I know this has been discussed many times in blogworld, but I was thinking recently about the versions of our lives we create via blogs. Some are relentlessly cheerful - I don't enjoy those, because, depending on my own mood, it makes me think my life is tedious/my spouse is the worst husband on earth/my children are insuffiently cute/talented/whatever or the blogger is insane/deluded/a pain in the arse. Some are stuck on whinge mode - I'm all for blog-as-vent, but not all the time. Some just provide TMI - there are details I do not want to know. About anyone.
The blogs I enjoy most tend to focus on the positive, but acknowledge that there are times when we all get tired, grumpy, frustrated and bored. Life is not perfect.
I try to use my blog to find small, interesting (to me, at least) things within my day-to-day existence. Sometimes it seems rather difficult, but I suppose that's the point.
So, I suppose, most blogs are both true and untrue - they're necessarily an edited version of life, skewed to whatever the blogger wants to express. All good.
I was thinking about it because I know someone - not a friend, but someone within our larger social circle - who has a very popular, high-traffic blog, where she writes about women's self-image, motherhood, celebrity and various other things. Her most popular posts are when she talks about the trials of motherhood, and she is very good at the 'Everywoman' tone, lamenting the lack of time off, the incessant demands, the general drudgery ...
Trouble is, I know these things: she has a full-time, live-in nanny and a housekeeper; her husband is a stay-at-home dad; she travels overseas at least twice a year (with nanny!) and has two holiday houses; she has an almost unlimited budget.
Ok, so I don't mind her wanting to connect with her readers by pretending her experience mirrors theirs. What bothers me slightly is that she makes money out of her blog - it's a business. Does this make it unethical or am I expecting too much?
31 August 2010
Saturday Night Fever
I must confess to laziness on Saturday night. Spouse and I went out to see a movie in the afternoon (The Kids Are All Right) so it had to be a relatively quick prep time - I fell back on my favourite duck breasts with bacon and chestnuts, served with braised red cabbage and potatoes roasted in duck fat. Yup, super-slimming. For dessert I made baclava for the first time in about 20 years and it was surprisingly good (I'm always surprised when things work out ...).
This week is one of those crazy busy weeks with lots of work deadlines and a ridiculous amount of extra-curricular stuff also. I must learn to stop volunteering for things.
26 August 2010
Romy & Michele's High School Reunion
My 25 year high school class reunion starts tomorrow - in Singapore, which is where I went to school. I'm not going to be there. I missed the 20th reunion as well, because I was on an internship for my Masters.
I'm feeling a little sad. I would love to go back to Singapore. I have been back many times since I left home, and it's a very different city to what it was when I was growing up, but it still draws me. So I'm sad about that.
I'm also disappointed to miss seeing some people who will be there - a few of them were good friends of mine, back in the day.
Here, for the amusement of anyone reading this, is a pic of some of us on a school trip to France (yes, from Singapore).
I am the gormless tiny creature at the far left, in my fantastically awful red hat and silly expression. The girl next to me was the most popular girl in our year, the whole way through - she was clever and sporty too. And, you know what else? She is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I can't think of a single bad thing to say about her. Hate that. She isn't going this year. In the middle is someone who rode horses at the same club as me - she's organised a lot of the reunion. It will be a shame not to see her. And in the insane fluffy hat? Well, there's our high achiever. She came to our wedding, because she was working at the Canadian High Commission in Canberra (spouse was most taken with her - not the first time THAT happened, trust me). Last time I heard from her, she was the Canadian High Commissioner for Cambodia, all four foot eleven of her, but that was a while back ...
So, in some ways I wish I could be there. In other ways I'm glad to avoid the inevitable comparisons, the competition, the feeling that so few of us ended up quite where we thought we might.
I'll share one more photo, because this gives a sense of what I was like when I left high school. Fierce. (I had shaved my head for $200 bet some weeks before.) The girl next to me still looks EXACTLY like she does in this photo ...
I'm feeling a little sad. I would love to go back to Singapore. I have been back many times since I left home, and it's a very different city to what it was when I was growing up, but it still draws me. So I'm sad about that.
I'm also disappointed to miss seeing some people who will be there - a few of them were good friends of mine, back in the day.
Here, for the amusement of anyone reading this, is a pic of some of us on a school trip to France (yes, from Singapore).
I am the gormless tiny creature at the far left, in my fantastically awful red hat and silly expression. The girl next to me was the most popular girl in our year, the whole way through - she was clever and sporty too. And, you know what else? She is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I can't think of a single bad thing to say about her. Hate that. She isn't going this year. In the middle is someone who rode horses at the same club as me - she's organised a lot of the reunion. It will be a shame not to see her. And in the insane fluffy hat? Well, there's our high achiever. She came to our wedding, because she was working at the Canadian High Commission in Canberra (spouse was most taken with her - not the first time THAT happened, trust me). Last time I heard from her, she was the Canadian High Commissioner for Cambodia, all four foot eleven of her, but that was a while back ...
So, in some ways I wish I could be there. In other ways I'm glad to avoid the inevitable comparisons, the competition, the feeling that so few of us ended up quite where we thought we might.
I'll share one more photo, because this gives a sense of what I was like when I left high school. Fierce. (I had shaved my head for $200 bet some weeks before.) The girl next to me still looks EXACTLY like she does in this photo ...
23 August 2010
Little Shop of Horrors
On Sunday, after sailing (glamorous if you overlook the fact that the boat is a kid's sailing dinghy!) and lunch, we had to drop Kid 1 off at a shopping centre in the Eastern suburbs. It seemed silly to waste time driving there and finding a parking spot, only to leave immediately. So we thought we'd look at the shops.
We did manage to get shoes for Spouse and have a very pleasant coffee (hot chocolate for Kid 2). It went rapidly downhill thereafter. The shopping centre in question is one of those monolithic places designed to confuse you to such an extent that you get lost, panic, and then spend money to make yourself feel better.
We did get lost. Along the way, I saw some things I probably should have tried on. But the crowds, the noise, the treadmill of consumption led to panic. Instead of spending money, we went home.
I have talked often about how much I hate shopping. Even when I see things on the rack that I think I might like, I dislike the whole process. Service seems to range from the bored teenager who clearly thinks you're too old to be buying clothes anyway (because, OMG, like anyone cares what old people look like, right?), to the snooty older woman who gives the impression that she knows you can't really afford what you're trying on, to the sycophant of any age who tells you look great when you can see that the colour makes your complexion look like liver and the cut makes you look like your body was drawn by Picasso.
Because I dislike the process - and I resent every minute spent shopping - I am a great one for 'settling for' something, even when it's not really what I wanted, or doesn't actually look that great. Better to get it over with so I don't have to come back. But, of course, this is fallacious thinking, because getting the wrong thing means I WILL have to go back.
It's not even that I'm disorganised. I have a list of the clothes I need/want, neatly written into a mini Moleskine that is always in my handbag. I think I need retail therapy of a different kind - I need to learn how to shop mindfully. After all, there must be some lovely things out there somewhere ...
We did manage to get shoes for Spouse and have a very pleasant coffee (hot chocolate for Kid 2). It went rapidly downhill thereafter. The shopping centre in question is one of those monolithic places designed to confuse you to such an extent that you get lost, panic, and then spend money to make yourself feel better.
We did get lost. Along the way, I saw some things I probably should have tried on. But the crowds, the noise, the treadmill of consumption led to panic. Instead of spending money, we went home.
I have talked often about how much I hate shopping. Even when I see things on the rack that I think I might like, I dislike the whole process. Service seems to range from the bored teenager who clearly thinks you're too old to be buying clothes anyway (because, OMG, like anyone cares what old people look like, right?), to the snooty older woman who gives the impression that she knows you can't really afford what you're trying on, to the sycophant of any age who tells you look great when you can see that the colour makes your complexion look like liver and the cut makes you look like your body was drawn by Picasso.
Because I dislike the process - and I resent every minute spent shopping - I am a great one for 'settling for' something, even when it's not really what I wanted, or doesn't actually look that great. Better to get it over with so I don't have to come back. But, of course, this is fallacious thinking, because getting the wrong thing means I WILL have to go back.
It's not even that I'm disorganised. I have a list of the clothes I need/want, neatly written into a mini Moleskine that is always in my handbag. I think I need retail therapy of a different kind - I need to learn how to shop mindfully. After all, there must be some lovely things out there somewhere ...
22 August 2010
Saturday Night Fever
Crazy busy weekend, including such highlights as doing a stint on the school cake stall (the school is also a polling booth, and we just happened to have a federal election yesterday), rigging Holden's new Laser for the first time, and eating more macaroons than is seemly.
Last night I didn't cook anything adventurous - we had lamb koftas (barbecued by Spouse) with pita bread, tabbouleh, hummous and minted yoghurt. Then we ate way too many sweet things, as we were given half a dozen boxes of baked goods by a friend who hadn't sold them at the markets ...
We had an odd selection of guests - my brother, an old friend of mine, our ex-neighbour from the old house and a sort of waif-and-stray-friend-and-her-child. I can never bear the thought that someone is spending Saturday night without company and food, so I'm a little prone to inviting anyone and everyone to join us. It usually works out.
On a sartorial note, Spouse was persuaded to buy a pair of Campers this afternoon. He always feels guilty about spending money on clothes or shoes, so I reminded him that his last pair of Campers have lasted 10 years and still look good. I think these ones will be great for summer.
Now it's Sunday evening, and I'd really rather that we could stretch the weekend by another day - it's been fun but it seems to have gone by very quickly. I don't want it to be Monday so soon!
18 August 2010
Big Wednesday
[Pic from surfersvillage.com]No, this is not a surfing post. This is a Wednesday Work Whinge. It's an excellent day of the week for whingeing, and not just because it begins with a 'w'. The energy and motivation (ha - who am I kidding?) of the beginning of the week are beginning to wear off; the annoyances are starting to pile up; and the weekend still looks a long, long way away.
More specifically, this week I am struggling with clients who demand ridiculous turnaround times ('I need a 20-page brochure - can you get me a draft tomorrow?'. 'Um, NO.') but then mysteriously are not in the office or don't bother to read your email when you send the job in. Really, it was so urgent but now you don't need to look at it?
I have two ways of dealing with this. 1. I charge a 50% urgency loading for a 24-hour turnaround. And then I usually add a little bit more, just in case I need a new lipstick. 2. When a particular client pulls this stunt more than once, I push back their jobs and tell them I can't start for at least a few days. Most of them learn eventually.
For the nice ones, who say 'I know this is ridiculous, but if you could squeeze this in today and charge what you want and we love you', I drop everything and do the job.
There is a moral in here somewhere. Maybe it's just 'Say please and thank you'. (Especially on Wednesdays.)
16 August 2010
Let the Right One In
I have a friend who is a bit of a hippie. Ok, a lot of a hippie. He likes to tell me that I need to let go of my attachment to outcome, and be 'in the process' more.
I am learning to apply this to things like yoga - that's why it's called 'practising' yoga, I guess. There is no end point. Of course, it's still utterly exciting to me when I manage to do something new (2 minutes in unsupported headstand, honest!), but I can also appreciate just being in the moment.
But I'm not sure that it works completely as an approach to modern life. While strenuously avoiding my magazine deadline last week, for instance, I thought about telling my editor that I was letting go of my attachment to outcome - so I'd just keep writing the story and never submit it.
Or dinner. That would be a good one. 'Sorry, kids, I'm in the process, but let's not get attached to the idea that there might be a meal on the table this evening.'
On a completely different note, I was aghast to read this story. Please tell me they won't choose Scarlett Johansson to play Lisbeth Salander ... It's stupid enough that they're making a US version - what, people can't read subtitles? - but even worse if they give the lead to a pin-up like SJ. Even Rubberlips Jolie would be better. Noomi Rapace was perfect in the role. Sigh.
I am learning to apply this to things like yoga - that's why it's called 'practising' yoga, I guess. There is no end point. Of course, it's still utterly exciting to me when I manage to do something new (2 minutes in unsupported headstand, honest!), but I can also appreciate just being in the moment.
But I'm not sure that it works completely as an approach to modern life. While strenuously avoiding my magazine deadline last week, for instance, I thought about telling my editor that I was letting go of my attachment to outcome - so I'd just keep writing the story and never submit it.
Or dinner. That would be a good one. 'Sorry, kids, I'm in the process, but let's not get attached to the idea that there might be a meal on the table this evening.'
On a completely different note, I was aghast to read this story. Please tell me they won't choose Scarlett Johansson to play Lisbeth Salander ... It's stupid enough that they're making a US version - what, people can't read subtitles? - but even worse if they give the lead to a pin-up like SJ. Even Rubberlips Jolie would be better. Noomi Rapace was perfect in the role. Sigh.
Saturday Night Fever
No cooking to report - we went to a party! It was a 50th for someone we know through Kid 1's sport (which, as I have reported many times, is excessive by anyone's standards, especially mine).
It was fun, but as Spouse commented during our Sunday morning party post mortem, it felt more like a 21st. Not because we were all young and gorgeous, but because the speeches (emailed from the UK, where Mr 50 comes from) were all focused on the hijinx and hilarity of university days.
The anecdotes were funny, but it was strange that nobody - not even the party man himself - mentioned anything about his life now. He is married to a fabulous woman, has two lovely kids, and a stack of friends who don't come from the UK or share that past.
I'm as prone to nostalgia as anyone, but when I hit the big FIVE OH, I want to be celebrating my life NOW, not trying to relive my youth. When I do get to 50, Kid 1 will turn 21, and Kid 2 will be 18, so it's going to be a serious year of parties ... something to look forward to!
It was fun, but as Spouse commented during our Sunday morning party post mortem, it felt more like a 21st. Not because we were all young and gorgeous, but because the speeches (emailed from the UK, where Mr 50 comes from) were all focused on the hijinx and hilarity of university days.
The anecdotes were funny, but it was strange that nobody - not even the party man himself - mentioned anything about his life now. He is married to a fabulous woman, has two lovely kids, and a stack of friends who don't come from the UK or share that past.
I'm as prone to nostalgia as anyone, but when I hit the big FIVE OH, I want to be celebrating my life NOW, not trying to relive my youth. When I do get to 50, Kid 1 will turn 21, and Kid 2 will be 18, so it's going to be a serious year of parties ... something to look forward to!
11 August 2010
Legally Blonde
Every so often I think about growing my hair. Given that it's too wavy for poker hair, but not curly enough to be interesting/attractive, I was thinking about the sort-of-Jane-Birkin casual shaggy look. Trouble is, instead of looking insouciant, I just look plain old scruffy. I haven't the patience or hair maintenance skills to grow it out gracefully.
So off I went to the hairdresser and had my usual ultra-short pixie cut. Of course I want to look like Jean Seberg/Mia Farrow/Audrey Hepburn/Emma Watson but I'm approximately 100 years older than they were when they had this cut. Never mind.
I'm also contemplating growing out my grey, and blonde seemed like the logical interim measure ... unfortunately I got the weirdest colour I've ever seen. A sort of greige. No, I'm not going to take a photo. Trust me when I say that no human has ever had this hair colour naturally. I'm trying to decide whether to: 1. Give it a week to settle. 2. Run screaming back to the hairdresser and go dark again. 3. Shave it all off and buy a cute wig :)
So off I went to the hairdresser and had my usual ultra-short pixie cut. Of course I want to look like Jean Seberg/Mia Farrow/Audrey Hepburn/Emma Watson but I'm approximately 100 years older than they were when they had this cut. Never mind.
I'm also contemplating growing out my grey, and blonde seemed like the logical interim measure ... unfortunately I got the weirdest colour I've ever seen. A sort of greige. No, I'm not going to take a photo. Trust me when I say that no human has ever had this hair colour naturally. I'm trying to decide whether to: 1. Give it a week to settle. 2. Run screaming back to the hairdresser and go dark again. 3. Shave it all off and buy a cute wig :)
10 August 2010
The Winter of Our Discontent
I find that several things get me through a cold, wet winter.
1. Drinking ridiculous amounts of tea.
2. Cooking and eating large, hearty meals like pork with cider and dumplings, or coq au vin, or sauerkraut with plenty of sausage ...
3. Wearing sunshine on my feet.
4. Imagining, and occasionally making purchases towards, a summer wardrobe.
It is a well-documented fact that I hate dressing in summer, as I have nasty pale freckly skin that I do not especially like to bare. I also have hideous legs. And I'm bad at floaty garments, as I am not tall. This makes an Australian summer quite challenging.
This year, I am going to do better. I will:
1. Try to wear dresses. I have my eye on a sort of 'utility chic' khaki coloured silk number. Wow, I made that sound awful, didn't I?
2. Wear white jeans or even try to find a skirt.
3. Wear shirts that don't cling. I'm slowly building a collection of silk chiffon blouses.
4. Wear a jumpsuit. No, really, I had to. It's silk/linen and really quite nice on, especially without the horrid pink scarf in the Net-a-Porter pic (only horrid because it is mostly definitely not a good colour on me).
1. Drinking ridiculous amounts of tea.
2. Cooking and eating large, hearty meals like pork with cider and dumplings, or coq au vin, or sauerkraut with plenty of sausage ...
3. Wearing sunshine on my feet.
4. Imagining, and occasionally making purchases towards, a summer wardrobe.
It is a well-documented fact that I hate dressing in summer, as I have nasty pale freckly skin that I do not especially like to bare. I also have hideous legs. And I'm bad at floaty garments, as I am not tall. This makes an Australian summer quite challenging.
This year, I am going to do better. I will:
1. Try to wear dresses. I have my eye on a sort of 'utility chic' khaki coloured silk number. Wow, I made that sound awful, didn't I?
2. Wear white jeans or even try to find a skirt.
3. Wear shirts that don't cling. I'm slowly building a collection of silk chiffon blouses.
4. Wear a jumpsuit. No, really, I had to. It's silk/linen and really quite nice on, especially without the horrid pink scarf in the Net-a-Porter pic (only horrid because it is mostly definitely not a good colour on me).
The September Issue
I know, I've used this blog title before. But this time I have a good reason - I recently took on a new (part-time) role as section editor of a magazine, and my first issue is ... September.
This explains why I am choosing to resume my blog - I'm avoiding deadlines, in the time-honoured tradition of journalists everywhere. That is all I will say about the job, because it is Very Boring.
Right now, apart from avoiding deadlines across all my writing jobs, my life is taken up with a mixture of domestic stuff, family, yoga, planning our trip to NYC and baseball. I know, it's not even summer yet. We're signing people up for next season. Blood from a stone, etc.
I never played sport (unless forced). It is a mystery to me how I have ended up being a soccer/baseball/sailing mum. No doubt it is something to do with the fact that I produced kids with a maniac runner, who is currently defying logic by running faster as he gets older. Sunday was Sydney's annual City to Surf run, and Andrew ran a PB of under 54 minutes; poor Holden missed out on the run as he had to play football. Phoebe, at least, carries my fine sporting genes and slept through it all ...
And speaking of lunacy, my brother recently walked the 750km Camino de Santiago (Way of St James) pilgrimmage in Spain. No, he is not Catholic. But his name is James. And walking 750km is his idea of a holiday.
It is 10 degrees C in my office (a corner of the garage), and pouring rain outside. I am wearing three layers of wool, thick tights and a disconsolate expression.
This explains why I am choosing to resume my blog - I'm avoiding deadlines, in the time-honoured tradition of journalists everywhere. That is all I will say about the job, because it is Very Boring.
Right now, apart from avoiding deadlines across all my writing jobs, my life is taken up with a mixture of domestic stuff, family, yoga, planning our trip to NYC and baseball. I know, it's not even summer yet. We're signing people up for next season. Blood from a stone, etc.
I never played sport (unless forced). It is a mystery to me how I have ended up being a soccer/baseball/sailing mum. No doubt it is something to do with the fact that I produced kids with a maniac runner, who is currently defying logic by running faster as he gets older. Sunday was Sydney's annual City to Surf run, and Andrew ran a PB of under 54 minutes; poor Holden missed out on the run as he had to play football. Phoebe, at least, carries my fine sporting genes and slept through it all ...
And speaking of lunacy, my brother recently walked the 750km Camino de Santiago (Way of St James) pilgrimmage in Spain. No, he is not Catholic. But his name is James. And walking 750km is his idea of a holiday.
It is 10 degrees C in my office (a corner of the garage), and pouring rain outside. I am wearing three layers of wool, thick tights and a disconsolate expression.
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