Category Archives: My Life

On Jonathan Harris and the Digressica Project

O hai. Happy New Year.

01/01

I don’t really know where to start. It would be ridiculous to comment on the fact that I haven’t blogged here since almost a year ago. Ridiculous and unnecessary. I may do better in 2012. Let’s see. I have a good feeling about this year.

I wanted to write about Jonathan Harris, one of my favourite artists. He calls himself a storyteller, but the New York Times calls him “a renaissance man for the information age”. I think they’re probably both right.

You might have seen some of his work without realising it. His We Feel Fine project (co-created with Sep Kamvar) is maybe his best known work. You should take a look – it really is incredible, and a lot of fun to play with. The website is an exploration of human emotion, a database of millions of feelings and micro-stories pulled from the internet every few minutes – statements beginning ‘I feel’ or ‘I am feeling’ – published on millions of blogs, message boards and social media feeds all over the world. We Feel Fine identifies the emotion expressed in each sentence, as well as the age, location and gender of its author. Based on that information it extrapolates other data, such as the weather at the time the emotion was expressed. The playful, colourful interface lets you interact with the stories and understand the data in meaningful ways.

It’s basically brilliant.

Even better and more impressive – I think, anyway, in terms of ingenuity and user experience – is The Whale Hunt, another storytelling experiment that documents Jonathan’s experience with an ancient tradition in the Inupiat Eskimo community of Barrow, Alaska through a constant sequence of photographs taken at five-minute intervals over a seven-day period. The result is what he calls a “photographic heartbeat”, where at moments of adrenaline as many as 37 photographs were taken every five minutes, so that the rate of images increases to mimic the quickening of his own heart in those moments. Like most of his projects, The Whale Hunt is about data collection and interpretation. You can see the images in a linear fashion or apply filters to isolate sub-stories within the larger narrative. Jonathan describes The Whale Hunt as “a choose-your-own adventure book crossed with a data visualisation project crossed with a slideshow”.

It’s basically brilliant.

But one of my favourite Jonathan Harris projects might be the simplest one, called Today. When he turned 30, Jonathan began the ritual of taking one photo every day and posting it online with a short story. He continued for 440 days, ending up with a kind of tapestry-like portrait of his life at age 30. He describes the project as a “crutch for memory”.

I’ve had a few friends who have embarked on this sort of project and I’ve always found it a rather lovely idea. My friend Brusca took a photo on his iPhone every day for a year, embracing the Chase Jarvis philosophy that “the best camera is the one that’s with you”. I loved it – it’s nice having these little window insights into a friend’s life, just tiny snapshots of his day.

When I saw the short film Jonathan and his friend Scott Thrift made after the Today project ended, I just found it really moving. I love the simplicity of the idea, and the way that each image by itself is just an image, but put together and watched in a linear way, you get this kind of understanding of a person and their life. A shallow understanding, of course – it’s a bit like sneaking a peek at their family’s home movies. You’re never going to get the full story, but you do get an overall picture and a sense of forward movement, even though they’re just still frames – a microsecond out of a whole day.

Anyway, I loved it so much that I’m unashamedly ripping off the idea. I’d like to make a video of my own at the end of the year. I guess I’ll see how I go.

If you’d like to follow the unimaginatively titled Digressica Project, you’re very welcome to. I’m mostly doing it for my own satisfaction, really – a sort of experiment in memory – and maybe for my family and friends who might be interested. Maybe you’d like to do something similar yourself. Tell me if you do; I would love to come and nose into your world.

I won’t link to every photo on here because that would be absurd, but I might try to choose one every week. The one at the top of this post was taken at twilight at Currimundi Beach on New Year’s Day. Here’s one from today.

04/01

The Bruschetta Conversation

Photo courtesy of SummerTomato's photostream on Flickr

Every time I have ordered bruschetta in a restaurant or café – every single time in my entire life – I have had basically the exact same conversation with the waiter or waitress that served me.

It usually goes a bit like this:

Waitress: Hi, what can I get you today?
Me: Hi there. Can we please have two iced teas and… um, let’s see. I think we’ll share some broosketta too. Thanks!
Waitress: Blank look.
Me: Blank look.
Waitress: Sorry, what was the last thing?
Me: The broosketta, please.
Waitress: Sorry?
Me: Broosketta?
Waitress: Sorry, I didn’t quite… Holds up menu for me to point at.
Me: Pointing. The broosketta. Just there.
Waitress: Loudly, with barely contained laughter. OHHHHHHHH. You mean the BROOSHETTA!
Me: Silent, impotent rage. Um… yeah.

But this is how it would go if this were an alternate universe in which I wasn’t irrationally afraid of making waitresses dislike me:

Waitress: Hi, what can I get you today?
Me: Hi there. Can we please have two iced teas and… um, let’s see. I think we’ll share some broosketta too. Thanks!
Waitress: Blank look.
Me: Blank look.
Waitress: Sorry, what was the last thing?
Me: The broosketta, please.
Waitress: Sorry?
Me: Broosketta?
Waitress: Sorry, I didn’t quite… Holds up menu for me to point at.
Me: Pointing. The broosketta. Just there.
Waitress: Loudly, with barely contained laughter. OHHHHHHHH. You mean the BROOSHETTA!
Me: Rising slowly from seat. No. No, I don’t mean ‘brooshetta’. I mean ‘broosketta’. You know why? Because it is YOU, feeble human child, who is pronouncing bruschetta incorrectly – not I, as your patronisingly instructive tone suggests. And maybe – just maybe – if you’re going to work in an ITALIAN restaurant, and serve ITALIAN dishes, and read out the ITALIAN specials, perhaps it would interest you to know that in the Italian language, the letters CH are pronounced as a HARD FUCKING CONSONANT, YOU SMUG PIECE OF SHIT.

Other oppressed diners in restaurant applaud. Music swells. Close up on me looking triumphant and a bit crazy.

7 Reasons I’m probably not as cool as you

M*A*S*H

  1. When I listen to my iPod on the train or while studying in the library or while running or writing or working or whenever: approximately 70% of the time I’m listening to the Dixie Chicks. 20% of the time it’s Broadway musicals. You may not think so, because usually on public transport I have my hood up or I’m wearing dark sunglasses, and I tend to look a bit broody so as to frighten off any strangers who might try to mug me or – god forbid – engage me in light banter. But guess what? I’m listening to ‘Goodbye Earl’. And if it were socially acceptable I would be singing along. Loudly.
  2. I have glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling. I’m 25. This has to end some time.
  3. I don’t “club”. I don’t “go clubbing”. I never have. I probably never will. The thought of it makes me want to put the kettle on and look for my slippers.
  4. I’m not obsessed with shoes. I know it’s meant to be cool for women to be obsessed with OMG SO FABULOUS shoes, but I’m not, and I can’t seem to manufacture a false interest. I like a nice pair of peep-toes, sure, and I prefer my footwear to look appropriate with the outfit I’m wearing – it’s not like I wander around in Ugg boots or those weird Forrest Gump-looking comfy clogs that old ladies buy from the pharmacy. But most of the time I’d just like to wear one of my many pairs of Chuck Taylors, or better yet, some Havaiana thongs*. IS THAT OKAY? Sheesh.
  5. I have a Wizard of Oz poster on my bedroom wall. I didn’t even have the decency to frame it and surround it with minimalist white furniture. It’s laminated, and actually a bit crooked at the moment. I also own the Barbie special edition Dorothy Gale and Wicked Witch of the West dolls. Not from my childhood. They’re fairly recent acquisitions. I keep them in their boxes. (Gosh, if you’re reading this and you’re actually a friend of mine in real life, I’ll completely understand if you’d like to call it quits.)
  6. Somewhere in the back of my brain, there’s a very stupid part of me that sort of subconsciously still believes that inanimate objects have feelings. Yes, intellectually I realise this is impossible, but my animal brain doesn’t. I blame all the TV shows and movies from my youth in which the child protagonist would leave his bedroom and all his toys would come to life… they’d just been pretending not to be real, but actually they all had little personalities and foibles and FEELINGS. (Pixar, you’ve got a lot to answer for.) Unfortunately, somewhere along the way this idea spilled over into objects other than dolls and teddy bears, and now if I use one of my toothbrushes more often than another one, I start to worry that I’m hurting some little toothbrushy feelings. Or if I take a book off a shelf in a bookstore but I take it from somewhere in the back, and not the first one in line (because the first one always has creases or dog-ears), I feel bad because I let the one from the back jump the queue when it was CLEARLY the turn of the one in front to be taken home by a nice customer. And if I don’t take the one at the front it will get self-esteem issues (which are only compounded by the fact that it’s already dog-eared and creased), and all the other books behind it will start to doubt its ability to lead. Oh look at Creasy, they’ll say. Passed over again. Right at the front of the queue and still can’t get picked up. And finally, when the umpteenth customer has failed to take Creasy to the cash register, the other books will rally behind his back and stage a coup d’etat. Books can be so cruel.
  7. I love M*A*S*H. Like, I really love it. There may or may not be DVD box sets involved.

*Flip-flops, for those of you playing in Britishland.

Christmas in London V. Christmas in 0z

London must be the greatest city in the world at Christmas time. To be fair, I’ve only ever spent Christmas in two places (Sunshine Coast and London), and it’s quite well documented that I think London is the greatest city in the world anyway, so my opinion may be slightly skewed… but I think I’d be hard pressed to find anyone who’d argue with me about it being the unofficial Home of Christmas Awesome. (Though I’ll accept alternative submissions, with proper documentation of course.)

I hate to be gushy about things (that is obviously a lie), but honestly – the whole thing is just so magical. I love it when all the street decorations and fancy lights and stuff come out. Oxford Street, Regent Street and Carnaby Street are at their sparkliest… sure, they’re also at their most manically, infuriatingly, fist-eatingly busy too, but I can totally deal with that if it means seeing the AMAZING window displays at Selfridges. I think they really outdid themselves with last year’s life-sized Santa Series (Santa on the tube, Santa in a laundromat, Santa at a sushi rail, etc). It was inspired.

Carnaby Snowmen by Abi Skipp

Unfortunately the giant, inflatable, terrifying snowmen with the white, soulless eyes looming over Carnaby Street in a crouch position, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting shoppers and suck the life out of them or possibly drag them back to some evil frosty lair, might have damaged me a little bit, emotionally.

Oh, but the chestnuts? The CHESTNUTS?Roasting? On an OPEN FIRE? I thought that was fiction! No sir. It happens right on Oxford Street and smells incredible. I’ve never actually eaten them (street food in central London? Non merci), but I thoroughly enjoy the fact that they exist.

I could go on and on, but instead I am going to give you a bullet list of things I loved about Christmas in London. We all know how much I love a bullet list.

  • Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Last year Sherri, Scott and I went ice-skating there on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately the hire skates were so crappy, and the ice was so mutilated and slippery from the day’s skating, that it kind of felt like somebody had attached a small, immobile child to each of my ankles and was forcing me to walk around barefoot in a circle on an olive oil-covered tarpaulin while trying to stay upright. But still… magical.
  • Drinking mulled wine at Borough Market after ordering the craziest variety of dead animals to cook on Christmas Day. Pheasant! WTF?! And GOOSE! That is mental. And awesome.
  • Going to the ballet. Last December I saw both Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker at the London Coliseum. Now I want to go every year. *Swoon*
  • Cold weather. So much more Christmassy than 40-degree heat.
  • Hosting a Chrismukah party with Ghetto at the Primrose Palace. Get us with our interfaith household! (Her faith being Judaism and mine being… non-existent.) Bridging cultural gaps and shit! Latkes and candy cane cocktails for everybodeeee!
  • Looking out the window before going to bed on Christmas Eve and crossing fingers, toes and other body parts that it would snow overnight (it didn’t, but still…)

I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t also love Christmas here in Australia, so here is a list of AWESOME things about spending this Christmas on the Sunshine Coast.

  • Seafood instead of dead birds. I mean, dead birds are great, but so are fresh prawns, crayfish, mud crabs and Moreton Bay Bugs.
  • Getting to that point in the afternoon where you think you actually might die from the humidity, and then jumping in a pool/ocean/cold shower.
  • You know how when you were a kid and you wanted to get up REALLY, REALLY early to open presents on Christmas day, but it was still 4:30am and your parents were dead asleep? Well, in Australia that’s probably just about when the sun rises in summer… and frankly, once the sun was up on Christmas Day, presents for us were fair game.
  • Carols by Candlelight! This is one Australian Christmas tradition I really missed in London. The great thing about having Christmas in the middle of summer is that nighttime gatherings of thousands of people  (each holding up a candle and singing Oh Holy Night) at your local park or beach are completely realistic and nobody is liable to get frostbitten. (Mosquito-bitten, sure, but the inventors of RID need to earn their money somehow.) My family has gone to Carols by Candlelight every single year for as long as I can remember, usually at Kings Beach in Caloundra. The coolest thing about Carols by Candlelight, especially when you’re little (aside from the requisite fairy floss machines and sausage sizzle), is running around with multiple glow sticks like a fluorescent maniac at an outdoor underage rave. And then when you get a bit older, finally being allowed to hold a proper lit candle of your own. And then setting fire to the carols guide book and burning yourself with hot wax. (No? Just me?)
  • Last minute, late-night Christmas Eve shopping at the Sunshine Plaza. Only Sunshine Coast peeps will know what I am talking about here. It’s so bad it’s good. And by bad, obviously I mean it makes you want to take your own life by hurling your body, still attached to the seventy-five shopping bags you’re carrying, over the Riverwalk bridge and into the shiny brown waters below. Fa la la la la, la la la laaa.
  • Pavlova
  • My mum’s trifle
  • My mum’s potato salad
  • Actually getting to see my family open their presents from me, and witnessing the looks of joy/dismay/confusion/surprise/disappointment that result.

But other than all these, to me the best thing about Christmas wherever you are celebrating it, is the fact that nobody has to be anywhere. There’s no rushing off to go shopping or go to work or to the pub or to meet a friend for coffee or whatever… and there’s nothing that actually needs to be done, except of course all the cooking and eating and stuff. It’s pretty much the one day of the year when nobody needs to be anywhere, and all there is to do is play board games, watch movies and carb load. Sweet.

Flickr image from Abi Skipp‘s photostream.

We live in dangerous times

NARCISSISTER: My housemate’s ex-husband doesn’t know she has a new boyfriend.

ME: Oh?

MUM: Why?

NARCISSISTER: Not sure. But she said if the ex ever comes around when the boyfriend is there, she wants me to pretend he’s my boyfriend. Which is ridiculous.

ME: Er… yeah. Don’t do that.

MUM: No! No, do NOT do that. That’s how people get shot.

ME: *blink*

NARCISSISTER: *blink*

ME: *blink blink*

NARCISSISTER: What?

MUM: Well, you just don’t know… he could be dangerous.

ME: *shoves fist in mouth*

NARCISSISTER: *tears of hilarity form in corners of eyes*

ME: *silently shaking with mirth*

NARCISSISTER: *falls off chair onto floor*

MUM: Oh yes, very funny.

Wake up, Australia

Dear Digressica,

ARE YOU A BLOGGER OR NOT?

Yours in perpetual disappointment,
Digressica

Good excuses for recent nonbloggery

Excuse #1

I have been MOVING.

Not just moving interSTATE. Not just moving interCOUNTRY. Not just moving interCONTINENT. Not just moving interHEMISPHERE. Not just moving interPLANET.

No, wait. Go back one. I was moving interhemisphere.

Excuse #2

I live in Australia now. We don’t have the internets. I’ve had to borrow one from New Zealand just to write this post. It needs to be back by noon tomorrow or there will be a late fee.

Excuse #3

My laptop was stolen… by a PIRATE!

Excuse #4

The escalating excitement in the lead-up to the latest Harry Potter movie made me nervous to leave my house in case I fell victim to a geek stampede (or started one), so I haven’t had much to blog about. Now that it’s out in cinemas and all the people who can’t read know that Dumbledore is dead, I feel safe again.

Excuse #5

I got a score of 255 playing Paper Toss on my iPhone. That took some work.

Excuse #6

MasterChef.

Excuse #7

I’ve been back underground in the recording studio, rocking and rolling and whatnot. Takes me like three hours just to get cool enough to walk in there in the morning. I have to spend at least forty minutes of that time making John Travolta faces in the bathroom mirror.

Excuse #8

Last day in the office: Things I will miss… and not

Today’s my last day at the job I’ve been in for the past year and four months. I’m about two parts sad, one part excited and one part panic face. In honour of my imminent departure, here is a list of five things I’m going to miss about my company. And, just to keep the equilibrium, also a list of five things I will not miss at all.

things I will miss

  1. The two funniest, loveliest, meanest, cleverest, annoyingest, coolest boys in London.
  2. Walking out of Piccadilly Circus tube station every morning, looking up and blinking in awe at whatever amazing stroke of good fortune landed me a job in such a place.
  3. The best sushi in London (in my humble, probably misguided and definitely biased opinion): Kulu Kulu.
  4. The intensely hilarious and rampant (but good-natured)  cultural insensitivity in the marketing department, which is only allowed to survive because we are oh-so-multicultural and equally insensitive about ourselves as about each other.
  5. Our marketing director’s strange, mildly creepy, unnatural and hysterical relationship with the kangaroo hand puppet I brought back from Australia last year.
  6. (Okay, six things.) Adore Patisserie, the little French place around the corner that makes the most brilliant cup of coffee for £1.50, and the three super friendly and multilingual guys who run it.
  7. Did I mention the boys? Well, I’m mentioning them again.

things I will not miss

  1. The dodginess of our weird Flavia coffee machine.
  2. *Facepalming* due to unavoidable interaction with some of the cretins Daily Mail readers oxygen thieves people from ad sales.
  3. The seriously unkind lighting in the ladies’ room.
  4. The strangely frequent and often noisy roadworks that always seem to be directly outside our building. What are they building out there?!
  5. The weird alarm test thing in our office that goes off like a heart attack at random points during the day, making everyone jump and taking approximately ten years off each of our lives with every five-second ear-bleeding beep.

Announcement (dun dun dunnnnn)

I’m starting off Blog Every Day April with the official announcement of some rather sad news (well, it’s sad for me).

Sigh. I’m leaving London.

I mean, I don’t want to be all dramatic about it, because it’s not like it’s some crazy sudden shock. I’ve known it’s been coming for a very long time. Actually, I was only meant to be in the UK for six months… then it became nine months… then I stretched it to a year… and then I really HAD to stay until the end of the summer… and then my second London Christmas was only JUST around the  corner… and well, you see how two years happened. I just found that I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

But actually, I can’t put it off any longer, because I have commitments back in Australia – well, one commitment specifically. (Gosh, that reads like I left a downtrodden husband and three dull-eyed but obnoxious children at home. I didn’t, obviously. I’m going back to work on a TOP SECRET PROJECT… one that’s not really that top secret. I do have some pretty fun plans though, and will reveal all in the months to come, if anyone is still around to care.)

I’m not leaving immediately – it will be around the second week of June. Yes, that means I haven’t booked my flight yet. I haven’t even handed my notice in at work. Don’t be fooled by the disorganisation though – that’s just how I roll. I’ve already told my boss that I’m outta here, and he’s looking for my replacement (which I think is a bit rude, since he doesn’t even have the decency to look lost and forlorn while he’s doing it). And plus if I don’t actually come home for reals this time I will probably be kicked out of my family.

The general plan is to move back to London town in a couple of years, once I’ve done stuff and been cool and hung out with my peeps whatnot, and maybe even gotten a tan (probably not though, I don’t want skin cancer).

WARNING: I’m most likely going to be a bit of an Eeyore about this whole leaving London thing in the weeks to come (oh boohoo, this might be my last walk in Hyde Park, this might be my last visit to Borough Market, this might be the last time a North London youth spits in my general direction, this might be the last time I see a gypsy woman change carriages on a moving underground train while carrying her infant child… BOO. RADLEY. HOO) but truth be told there are things about moving home that really excite me (besides the obvious family, friends, whatever), and the main one of those things is that after a two-year hiatus I will be going back underground (literally) to make music again, and I actually CANNOT wait for that. (Oops… that’s the TOP SECRET PROJECT. Big reveal fail.)

So anyway, this post was pretty much meant to be a heads up that many of my Blog Every Day April posts are going to be (like most of my posts usually are anyway) extremely London-centric. In a me-centric sort of way, but that’s to be expected I suppose.

(OH! Side note… on my work blog I got my first nasty comment recently, although the commenter probably didn’t foresee the joy it would bring me. He called me a ‘London-centric, air-kissing fool’. ME! London-centric! Air-kissing! And he got that just from reading this post. I’ve never been so happy in my LIFE!)

Ciao, mwah-mwah xx

P.S. I’m aware, by the way, that it’s 01 April today, and just to be clear – I really wish this was some kind of lame, nobody-cares-you-idiot April Fool’s Day joke, but it’s not.

P.P.S. Just because you haven’t heard me bang on about how awesome Australia is (yet), doesn’t mean I’m ONLY about the London love. I am still patriotic to a fairly absurd degree. For the record.

A nice little chat with the NHS

This morning I called my doctor’s office in Swiss Cottage.

“Hi, can I book an appointment please?”

“Certainly. Would you like to see any particular doctor?”

“Anyone is fine.”

“Okay, let me see… yes, you can come in on the first of the fifth.”

“The… first of May?”

“Yes.”

“Of MAY?”

“Yes.”

“Three months from today? Do you… have anything sooner than that?”

“Hmm, let’s see, I’ll have a look.”

*brief pause*

“Ah, yes. How’s tomorrow at 10:20am?”

Derrrrrrrrr NHS.