I heart Florence. It is everything I wanted Rome to be. Now, there was nothing at all wrong with Rome. I just had a different idea of it. I have to admit though, when you’re sitting on your balcony and a piano accordion starts to play at the restaurant below, it’s pretty surreal. I felt like I was in my very own “mid 30’s divorcee starts new life and travels abroad to find herself” midday movie.
On arriving in Firenze (that’s right, I’m talking just like a local), I immediately wanted a shower. Now this shower had one of those hoses you can take off and adjust etc. I’ve used these at friend’s houses before, so I thought it wouldn’t be a problem. So I turned on the water to let it warm up before getting undressed. Big mistake. What I hadn’t realised was that this shower was missing the fixture that keeps the hose in place. So when I turned on the water- in typical PG 13 movie fashion- the hose sprang to life, whipped around and sprayed me in the face leaving my drenched. This bathroom is seriously full of fun. It also has a bidet. A bidet! I’m so excited (is that wrong?). I’ve never used a bidet before and I think the time is now. Did I end up using it? I’ll never tell. Or did I use it and kind of really enjoy it and have already ordered one online to be installed by the time I get home?
Now, despite that I seem to write a whole lot about Italian television in the following paragraphs, I promise that I actually did leave the hotel multiple times. I promise.
First show I came across was the game show Reazione a catena- which translated is Chain Reaction. It’s pretty much a word game- guessing synonyms or guessing a proceeding word etc. But for mum and I it was a whole other game. It worked like this: as soon as a word would come up on the screen, I would type it into google translator, and then we’d actually try to play the game. It was actually really fun… can you tell I’ve been hanging around my mum too long?
Mercante in fiera is another show I’ve had the great pleasure to discover. Having seen it twice now and after looking it up online, I still have no fucking idea what it means. You tell me.
http://www.bothersbar.co.uk/weekendspecials/mercante.htm
In this link they fail to show the “white angel” at the start (played by the same woman who plays the black cat) who seemingly introduces the show and has no connection to it what so ever. Now we come to Pupo. Pupo (Enzo Ghinazzi, a singer turned game show host) hosts both Reazione a Catena and Mercante in fiera. He’s super awesome and ladies love him. He’s Italy’s answer to Eddie McGuire. If Eddie McGuire were talented or loved.
I did think I would be leaving Italy without having a single Italian man hit on me. Not that I was putting it out there but Italian men do have a reputation and figured I was an acceptable standard of woman to be hit on. With only 2 days left in Italy, my prayers were answered. Lucky me. I had the waiter hit on me while out for dinner with my mum. This guy who was at first funny and flirty, became rude and obnoxious very quickly. He grabbed my hand while passing our table and he whispered in my ear something about me saying I should kiss him. He also ignored mum whenever she spoke to him and would just look at me instead. I’m starting to think that I was fine having not had the sleazy Italian experience.
While I get along famously with my mother, she is starting to annoy the crap out of me. Spending 24 hours a day with anyone for 3 weeks will do that to you though. But even when she’s at her most annoying, she’s also super funny. You must know that my mum has never been overseas before so she asks a lot of questions (that’s the annoying side) but also a lot of things are fascinating to her. Like yesterday we passed a shop filled with colourful Italian ceramics. “Wow, look at those huge plates.” (they were really big and quite a sight) Then almost in the same breath she said, “Look at those air conditioners!” Air conditioners that had nothing whatsoever different or unusual about them. That’s my mum. She’s also has an occasional bout of foot in mouth disease. Earlier today I happened to mention that when I was a teenager, she was the one who brought it to my attention that I had thick ankles. Unintentionally, she said, “I’m sorry I’ve given you my thick ankles.” We had a good laugh about it. Only about an hour later, she was putting sunscreen on my back and said, “You’ve got dads shoulders. They’re broad.” I laughed and told her it was a lovely compliment to have swimmers shoulders. Her response was “but it’s not like they’re muscly.” Thanks mum. Keep digging.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
celebrity.
London has already come and gone but good times were had despite being 10 metres ahead of my mother at all times. She stopped to take pictures of every street sign that was on the monopoly board and the iconic London pub before she realised they were in fact on every corner.
I've learnt a few things in London. First on all, if you’ve got a friend who has been there for the last 3 years, they now sound like a total twat with their quasi-British accent. Yes, I’m looking at you Sam. Also, I’m huge celebrity in London. So much so that a group of Asian tourists wanted to take photos with me at Trafalgar Square. At first I thought they wanted me to take a picture for them but no. I was in about 6 photos as they all rotated and swapped cameras and kept saying how beautiful I was. I was feeling a little down that day so it was a very nice ego booster. Speaking of celebrity, I also saw Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber at Sister Act. I knew there was someone “special” at the show as the ushers were hanging about in weird places. Ushers have telepathic abilities, so I could feel that there was something going down. Then I saw him when they rushed him out of the auditorium just prior to the curtain. It’s no secret that I wanted to trip him and could have easily done so being seated on the aisle. But imagine what were to happen to the future of music theatre if I were to do so? The mind boggles.
Another show I saw was Priscilla. That’s right, I couldn’t help myself. And I really enjoyed it. The guy that played Felicia was an appalling little queen with a shocking aussie accent to match. The others were really pretty good- except Bob. Played by John Bowe, this guy played it so hammy and desperate. So not right. I saw Bill Hunter come on stage drunk most nights (if he did come on) and he still kicked this guys arse. Pull your socks up John Bowe.
A short 2 hour train trip and we’re in Paris. First of all we climbed the Eiffel Tower. Well ok, maybe not quite. We decided to take the stairs and just past the first level mum started to get a little vertigo-y and so down we headed back down. Mum fail. Just now we’ve came back from the Louvre. I’ve been before and I like it but everyone’s so pushy, it gets really hot and stuffy and you realise that the Mona Lisa is just ‘meh’. But I did see Cathy Freeman there- that was the highlight for me. She’s looking at little tubby, to be honest I think she’s preggers but that’s no excuse! I know that cat suit is stretchy but that tum ain’t gonna hide itself Cathy.
After the Louvre, we went to Free’p’star the most amazing op shop in the world! I don’t wanna talk it up too much but it really is. All the crap has been weeded out and it’s pretty damn cheap too. Not dirt cheap but still totally awesome. You should see the dress I bought! I dunno when I’ll have any reason to wear it but doesn’t every girl need a gold lamé dress?
I've learnt a few things in London. First on all, if you’ve got a friend who has been there for the last 3 years, they now sound like a total twat with their quasi-British accent. Yes, I’m looking at you Sam. Also, I’m huge celebrity in London. So much so that a group of Asian tourists wanted to take photos with me at Trafalgar Square. At first I thought they wanted me to take a picture for them but no. I was in about 6 photos as they all rotated and swapped cameras and kept saying how beautiful I was. I was feeling a little down that day so it was a very nice ego booster. Speaking of celebrity, I also saw Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber at Sister Act. I knew there was someone “special” at the show as the ushers were hanging about in weird places. Ushers have telepathic abilities, so I could feel that there was something going down. Then I saw him when they rushed him out of the auditorium just prior to the curtain. It’s no secret that I wanted to trip him and could have easily done so being seated on the aisle. But imagine what were to happen to the future of music theatre if I were to do so? The mind boggles.
Another show I saw was Priscilla. That’s right, I couldn’t help myself. And I really enjoyed it. The guy that played Felicia was an appalling little queen with a shocking aussie accent to match. The others were really pretty good- except Bob. Played by John Bowe, this guy played it so hammy and desperate. So not right. I saw Bill Hunter come on stage drunk most nights (if he did come on) and he still kicked this guys arse. Pull your socks up John Bowe.
A short 2 hour train trip and we’re in Paris. First of all we climbed the Eiffel Tower. Well ok, maybe not quite. We decided to take the stairs and just past the first level mum started to get a little vertigo-y and so down we headed back down. Mum fail. Just now we’ve came back from the Louvre. I’ve been before and I like it but everyone’s so pushy, it gets really hot and stuffy and you realise that the Mona Lisa is just ‘meh’. But I did see Cathy Freeman there- that was the highlight for me. She’s looking at little tubby, to be honest I think she’s preggers but that’s no excuse! I know that cat suit is stretchy but that tum ain’t gonna hide itself Cathy.
After the Louvre, we went to Free’p’star the most amazing op shop in the world! I don’t wanna talk it up too much but it really is. All the crap has been weeded out and it’s pretty damn cheap too. Not dirt cheap but still totally awesome. You should see the dress I bought! I dunno when I’ll have any reason to wear it but doesn’t every girl need a gold lamé dress?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Goodbye Gotham
Now, not many of you would know that I’ve been living with contradictory, passive aggressive, rude old bitch named Susan for the past 6 weeks and it was pure hell. Here are a few of my favourites moments:
After I saw Next To Normal (a musical about a woman with bipolar) she asked my what I thought. I said it was good but I didn’t understand the hype. She then told me that I mustn’t have known anyone with emotional problems and that I hadn’t really experience life yet. Ok. Good to know.
After being locked out of the house (she dead bolted the door for which I don’t have a key) I saw her on the street and ran up to her rather hot and fluster for I’d been locked out for an hour. After only seconds of telling her that I’d been locked out, she started berating me for being upset and that I needed to handle my emotions better and I could have just called her because she has her phone on her at all times. I then told her that I had in fact called approximately 6 times. Then she immediately went on a tirade about my bad behaviour.
She was firstly referred to me asking her to make sure that my laptop remained plugged in, should she need to move it (as she often did). I might add that I went out of my way not to appear rude when asking this. In fact I would go as far as saying I was inches away from becoming a doormat. I was disgusted in myself. I spoke softly, raised the pitch of my voice and added in a lot of wincing looks and shoulder shrugs. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how I said it. Merely the fact that had asked anything of her was shocking to her. How dare I? Never mind the fact that she would continually move my things around and I never bated an eye. She went on lecturing me for the next 5 minutes. Here’s a brief transcript; “You were very rude to me with your computer. You could have said it a lot nicer. You have to respect a person’s home. I have never experienced someone as rude as you. Your generation… (I started to tune out). I don’t know about we’re you’re from but… (again with the tuning out). You need to learn how to cope with things. I’m a nice person. I look after dogs and babies. My son went to Yale.” I’m really not joking about that last part. She really thinks because she’s a dog walker/ baby sitter it makes her a better person than everyone else. And she continually brings up the fact that her son went to Yale and owns it as if she went there herself.
Biting my tongue during this was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After all, I had to continue living with this woman and I did not want to make it harder than it already was. After this fight she started locking her bedroom door when she left the apartment. That I really enjoyed. Although happy to yell and scream at me, she was fearful that I would act out and steal from her. Quite satisfying really.
She asked me not to put any of my bags on the bed because bed bugs are an epidemic in New York and that I could get them off people on the subway. If that’s the case, aren’t they going to be also in my clothes? Just a thought. These is just some of the dozens of incidents that occurred though I feel as though any further venting will result in you tuning out.
For everyone interested in my neurological process, I did end up seeing the neurologist and subsequently getting an MRI. And yes, I was given the all clear. Hooray. It’s nice to know I spent all that money for nothing. I almost wanted there to be something wrong- not just stress. Yes yes, I know most of you told me that would be the case but when your lips go numb, you tend to get concerned.
My time at Ward Studios is over- for now at least. The teacher is starting a school in Melbourne so some of you aussies will hear more about it sooner or later. It was an amazing/ exhausting experience and I feel I am more than deserving of my holiday that is to come. Speaking of my holiday, mum arrived a few days ago and so tourist hell ensued. Subway to Battery Park- $2.25. Statue of Liberty ticket $12. Waiting in line for 2 hours in direct sunlight. Priceless.
So now it’s time for the New York rap up. Here’s a couple of things I’ve learnt during my time here:
America is filthy. Literally. There’s trash (that’s American for rubbish) everywhere and people are happy to add to it. I saw a woman sit her empty drink bottle on a parking meter with a bin only 2 metres away.
Never give an American girl an Australian tampon. I did this and scared the crap out of someone. “What is this? A bullet?” She was pretty much disgusted by the fact that we didn’t use applicators to insert them. Again I say, suck it up America.
Harlem is super cool but of course a white girl will tend to stick out. So much so that a friend of mine got followed home. She just waiting for the moment she stepped off the main street to presumable mug her. Luckily she’s smarter than that and he eventually gave up. Harlem, you live up to your reputation.
There’s a lot of busking and begging on the subway. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the troupe of young men who do no holds barred break dancing. Popping, locking, flips. Truly awesome stuff. All while hurdling through tunnels at 90 kms an hour. Which brings me to a cliché that I found undoubtedly true. New Yorkers are not phased by anything! During this impromptu breaking dancing session, one of the boys used the handrails to flip upside down, leaving his feet all which inches of a man reading. Who didn’t even flinch.
Black guys will openly sing to whatever they’re listening to on their ipods. I’m so jealous. I wonder if I could do the same thing back home but substitute rap for music theatre?
So it’s time to move on. New York was a fucking hard slog but I’m so glad that I did it. I’ve met some truly fantastic people here that I really worry I’ll never see again- you know who you are.
After I saw Next To Normal (a musical about a woman with bipolar) she asked my what I thought. I said it was good but I didn’t understand the hype. She then told me that I mustn’t have known anyone with emotional problems and that I hadn’t really experience life yet. Ok. Good to know.
After being locked out of the house (she dead bolted the door for which I don’t have a key) I saw her on the street and ran up to her rather hot and fluster for I’d been locked out for an hour. After only seconds of telling her that I’d been locked out, she started berating me for being upset and that I needed to handle my emotions better and I could have just called her because she has her phone on her at all times. I then told her that I had in fact called approximately 6 times. Then she immediately went on a tirade about my bad behaviour.
She was firstly referred to me asking her to make sure that my laptop remained plugged in, should she need to move it (as she often did). I might add that I went out of my way not to appear rude when asking this. In fact I would go as far as saying I was inches away from becoming a doormat. I was disgusted in myself. I spoke softly, raised the pitch of my voice and added in a lot of wincing looks and shoulder shrugs. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter how I said it. Merely the fact that had asked anything of her was shocking to her. How dare I? Never mind the fact that she would continually move my things around and I never bated an eye. She went on lecturing me for the next 5 minutes. Here’s a brief transcript; “You were very rude to me with your computer. You could have said it a lot nicer. You have to respect a person’s home. I have never experienced someone as rude as you. Your generation… (I started to tune out). I don’t know about we’re you’re from but… (again with the tuning out). You need to learn how to cope with things. I’m a nice person. I look after dogs and babies. My son went to Yale.” I’m really not joking about that last part. She really thinks because she’s a dog walker/ baby sitter it makes her a better person than everyone else. And she continually brings up the fact that her son went to Yale and owns it as if she went there herself.
Biting my tongue during this was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After all, I had to continue living with this woman and I did not want to make it harder than it already was. After this fight she started locking her bedroom door when she left the apartment. That I really enjoyed. Although happy to yell and scream at me, she was fearful that I would act out and steal from her. Quite satisfying really.
She asked me not to put any of my bags on the bed because bed bugs are an epidemic in New York and that I could get them off people on the subway. If that’s the case, aren’t they going to be also in my clothes? Just a thought. These is just some of the dozens of incidents that occurred though I feel as though any further venting will result in you tuning out.
For everyone interested in my neurological process, I did end up seeing the neurologist and subsequently getting an MRI. And yes, I was given the all clear. Hooray. It’s nice to know I spent all that money for nothing. I almost wanted there to be something wrong- not just stress. Yes yes, I know most of you told me that would be the case but when your lips go numb, you tend to get concerned.
My time at Ward Studios is over- for now at least. The teacher is starting a school in Melbourne so some of you aussies will hear more about it sooner or later. It was an amazing/ exhausting experience and I feel I am more than deserving of my holiday that is to come. Speaking of my holiday, mum arrived a few days ago and so tourist hell ensued. Subway to Battery Park- $2.25. Statue of Liberty ticket $12. Waiting in line for 2 hours in direct sunlight. Priceless.
So now it’s time for the New York rap up. Here’s a couple of things I’ve learnt during my time here:
America is filthy. Literally. There’s trash (that’s American for rubbish) everywhere and people are happy to add to it. I saw a woman sit her empty drink bottle on a parking meter with a bin only 2 metres away.
Never give an American girl an Australian tampon. I did this and scared the crap out of someone. “What is this? A bullet?” She was pretty much disgusted by the fact that we didn’t use applicators to insert them. Again I say, suck it up America.
Harlem is super cool but of course a white girl will tend to stick out. So much so that a friend of mine got followed home. She just waiting for the moment she stepped off the main street to presumable mug her. Luckily she’s smarter than that and he eventually gave up. Harlem, you live up to your reputation.
There’s a lot of busking and begging on the subway. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the troupe of young men who do no holds barred break dancing. Popping, locking, flips. Truly awesome stuff. All while hurdling through tunnels at 90 kms an hour. Which brings me to a cliché that I found undoubtedly true. New Yorkers are not phased by anything! During this impromptu breaking dancing session, one of the boys used the handrails to flip upside down, leaving his feet all which inches of a man reading. Who didn’t even flinch.
Black guys will openly sing to whatever they’re listening to on their ipods. I’m so jealous. I wonder if I could do the same thing back home but substitute rap for music theatre?
So it’s time to move on. New York was a fucking hard slog but I’m so glad that I did it. I’ve met some truly fantastic people here that I really worry I’ll never see again- you know who you are.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
You better have good veins
So toilets. I’ve come to realise it’s extremely important to know where your nearest toilet is at all times. First of all, never ask, “where’s the toilets?” in America. You’ll be met with a dirty look. Please use the words Bathroom, Restroom or Facilities. These words are less offensive to the American ear. Also expect to find an Employees Must Wash Hands sign in every bathroom you see. Apparently Americans need to be reminded to not be filthy pigs.
I am writing on the subject as I found myself in this very situation the other week. I was walking to meet a friend downtown on the east side, when I felt as though I had been punched in the guts. I have no idea what it was that I ate but I knew that I needed a toilet and I needed it now. Of course, neither of us had been in this neighbourhood before and weren’t exactly sure which way we were heading to get to our restaurant. After five minutes and being no closer to our destination, I started to seriously think; I may need to lie down in the street. Also, what would I do if I shat myself? It was that serious. Luckily, I saw a bar and ran inside. Keep in mind though, if I did have to end up lying down in the street, it would not even raise an eyebrow from your follow New Yorker as they stepped over you. I know this for a fact because of the following.
My fellow aussie Loren was not feeling particularly well on the way to class one morning and was made to feel worse by the rocking of the subway, as she also suffers from motion sickness. And then she vomited. On the subway. So of course she decided to get off at the next stop and vomit into the bin on the platform instead. This woman who couldn’t look further from a junkie had people continue to walk by her with not one person stopping to ask if she was ok- which she clearly wasn’t. The only looks she did get were daggers from a mother on the subway as she pulled her son in close.
Speaking of being unwell in New York (or the good ol’ US of A for that matter), I’m sure everyone is aware of their appalling health care system. I have always known that if even I could somehow get a visa to live there, I would have to do some serious thinking before accepting because of this. Now I have experienced this system first hand- lucky me.
Yesterday while sitting in a very Melbourne-style trendy café Culture (in midtown if you wanted to know and as it turns out it’s Australian owned or something) and started to feel a tingling in my hand and foot, both on the left hand side. Now I am somewhat of a hypochondriac, so when it didn’t go away I started to get quite worried. I began to think about all the stories I’d ever heard about people ignoring warning signs of strokes etc. I worked myself up on my way to class and once I got there I was told maybe I should see a GP, even if it’s only to put my mind at ease. Off to the clinic I went.
I felt like I was in a movie. Seriously. “Fill out this form and take a seat.” Once I had signed away my life, paid $125US on credit (thank you travel insurance) and remembered to reverse the day and month when writing the date, I was ready. That’s when I received the Patient’s Bill of Rights. A thick document with every last detail about your rights and records, thus preventing anyone from suing the clinic. My personal favourite was the Pain Rating Scale (pictures to come). The only upside was that I only had to wait about 10 minutes for a walk-in appointment which would never happen in Australia. But of course any one can go to the doctors and not even have to worry about paying in Australia, so it stands to reason that our waiting rooms are going to be busier.
My number was called (ok, it was actually my name) and I entered a rather small room and was told to sit on the end of the bed. No friendly office with a doctor sitting behind their desk typing your symptoms into the computer. The woman asked me about my symptoms, took my blood pressure and just as I was about to ask what she thought was going on, she told me that the doctor would be in shortly. Right. That was the nurse not the doctor. Ok, fine. She left and that’s when I noticed the sign on the wall reading; If you are left in this room for more than 15 minutes, please tell someone at Reception. Good to know that they’re in the habit of forgetting people. Then in walked the doctor and in walked the cliché. White lab coat and everything. She confirmed everything that the nurse had recorded and checked my vital signs and seemed to want to have no part in quelling my fears, instead she ordered I get blood work done and see a neurologist. A neurologist. I’ve had these symptoms for a few hours now and she’s demanding a neurologist. Jumping to conclusions much? She would have booked me an appointment right then and there except in was Friday afternoon and the neurologist would not be in until Monday. She gave me the neurologists number and said to call him on Monday. I just kept trying to think, “what would an Australian doctor do?” Even if they thought it should be acted on straight away, they calm you down. It’s never a big deal. I now get why Americans are so terrified- because their own doctors are putting the fear of god in them. After getting my blood work done by another person with a terrible bedside manner (“You better have good veins”), I was done.
Will I call the neurologist? I don’t know. But I’ve googled my symptoms and it’s currently down to low electrolyte levels, anxiety, diabetes, thyroid disorder, Lyme disease and MS. Fan-fucking-tastic.
No, I’m not paranoid and yes, of course I’m paranoid.
I am writing on the subject as I found myself in this very situation the other week. I was walking to meet a friend downtown on the east side, when I felt as though I had been punched in the guts. I have no idea what it was that I ate but I knew that I needed a toilet and I needed it now. Of course, neither of us had been in this neighbourhood before and weren’t exactly sure which way we were heading to get to our restaurant. After five minutes and being no closer to our destination, I started to seriously think; I may need to lie down in the street. Also, what would I do if I shat myself? It was that serious. Luckily, I saw a bar and ran inside. Keep in mind though, if I did have to end up lying down in the street, it would not even raise an eyebrow from your follow New Yorker as they stepped over you. I know this for a fact because of the following.
My fellow aussie Loren was not feeling particularly well on the way to class one morning and was made to feel worse by the rocking of the subway, as she also suffers from motion sickness. And then she vomited. On the subway. So of course she decided to get off at the next stop and vomit into the bin on the platform instead. This woman who couldn’t look further from a junkie had people continue to walk by her with not one person stopping to ask if she was ok- which she clearly wasn’t. The only looks she did get were daggers from a mother on the subway as she pulled her son in close.
Speaking of being unwell in New York (or the good ol’ US of A for that matter), I’m sure everyone is aware of their appalling health care system. I have always known that if even I could somehow get a visa to live there, I would have to do some serious thinking before accepting because of this. Now I have experienced this system first hand- lucky me.
Yesterday while sitting in a very Melbourne-style trendy café Culture (in midtown if you wanted to know and as it turns out it’s Australian owned or something) and started to feel a tingling in my hand and foot, both on the left hand side. Now I am somewhat of a hypochondriac, so when it didn’t go away I started to get quite worried. I began to think about all the stories I’d ever heard about people ignoring warning signs of strokes etc. I worked myself up on my way to class and once I got there I was told maybe I should see a GP, even if it’s only to put my mind at ease. Off to the clinic I went.
I felt like I was in a movie. Seriously. “Fill out this form and take a seat.” Once I had signed away my life, paid $125US on credit (thank you travel insurance) and remembered to reverse the day and month when writing the date, I was ready. That’s when I received the Patient’s Bill of Rights. A thick document with every last detail about your rights and records, thus preventing anyone from suing the clinic. My personal favourite was the Pain Rating Scale (pictures to come). The only upside was that I only had to wait about 10 minutes for a walk-in appointment which would never happen in Australia. But of course any one can go to the doctors and not even have to worry about paying in Australia, so it stands to reason that our waiting rooms are going to be busier.
My number was called (ok, it was actually my name) and I entered a rather small room and was told to sit on the end of the bed. No friendly office with a doctor sitting behind their desk typing your symptoms into the computer. The woman asked me about my symptoms, took my blood pressure and just as I was about to ask what she thought was going on, she told me that the doctor would be in shortly. Right. That was the nurse not the doctor. Ok, fine. She left and that’s when I noticed the sign on the wall reading; If you are left in this room for more than 15 minutes, please tell someone at Reception. Good to know that they’re in the habit of forgetting people. Then in walked the doctor and in walked the cliché. White lab coat and everything. She confirmed everything that the nurse had recorded and checked my vital signs and seemed to want to have no part in quelling my fears, instead she ordered I get blood work done and see a neurologist. A neurologist. I’ve had these symptoms for a few hours now and she’s demanding a neurologist. Jumping to conclusions much? She would have booked me an appointment right then and there except in was Friday afternoon and the neurologist would not be in until Monday. She gave me the neurologists number and said to call him on Monday. I just kept trying to think, “what would an Australian doctor do?” Even if they thought it should be acted on straight away, they calm you down. It’s never a big deal. I now get why Americans are so terrified- because their own doctors are putting the fear of god in them. After getting my blood work done by another person with a terrible bedside manner (“You better have good veins”), I was done.
Will I call the neurologist? I don’t know. But I’ve googled my symptoms and it’s currently down to low electrolyte levels, anxiety, diabetes, thyroid disorder, Lyme disease and MS. Fan-fucking-tastic.
No, I’m not paranoid and yes, of course I’m paranoid.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
She thinks it's strange out here
New York, I have some questions:
Why is there a wire rack in the microwave? I was told as a child never to put any metal of any sort in the microwave, yet there it is. Hanging out like it belongs there. I’m sure there are some of you laughing at me because they’re probably readily available back home but I have never seen them before.
Still in the kitchen, what’s with the old school kettle on the stove? Where I’m doing classes at the moment, the teacher made a point of saying “and we have an electric tea kettle for you aussies”. She laughed like we were so wacky for a having an electric kettle. Keep up with the times New York. Ps. Betamax says ‘hi’.
Your food is weird. Not so much of a question as a statement but no less true. Although I still haven’t had a huge amount of food related experience, I believe this opinion will hardly change. The other night I was out for dinner and ordered a salad that sounded very yum and very Melbourne. It had baked pear, blue cheese and walnuts. Sounded amazing. Upon being presented with the food I was a little overwhelmed. It came out looking like every colour of the rainbow had exploded on my plate. I wish you could have seen it. This over garnished mess left me gob smacked. First of all, the way the pear was presented made it look as though the skin was that of a chicken. Not cool. The cheese came in these little fried packages looking more like some kind of chicken kiev that you buy from the freezer. And the walnuts were sweet, the sweetest thing on the plate in fact. Knowing that Americans like a more of a sauce than a dressing to accompany their salad, I ordered balsamic vinegar thinking that would be safe. Wrong again. Although still by far the best choice, even the balsamic was far thicker than any balsamic I’ve ever seen at home. It ended up tasting ok but a reminder to not go to New York expecting Melbourne’s food. Even shopping at the supermarket is an experience. Initially I was excited because the prices are far cheaper than our own. But on further inspection, while all your usual foods appear to be right there in front of you, they’re in fact not. Just standing in the cheese section left me contemplating if I wanted the orange cheese or the orange cheese? Thank god for Whole Foods supermarket which is the uppity supermarket for the rich. Which strangely enough equates to our normal Coles/ Safeway prices. Are we being ripped off back home? Probably. But Whole Foods is a joyous place where everything makes sense and the cheese is plentiful (and yellow as god intended).
Ok, so not really a lot of questions but I'll get to more later. Now for the people of New York.
There are two types of people in New York. Crazy people and overly talkative people. Now it gets tricky cos some people are both crazy and over talkative. And over talkative people can be both lovely and rude. I’m lucky enough to have experienced both.
I’ve talked to more strangers in 1 week in New York than I have living seven years in Melbourne. And I’m not even talking about the ones who are trying to pick you up. I was looking displeased whilst shopping in Urban Outfitters when a large man told me very sweetly “It’s fine. You’ll find something. Don’t stress.” I also had a great conversation with a flaming homosexual at Whole Foods about that fact that he didn’t know that they don’t wash spinach leaves before putting them out and had been eating them unwashed for years. Then there’s the other side of the overly talkative: The Rude. I was walking down escalator to the subway when I stopped behind a couple. The man then told his partner to move to one side because some people will want to walk down. Let me be clear that I didn’t ask him to move. I was happy to wait. But since he moved, I continued past only to hear him say “take the stairs if you want to walk down the escalator” and he continued to bitch about me as I walked on. Have a cry, New York.
Last but not least we have: The Crazy. On my first trip to Brooklyn the other day, I walked past an older woman coming out on to her stoop. Her look was fantastic. Board shorts, holey black sports bra, long reddy hair with just a few rollers on the top of her head- and she was holding a cat. “She thinks it’s strange out here”. That’s right, she was speaking on behalf of her cat. The best part (or should I say the worst part) was that she had an Australian accent. That’s right. Maybe all of our crazies come to New York. Or maybe New York makes you nuts. Maybe the cat has all the answers.
Why is there a wire rack in the microwave? I was told as a child never to put any metal of any sort in the microwave, yet there it is. Hanging out like it belongs there. I’m sure there are some of you laughing at me because they’re probably readily available back home but I have never seen them before.
Still in the kitchen, what’s with the old school kettle on the stove? Where I’m doing classes at the moment, the teacher made a point of saying “and we have an electric tea kettle for you aussies”. She laughed like we were so wacky for a having an electric kettle. Keep up with the times New York. Ps. Betamax says ‘hi’.
Your food is weird. Not so much of a question as a statement but no less true. Although I still haven’t had a huge amount of food related experience, I believe this opinion will hardly change. The other night I was out for dinner and ordered a salad that sounded very yum and very Melbourne. It had baked pear, blue cheese and walnuts. Sounded amazing. Upon being presented with the food I was a little overwhelmed. It came out looking like every colour of the rainbow had exploded on my plate. I wish you could have seen it. This over garnished mess left me gob smacked. First of all, the way the pear was presented made it look as though the skin was that of a chicken. Not cool. The cheese came in these little fried packages looking more like some kind of chicken kiev that you buy from the freezer. And the walnuts were sweet, the sweetest thing on the plate in fact. Knowing that Americans like a more of a sauce than a dressing to accompany their salad, I ordered balsamic vinegar thinking that would be safe. Wrong again. Although still by far the best choice, even the balsamic was far thicker than any balsamic I’ve ever seen at home. It ended up tasting ok but a reminder to not go to New York expecting Melbourne’s food. Even shopping at the supermarket is an experience. Initially I was excited because the prices are far cheaper than our own. But on further inspection, while all your usual foods appear to be right there in front of you, they’re in fact not. Just standing in the cheese section left me contemplating if I wanted the orange cheese or the orange cheese? Thank god for Whole Foods supermarket which is the uppity supermarket for the rich. Which strangely enough equates to our normal Coles/ Safeway prices. Are we being ripped off back home? Probably. But Whole Foods is a joyous place where everything makes sense and the cheese is plentiful (and yellow as god intended).
Ok, so not really a lot of questions but I'll get to more later. Now for the people of New York.
There are two types of people in New York. Crazy people and overly talkative people. Now it gets tricky cos some people are both crazy and over talkative. And over talkative people can be both lovely and rude. I’m lucky enough to have experienced both.
I’ve talked to more strangers in 1 week in New York than I have living seven years in Melbourne. And I’m not even talking about the ones who are trying to pick you up. I was looking displeased whilst shopping in Urban Outfitters when a large man told me very sweetly “It’s fine. You’ll find something. Don’t stress.” I also had a great conversation with a flaming homosexual at Whole Foods about that fact that he didn’t know that they don’t wash spinach leaves before putting them out and had been eating them unwashed for years. Then there’s the other side of the overly talkative: The Rude. I was walking down escalator to the subway when I stopped behind a couple. The man then told his partner to move to one side because some people will want to walk down. Let me be clear that I didn’t ask him to move. I was happy to wait. But since he moved, I continued past only to hear him say “take the stairs if you want to walk down the escalator” and he continued to bitch about me as I walked on. Have a cry, New York.
Last but not least we have: The Crazy. On my first trip to Brooklyn the other day, I walked past an older woman coming out on to her stoop. Her look was fantastic. Board shorts, holey black sports bra, long reddy hair with just a few rollers on the top of her head- and she was holding a cat. “She thinks it’s strange out here”. That’s right, she was speaking on behalf of her cat. The best part (or should I say the worst part) was that she had an Australian accent. That’s right. Maybe all of our crazies come to New York. Or maybe New York makes you nuts. Maybe the cat has all the answers.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
On the subway home, I put my ipod on shuffle, wanting some music for the first time since being here. It wasn’t until just prior to the chorus that I realised the song was Empire State of Mind. If any were watching me, they would have seen me grimacing like a fool. I even looked out the window (we happen to just come out from underground a moment before) and saw a beautiful view of the river. And I teared up. Yep, what a geek. I put it down to the jetlag. Welcome to New York.
First impressions of New York this time around are generally lovely. When I told my shuttle bus driver that I didn’t know the person whom I was staying with, he took $15 off the price and waited until I was safely inside (which was about 5 mins). Then there’s Danny whom I met on the street. On asking me if the A train was running express, he about to leave when I said something like “and it’s only my first day here”, which made him stop and chat to me about where I was from and what I was doing here. He ended up giving me his number and told me to call him if I wanted a personal tour guide. I made very sure to tell him that I didn’t have a number yet, despite getting one only hours earlier. Sounds sleazy but really wasn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna call him though.
I’m staying in Washington Heights or “Little Dominica” as it’s affectionately called. Which is great because everyone in Little Dominica thinks I’m smoking hot! That’s right. I’m the only white woman for miles. I got so many “hello beautiful lady” and a lot of things in Spanish which of course I couldn’t understand a word of. Maybe they weren’t calling me beautiful after all…
Also, I’ve decided I may well speak in an American accent when purchasing food as I'm pretty sure I got ripped out by the hotdog vendor. The way he said $5 was like a question. $5? Like “can I get away with it?” Yes, clearly you can.
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