LTQFMOW

...now browsing by tag

 
 

Just a moment in the woods

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

Okay, so I’m going to do one of those primary school-esque reports here which I desperately hope you won’t hate me for: My Year In Review.

After all, where would the blogging form be without recounting what we ate for breakfast, the progress of our favourite football/cricket/synchronised swim team, or how we manage to successfully pluck our eyebrows on the bus (God, who does that? … *cough*)?

madvanAh, the only challenge is working out which aspect of my life is more fascinating – the content management system I use for work or how fast my grey strands re-emerge after colouring.  But I’m saving those juicy titbits for chapter one of my upcoming autobiography, Yes, I DO Carry Hand Sanitiser Everywhere (so how did I get a cold that lasted 3 fking weeks?).

But my whole life isn’t important right now - 2008 is the year of the moment.  It’s the year I’m calling “The Loop-the-Loop” or “A Moment In The Woods” or “The Wii Stop” (just try and stop me from making ‘Wii’ jokes, biatch).

Although I didn’t make any progress in particular, 2008 was a necessary detour.  Or Wii-tour, if you will (or won’t).

In January, I had a feeling that 2008 would be a leap forward – decisions would be made, direction found, life would be on course.  Progress.  It was the kind of luminous hope, resolve and optimism that was bound to see me fall on my arras.

Make no mistake, by mid-April I had to climb down and pick my face up from the Ninja Turtles’ Sewer Lair (Master Splinter says hi and wants his kimono back from Katie Holmes).

Truth be told,  2008 has been a really fun year.  Too much fun, perhaps, for one who’s been known to spend entire parties in the restaurant bathroom, singing sad songs at the mirror… sober.

drab2006Clearly, when it came to fun, I had a lot to learn.  For a long time, my idea of fun was making lists, sleeping on the floor, or writing poetry to a blaring soundtrack of Counting Crows.  And, dude, we’re talking poems about feelings of “eternal internal incompletion” (boys), “moments that cascade off the bridge like fireflies” (boys), or ”rejection rife” (unemployment…  who am I kidding?  boys).  Granted, these phrases are nearly 10 years old now, but old habits try hard.

But unlike 1999, 2008 was not a year that had me tempted to help a shrink make their mortgage repayments (but that’s a story I’m saving for chapter two, Keira Daley is Easily Distrac-Are Those Chocolate Coins?).

Though it was already a work in progress, 2008 was the year I think I finally understood fun as more than a concept.  I learnt how to have fun like normal people – nightlife and boozes and Nintendo Wii.  Now I take every opportunity to go Wii, Wii, Wii all the way home, only to Wii and watch TV (Wii much?  Got Wii?  Wii, Wii monsieur!  …just you try and stop me, biatch).

In 2008, I wore a dress on more than one occasion.  I bought not one, but two wigs – neither of which were for a show or a film… but just for fun!  I said yes to every work-oriented party invitation (four) and followed through. 

jumpingvinesI travelled to three places I’ve never been before – and with people, no less – the Hunter Valley (twice!), Greece, and Tasmania.  The one thing they have in common?  Good cheese.  I’d say wine as well, but so far I’ve found Greek wine about as pleasant as the Wii of Satan after a healthy dose of asparagus (thank you for a year of joy, 30 Rock - booyah to that 2008 discovery for me).

But speaking of wine, I have learnt a bit about it this year.  It’s interesting and, if I ever end up feeling like I need more science in my life, I may just run off and become a viticulturist (I know I said the same thing about geology when I went to Santorini, but who’s counting the degrees I’ve fleetingly pined for? … Five).

I’ve taken other classes, too.  I did an eight-week Greek language class, which did me eight-thirteenths of sweet FA in Greece.  As you can imagine, this went down really well with the locals who took one look at my half-Grecian features and decided I should be no less than fluent.  I did as well as ‘hello’, ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and – out of sheer desperation one day – ‘laundromat’.

I trespassed for this photo

FYI, don’t let anyone tell you that there’s a word for ‘vegetarian’.  It’s like Atlantis – it might exist, but nobody knows what it sounds like and some people think you’re insane for believing in it.

I did Bikram yoga for about five months.  Once I got over feeling like a giraffe trying to crochet a poncho, I was hooked.  The heat and the meditative aspects were the perfect remedy for the winter of my discontent (and just winter, really).

But that’s on hiatus.  Who wants to be in a 38 degree room in the middle of summer?  Plus, one of my friends accused me of having Stockholm Syndrome for defending its ‘horrors’ (saving that story for my third chapter, I Could Look So Hot If Stopped Eating Ferrero Rocher And Started Exercising But That’s As Likely As My Growing To Love Tom Cruise).

Different job, same awesome viewIt’s been a learning year, but not what I’d call progress.  The only thing that’s really changed is my job.  And, really, that only involved moving a metre away from my previous desk, and it was a job I was already doing part-time.  Now it’s a job I’m partly doing full-time (*baboom ching* “I’m here ’till Thursday, try the veal - I had to because I still don’t know the Greek word for ‘vegetarian’” [I'm lying, I've never eaten veal and the word is 'khortofaryous'...ish]).

Aside from that, I’ve done a bit more singing, I’ve called it a day on improv (I know, right?  It’s like losing a limb that keeps doing things I haven’t told it to), I have a few new items of furniture, I’ve watched so very much amazing TV (on computer and DVD, of course – who watches TV when it’s actually on?), and I’ve overhauled my blog.

homerBut it’s not progress.  I sang, but I also took an arseload of time off and now my (as it was, underdeveloped) middle voice is off receiving therapy because it feels I’ve ignored it in favour of its siblings, chest and head.  Loser.

As for The Daley Rant, in changing it I fear I may have schtupped myself.  I miss the candid semi-anonymity I once had, and the way that helped me side-step defamation suits.

In the end, though, a year enjoyed can’t be a year wasted.  And although it wasn’t moving forward, it was at least moving sideways.  That has to count for something – I mean, some crustaceans have no choice.

So maybe now I’ve learnt to have fun, I can finally stop being so heavy and get on with things.  Or at least know when to have a Wii break.

Why Greece?

Wednesday, October 29th, 2008

My best friend Marilyn and I made a deal back in 2003 when we were flatmates in LA. My return to Oz was imminent and we knew we wouldn’t see each other again for at least a year (it ended up being closer to two). Such are the perils of being best friends across continents.

To console ourselves, we decided that by age 26 we’d go to Italy.  Why 26?  Because after that we would be “too close to 30″, which is embarrassing reasoning, in retrospect.  Why Italy?  ’cause it sounded cool and I like pizza (possibly less to do with it being Italian and more to do with the Ninja Turtles – more embarrassing reasoning here).

Or perhaps it was an English teacher we had back in high school who planted the idea in our heads.  Mrs Wells (I’m supposed to be on a first-name basis with her now that it’s been 10 years since I graduated, but it still feels weird!) made English inspiring and fun. She’s at least partially responsible for the professional pedantry and language nerdery I’m known for today.

Think of her as the cheeky, delightful English lady version of Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, except without the boring poetry, miserable teenage boy themes and Williams’ renowned body hair. And from memory, we never stood on our desks saying “oh captain, my captain”…

Okay, so it was nothing like Dead Poets Society.  But it was cool.  There were tears when our advanced English class discovered we weren’t getting her for our final year. Tears, I tell you!

One day in year 10, Mrs Wells was explaining the word “glint” to us.  She said that when we got to Florence (“when” she said, like it was par for our course in life – told you she was the best!) and saw all the goodies in the marketplace there, there’d be a ”glint” in our eyes.  It sounded adventurous and exotic, like pirates and treasure and bandannas.

I, of course, took this to mean that we had to travel to Florence in order to genuinely grasp the meaning of a single word – which was sound reasoning as far as I was concerned. Maybe Mrs Wells told year after year of students this and was receiving kickbacks from the Italian Tourism Board but, still, it was good enough for me.

Marilyn and I mentioned “Italy 2006″ for years but, as it turned out, she ended up going with other friends in 2005!  I could’ve gone with them, but the crappily paid, disastrously horrid job I had at the time wouldn’t allow it.  So I missed Italy, and our dynamic duo travel plans “before we’re too old” never happened.

Still, we knew we had to go somewhere, sometime…

“How about Greece?” I suggested out of the blue – almost.

“Ooh, Greece!” Marilyn enthused.

We picked a year, too – this time, 2008.  Sure we’d be closer to 30, but that didn’t seem old anymore…

“Italy 2006″ had become “Greece 2008″ – and, no, it’s not because I paint the entire Mediterranean with the same brush.  Though if I did, it’d be cobalt.

I had images of aquamarine seas, azure skies, white houses with blue doors, olive trees, smashing plates, lazy afternoons and late nights, narrow cobbled streets, and old dudes with worry beads.

But there was another reason for Greece 2008 – a more important one, perhaps. It’s the reason I didn’t really acknowledge when I first made the suggestion to Marilyn.

You see, not everybody knows this but I’m half Greek.  But I was raised in a predominantly Anglo nation, surrounded by Anglo relatives, and befriending people from all over the world. As a result, I didn’t see myself as being any culture in particular (or, as some would call it, ’Australian’).

I never saw any point in talking or even thinking about the other half of my heritage because it really was, as they say, “All Greek to me…”

But then it struck – it being my Late Twenties Quest For Meaning Or Whatever (LTQFMOW – catchy, no?). As part of my LTQFMOW, I set out to learn more about the other half of my genes, to see if there is more to me than my upbringing.  It’s that old question of nature vs nurture - can culture be in the blood too?

So I booked a flight to Athens, enrolled in Greek language classes, and found myself eating more feta (though that may have more to do with the award-winning cheeses I tried in the Hunter Valley, but details-schmetails - we’re talking Important Issues here).

Would I have things in common with the Greeks just because I’m related to some of them?  I guess I’d find out soon enough – and before age 30, no less.