the 2011 ARIA's:
1. A barbie
2. Live broadcast from Dylan Lewis's mum's place
3. Inviting members of the pubic to perform live karaoke between awards
4. A singing animals segment a la Funniest Home Videos

My baby’s got a secret

I have something pretty serious to get off my chest, which has been bothering me for some time. And whilst it isn't keeping me up at night (yet), it has begun lurking in the background, occasionally popping its head up to engulf me in a tidal wave of guilt. It is then, that I want to run and shout this confession from the rooftops. So I figure it's time to own up.

Now in publishing this statement, I realise that I risk becoming a social pariah, not to mention attracting derision and ridicule from certain quarters. But I'm afraid its purge now, or forever hold my peace.

I love Starbucks. Actually I love, LOVE Starbucks.

There, I said it. I will now pause while you mentally or audibly poor scorn on me, call me a sell-out, a commercial whore and maybe even delete me from Facebook.

Do do do…


Do do dooby do…..

All done?

Good. Now if you could just let me explain.

I love Starbucks - ohmigod that feels good - because it is a thread that is intricately woven throughout my cherished travel experiences. Minus a few obvious exceptions (although I wonder how high the Kenyan Masai could jump after a venti triple shot?) I have a matching Starbucks memory for almost every stamp in my passport.

I remember escaping the winter cold of London inside Starbucks during many a shopping jaunt to Oxford Street. Taking a sightseeing break at Starbucks in downtown Madrid and eyeing off the dark-eyed boy working the milk steamer. In Lima, Peru, my travel companion and I stumbled across Starbucks on a sweltering hot day and revelled in the icy goodness of a coffee frapp.

Downtown Vancouver boasted a Starbucks on almost every corner, and I spent many cosy Sunday's reading and sipping delicious spiced apple cider, trying to forget my homesickness. In March, I sat in Times Square for hours watching Manhattan buzz by from a Starbucks window and in northern Thailand during May, I practically fell to my knees when the familiar green circle came into view, and I tasted my first real coffee in weeks.

It's not even the world’s greatest blend, you say. I know! But oh the choices! The hit, the sugar, the buzz and even the music! For those who do not deign to enter Starbucks, they often play old-crooner compilations like Frank, Dean and friends - which just adds to the romance. You can be miles away from home in a completely new world, but Starbucks is at once familiar. A beacon of reliability in a world of uncertainty.

Ok that was too far. And certainly by admitting that I've allowed myself to be wooed by Starbucks doesn’t mean that I condone some of the methods their boardroom Dr Evils have used to semi take over the universe. Yes, damn them and their dirty tactics! The lack of social conscience Starbucks as a corporation have shown at times has been quite despicable. There's no denying it.

But for me, walking into Starbucks is like getting a hug from an old friend.

So not all of my friends are going to like each other, I concede that. But how can I fight it? When I sit here at my desk on a random, uninspiring Friday morning and one sip from my grande skim iced-vanilla latte sends me spiralling suddenly into a precious treasure chest of memories?

Today Times Square… tomorrow who knows?

A horse is a horse, of main course?

At the risk of inciting bitter retorts in the comments section (although maybe not such a bad thing seeing you ‘followers’ never bother to comment). I’m disillusioned with Masterchef.

Don’t get me wrong I enjoy the show. Divine food, sexual tension between the contestants and George professing at exactly the same time each episode: ‘I think it needs more salt’. But now people are posting photos of their nightly meal on Facebook, and yesterday I was forced to sit in the kitchen while a family member who-shall-remain-nameless talked me through his wondrous, visionary method for a la carte Eggs de Scramble. I was thinking, turn it up! Do you really deserve a medal for knocking up eggs on toast?

Meanwhile Matt Preston seems to have lost all sense of portion control, but that’s a whole other can of Grain-fed Worms infused with Truffle Oil and Rosemary.

Yes, Masterchef has a lot to answer for.

But what really floored me is news that the Minister for Agriculture & Food in WA has “approved the slaughter of horses for human consumption” (as read in The Age today), and a local ‘gourmet’ butcher will begin selling fresh horse steaks next week.

Now I must stress that when it comes to religious and cultural beliefs, I'm not casting aspersions on the diet choice of other races, where it is wholly acceptable to eat various meats including that of a horse (and by wholly I mean fully as I doubt they eat horses whole). What irks me is that the great Australian bandwagon will soon be in full swing with punters queuing up to try it; because Masterchef has made people think it’s not only acceptable, but trendy.

I apologise to those who think that, as I am not even vegetarian, these comments are hypocritical, inconsistent or both – horses for courses and all of that. But quite simply, I draw the line at eating horse meat. So friends, be warned, I will not take kindly to be being offered some at the next bbq I attend.

After all, Winston Churchill was clearly speaking metaphorically when he said: “There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” The inside of a man, not insides!

Lessons in not very much at all

I have never really had reason to be bored. Not for prolonged periods anyway. Something is always going on, coming up or happening next. And generally, when I'm up to my neck in work or a slave to my social calendar, it's dreaming about time off and relaxation that keeps me going.

But an involuntary break - like the one I’m on now - is far from relaxing. I spend nearly as much energy feeling bored and directionless as I could be working. Apparently reviewing all the various holes in your life 64 times a day does not create sufficient mental fatigue as to induce sleep. Not even 90 minutes of hot yoga can do it. Round and round it goes... and like any reasonable over-active brain, it holds both sides of any conversation.
Hugh Grant had no qualms being a lad of leisure in About a Boy. But while he happily settled in to watch the UK equivalent of Wheel of Fortune every afternoon, I can’t even bring myself to turn on the television. Because it’s a slippery slope when it comes to daytime tv... there's no going back. As soon as I utter one sentence containing the words Kerri-Ann, Oprah or Danoz Direct, I'll know I’ve hit rock bottom.

Volunteering has crossed my mind. Whilst not exactly lucrative it would give the soul a squeeze and a sense of purpose. Particularly post-orphanage there are plenty of children’s charities around which I would love to be involved with. But I tend to think that while I’m embedded in my surly what-am-I-doing-with-my-life mood, I might be more a hindrance than a help. They’ve got enough problems already.

The offer of some pub shifts for cash is not one I could, in good conscience, pass up. As well as giving me something to do for a few weeks, it was supposed to help alleviate my financial constipation. A situation that is exacerbated by the fact that the only pastime I seem to enjoy lately is shopping! Ah yes the lure of retail therapy is as powerful as ever. South Wharf, Harbortown, Highpoint… name your two-syllable retail mecca and I’ve been there. But alas when only shifts starting at 9pm Friday and Saturday nights were offered to me, I had to gracefully decline. I mean if I can't spend weekend nights in a wine induced stupor with my friends, then I'll have to start drinking by myself during the day. Hello slippery slope...

What to do?
What to do, what to do...

There is Hope - 6 Amazing Weeks in Cambodia

MONDAY 17 MAY

I have been putting off writing this for about ten days now. But today I tried to recall a conversation from the orphanage and it was a little hazy. So it's time I started the debrief, before I forget important details of what was the most profound experience of my life.


My five weeks volunteering at Hope for Cambodian Children in Battambang, central Cambodia, were intense. Everyday myself and partner-in-crime Vin would feel the most extreme range of emotions  including elation, fun, frustration, anger, happiness, fear and sadness. All in one big melting pot of emotion!


Vin described it perfectly when he said it was like being given a piece of chocolate cake, tasting its chocolatey goodness and then WHAM! You get punched in the face. Some days there would be lots of chocolate cake and others, well suffice to say, lugging our heavy bruised hearts home after a punch-in-the-face day was tough.

It felt somewhat hypocritical, particularly on bad days, to head back to our small resort hotel and relax in the pool or our air-conditioned bungalow (which the cleaners made up daily with fresh flowers on our pillows). At least it did initially, but we soon realised that the orphanage would literally take everything we had energy wise. So unwinding in the evenings was our chance to get ourselves together again so we could tackle the next day! (As well as the emotional and mental toil, the daily temperature was between 40 and 45 degrees so we were physically exhausted).

It's funny now reading over notes from week one as my outlook obviously changed considerably. But that doesn't make them any less valid I suppose, so below is what I was thinking very early on. I'm not sure how appropriate it is to judge first impressions of an orphanage, but naturally any place in reality is never quite as you imagined. So with that in mind...


Friday 9 April

We arrived at HfCC on Monday afternoon, 5 April. Conditions: sweltering. The grounds seem quite big with three two-storey buildings, ten bungalows, a modest temple, lot of grass and landscaped gardens, small eel infested swamp and several adjacent paddocks. Centre Manager Phil showed us around the property and gave us a run down on general operations. We got the distinct impression that Phil needed to vent about six months worth of stress. It was difficult to concentrate, partly because we'd not eaten since breakfast but also because two little boys were reaching through the open window to pull hairs off Vin's back!

As luck would have it, day two was the Centre's celebrations for Khmer New Year which gave us the chance to meet all the staff and children and get a feel for the place. We joined some monks for a traditional Buddhist ceremony, which was really interesting - but we'd literally sweat right through our clothes in the first two minutes. One little girl took pity and loaned me her hand fan. The afternoon involved activities and performances by the teenagers, while we played with the younger kids. And by played I mean about 70 of them jumped all over us as we wilted in the heat. Highlights included a dance solo by a kid called Vanchai and a bizarre fashion parade.

Vin got the chance to spend some time with two of the disabled children, Sovan and Sreyleak. Watching him do an impromptu examination of Sreyleak and her badly disabled body just about broke my heart, and his. But on the positive side he thinks he can really help them and has lots of ideas. Still it's hard to see a little girl like Sreyleak struggle to master her limbs. It's almost like her body is fighting from the inside and her mind doesn't understand why. The look in her eyes is almost confusion. Suffice to say I think we're in for a roller coaster of emotions over the next few weeks.

Phil has asked me to assist with sponsorship by reviewing the process and helping to update the kids' biographies. I'm pretty excited. In the past the Board (in Aus) has had staff interview the kids using a long and repetitive survey, which I'll bet was quite intimidating. From any childs perspective if it looks and smells like a test - then it probably is! So it's hard to imagine these particular kids opening up to someone with a clipboard and endless list of questions. As a consequence most of the bios read like carbon copies and give you very little insight into their personalities. Step one - burn the questionaire!!


Monday 12 April

We've already made some favourites, although we have to use nicknames because it's impossible to understand their rapid-fire Khmer. The twins Roger and Roger are apparently four, but would be the same size as your average 18 month old. They are clingy and into everything, but super cute. The Rogers' mother brought them to HfCC in 2008 claiming she was going away to work and make money to take care of them, but has only visited once since. Their house mother is six months pregnant, has her own three daughters under eight, an autistic boy called Vichet and a handful of other kids in her care. Nightmare!

Then there's Sreynit, who I've nicknamed Monkey because she latches to your back and stays there. She is only marginally bigger than the twins so I nearly fell over when I learned she's actually six. Monkey was brought to HfCC only a month ago from the Provincial Hospital, where she cared for her mother who lay dying of AIDS. Her mother was abusive and eventually hospital staff called the Centre and she eventually came home with them. Monkey's eye (below) is apparently the result of her mother using a knife to remove an abcess, which was pretty tough to hear.

But she has the BEST giggle - it is honestly the most amazing sound in the world. In fact Vin gives her whizzy dizzys all day long just to keep hearing it. (Punch in the face, chocolate cake). Like a dozen other kids at the Centre Monkey is HIV positive, which is something we are trying to get used to. A little guy cut his lip today and as I walked him over to the Nurse he wanted to be picked up. But he was covered in blood so I couldn't!

Vichet aka Spider Boy or Chet, is another one who is impossible not to love. He is 8 years old (approx) and has spent most of his life crawling like a crab. His story goes, that as a small child with autism his mother could not cope and left him locked inside by himself all day. Who knows how bad his disability was in the beginning and how much worse it became as a result of chronic stress and neglect. Chetty can actually walk quite well, although he does so without looking down so Vin has started taking him on walking adventures each day and they both seem to love it. I tagged along yesterday and when we returned Chet to his bungalow, he stood standing and looking at Vin with a big smile on his face. Then as Vin walked away he tried to follow! It was so cute, but also quite heartwrenching.

About half the kids and most of the staff have returned to their villages for the Khmer New Years holiday. (Some kids still have a parent or family members outside the Centre, and it's important for them to still be known within their community in case they ever return there to live). So Vin and I, plus two carers and two volunteers will be looking after about 65 kids next week. Apparently one of the New Years traditions is water fights, so we're on the hunt for water bombs and pistols. I fear the kids will go a little nuts... but with a nurse on duty we should be ok!

In old New York

Tuesday 23 March

I farewelled the divine Miss Isobel, Ireland's national treasure, after a week of fantastic fun which included sunbaking on a row boat in central park, skulling free Veuve at the exclusive Soho House, lots of shopping, aimless but joyful meandering through Manhattan, coffee, cocktails, karaoke, nudity (calm down, it was Hair on Broadway), and just overall GOOD TIMES - Love you bird.

The joy of wearing singlets on a March weekend was replaced with the 'knew it wouldn't last' rain and cold by Monday morning, turning the colour scheme of my final days to a more muted grey on black. Now this was the New York I'd been expecting, so I wasn't bothered pulling out my Vancouver coat nor traipsing around with wet feet in my trainers.

It was the perfect weather for my long overdue visit to the New York Public Library. Now I, like most people, was suitably impressed when it survived the doomsday tidal wave in The Day After Tomorrow, but the building is even more amazing in person. Some people get off on the smell of new cars it's books that get me really excited!

The Library building itself is enormous, and straight away envelops you in a maze of hallways and high ceilings, work rooms with dim study lights and walls upon walls of books. Heaven! I enjoyed getting lost for an hour or so, and then decided that I should do something a little more productive. So I found a corner and happily typed away amongst the students and other randoms for the rest of the afternoon.


Tick!

For my last few days I was somewhat one foot in, one foot out. The long anticipatd reunion with special osteo man was only days away, and I was preoccupied in my thoughts. Which meant that the streets of New York were almost the best place for me to be, as I just roamed around with my head and heart in the clouds. In the end I was excited to be moving on, but I will always always *heart* the big apple mucho.

A rock and a good place

Friday 19 March, 2pm in New York City. A near perfect 20 degrees.

Hanging in Central Park with the other escapists. Middle aged suit, tie slackened, NY Times under his head, on a brief unhiatus from answered emails, his secretary, his wife. College guy, text book open, pen behind the ear, clearly here on the pretext of studying but opting to procrastinate instead. Me, basking on a rock in the sun, soaking in the vitamin D I've craved since October... and figuring that I should stop avoiding this blog.

It's been a while between drinks, I know. Everything and nothing has happened really. But I found myself too busy swinging the pendulum between boredom and melancholy to write during winter, then too excited and busy to think in Feburary.

So Vancouver wasn't quite what I expected. Although it's hard to notice the finer points of a city that rains day, night and everywhere in between. My first two months were really just soggy, and I found myself dragging heavy feet into work and then home again, to watch some hockey or just go to bed. At this point I'd like to apologise to my friends in Van, who might take this all a bit personally. But you shouldn't. There are any number of reasons why I had the experience I did, and reallly all I can say is... I'm just a sun-loving kinda girl.

By January, things started heating up on the work front, the rain eased... and then it was headlong into six weeks of full show operations and all that goes with it! If it wasn't happening inside BC Place, it didn't exist. Long days, meal packs, ciggy breaks, coffee hit after coffee hit, accreditation passes... so many passes, delerium, joy, tears, hangovers, tantrums and at the end of the day... immense satisfaction for a job well done. And who knows, maybe a new career option beckons... but I will write in more detail about the Games another time.

That was it in a nutshell! My love/hate relationship with Vancouver was run it's course and we've gone our separate ways.

So back to my rock in Central Park. Who'd have thought a rock could be so comfortable? I am enjoying a moment of pure happiness. No where to be, no phone, no deadlines, nothing. How glorious!

In fact, I think it's time for a little less laptop and a lot more ice-cream...