A little reflection

This is my first Christmas home in 4 years. The last time I was here my aunt was dying and little did I know, that would be the last time I saw her. It was also the thing that kept me from coming home again. How would it be the same without her here.

So last September I came for a film festival and had a couple cries but made it through. Now it's Christmas. I moaned about the cost and time it took to come home and I wondered if it would really be worth it even though I knew it would. Even though I needed to have some time for myself.

When you're so far away in another country, with another life, you think nothing will change. My last post talked about how things change. But it doesn't talk about how people won't always be there.

Going home: part 2

Travelling back home, I realize the ride into a place gives you a sense of its character, its growth and its change. Even after being deemed a City in Bloom and advertising it, it seems that the garden centre that sat just off the highway has disappeared. Even thirty years of regular customers can’t stop progress when the city council decides a ring road is more important than a plant store. For me, it was a marker for a turn off down to Ellerslie Road that housed a school and rows of baseball diamonds. That is where I spent my teenage summers 2 times in the week and once on Sundays with families who treated beer and baseball as a religion.

Going home: part 1

One spring, in between one job ending and the other beginning, there’s a chance to go home. My sister’s up for an award and my brother has a birthday planned. I have no excuses not to go so before I know it, the travel agency is giving me a printed itinerary and they wish me a happy trip. As the plane leaves the terminal at Heathrow, I almost cry, my head leaning on the window to watch the gentle roll of green, the thatched cottages and the tiny estates surrounding each house as the world fades into clouds. England is where my life is and though my return ticket is nestled in my bag, it feels like I’m never coming back. As if by going home, I’m regressing and will somehow lose the worldliness I’ve gained.

Stuck in the middle of news: part 2

It wasn’t until the bombings on the 7th of July, 2005 in London that being in a different country and being so far away from home became a bigger issue to me and my loved ones.

I realized that with the events that occurred within those 36 hours in July that I didn't mail home enough. Who will think something happened to me? Will someone tell them? Would anyone think to ask? But this type of tragedy sparks contact and suddenly you're hearing from people you haven't spoken to in years - you're in Rehab? I'm sure I'd love to wave at seagulls in the Pacific. Wow-3 kids in 3 years? All by surrogate mums? And you haven't bathed in all that time? Crazy...

Stuck in the middle of news: part 1

I like to imagine that I’m quite political – can’t abide social wrongs, want politicians in power that can make a difference. If I was a posh Englishman from decades passed, I’d spend nights in my gentlemen’s club with a fine glass of port and discuss the finer points of political systems and how we must strive to improve them. But alas I’m not, and though I get into debates, I find myself stuck between parties and countries. These past few months marked another Canadian election. I’m sorry to say, I don’t remember when the last one was, but according to Google it was 2006. But this year marked a very different feel amongst the voters I know and that was the disdain for the current Prime Minister, Steve Harper.

A sporting life: part 3

Amongst the credit crunch and job worries, came the American election. I knew it was coming but didn’t bother to think what I’d be doing when it actually happened. The day before the election, a friend of mine asks if I want to pull an all-nighter to witness the historic event. I realized no matter which way the polls would go, it will be a momentous occasion – either America’s first black president will be in the white House or America’s first woman VP. I think the first would be a far better choice but whatever the results, it was a moment in history that I wanted to be a part of.

11 pm. November 4th. Election night. I’m in a warehouse in Stoke Newington in North London watching multi-screen projections of the election coverage. My friend’s boyfriend announces the invention of a game that involves drinking champagne for every swing state Obama claims and a shot of Whiskey for McCain, as if whiskey is the only thing Republicans drink. Having no whiskey we decide champagne would be enough, and settle in.

The atmosphere is electric. I make a “CANUCKS FOR OBAMA” T-shirt with a black Sharpie and a white shirt and wear it with pride as we count down the closing of polls across the states. Sometime after 4 we know he’s won. Obama has won. The room explodes as people jump up and down. We’re hugging and kissing and I’m so overcome that I cry in this room full of strangers. History was made in that moment and by just watching it, halfway across the world, we were part of it. For once our headlines matched those back home . For once it wasn’t tragedy that filled the front pages but stories of joy. Maybe it won’t last but at least, for one day, the world had hope.

A sporting life: part 2

Back to the game at hand. Valentine’s. Arsenal Stadium. We’re sat behind the goal, deep amongst the Arsenal supporters, and there is buzz, a hum of voices. The pitch is so green it looks like Astroturf but I’m assured by my mate that it’s real. Very real. Real specialist football grass. One person not far from me begins to chant and then the rest follow. I try to follow the words and soon I’m joining in:

Arsenal till I die,
I'm Arsenal till I die
I know I am,
I'm sure I am,
I'm Arsenal till I die...

The air is heavy with anticipation. It’s like the day we ran to the pub to watch England in one of the World Cup matches. I was new to the Country and was caught up in ‘World Cup Fever’ for the first time. I worked in a tiny office of four and two of us were glued to the radio. Every time there was a yell, a shout, an ooo or aahh, we twitched, leaned closer and ignored our computer screens. There was 15 minutes left till the end of the match. The game was tied or at least felt like it. From across the room our Kiwi boss gave out a huge sigh and said – go to the pub. Grins plastering our faces, we ran down the street at full tilt and crammed our bodies into the overflowing pub on the corner. All eyes were on the match, our bodies moved as one as we jumped up and down, chanting our boys to victory. The floor vibrated so hard that it felt like we’d all go through the floor but we kept jumping anyway. And then it happened. We win. We’re on to the next round and in that moment, we’re all sure this is our year for the cup.

But this game at Arsenal stadium is just another day. Just another match. The team hits the pitch running and the stands explode with horns and chants and songs. Thierry Henry leads the pack. And even as they pull ahead 2, then 3, then 4 goals, we’re at the edge of our seats. ‘Com’on lad. Com’on’ the man shouts out beside me. Behind me a father points out the players on the field, glowing with pride as his eight year old can call them by name and follow the game without whinging for more coke or overpriced chips. And as the game ends 5 to 1, we’re all on our feet, chanting, singing, screaming. We’re all in love with those men in red, our boys, they’ve done it. My face hurts from smiling. I could hug everyone. I’m on the top of the world.

This football drug was astounding. It made sense then why losing could be so hard, why the day I stood outside Chelsea stadium handing out fliers for ringtones, the day they lost the championship finals, why there were those tears in men’s eyes. Why they told me to sod off and I knew I didn’t belong there. The mix of sadness and anger bubbling under the surface made the air heavy. Made me want to join them, down drink after drink until I couldn’t feel anymore or crawl under duvets and wish for sleep to take me over until the next season started and we could begin again.

Maybe people feel the same in Canada about their hockey, the CFL, but I’ve never seen it. Perhaps it’s because you don’t get the hordes of spectators filling the street, transferring their feelings from the pitch into the mob gathering outside. Maybe, as everyone leaves the stadium, if you could look into those Canadian cars going home, you too could find the joy or devastation of the game nestled in the front seat behind the wheel. Radios turned to post game talks and dreams of the next match, the next win.

A sporting life: part 1

It wasn’t until I lived in England that I saw my first professional football game. It was Arsenal verses Crystal Palace in the old Arsenal Stadium. Valentine’s Day. I’m with two of my mates and a client of mine who got us the tickets. The air is electric. We are deep in Arsenal territory, surrounded by red. Quite fitting for a 14th of February game.

On the opposite side of the pitch is a small strip of blue bodies separated from the rest of the fans – the Crystal Palace supporters. I’m baffled by this. In Canada, I’ve never remembered fans segregated from each other. But this is England and this is football. A new world of sport – team spirit surpasses playground banter of ‘my team is better than your team – na na na na na na,’ and spills into immense pride. A slight to your team is like a slight to your family, your worth and your place on the earth.

Too often with football, banter becomes violence, rival fans your enemy. Now the pride thing I understand. But this segregation of fans, the fear of hooligans, I’ve never experienced nor even heard of before England became home. But why this Phenomenon? Why here? I think it all boils down to the game and what happens on the pitch.

American and Canadian Football, Hockey, Rugby, they all have lots of violence. Lots and lots. There’s tackles and punches, bashes into boards – those players don’t end up being great lookers by the end of their careers unless they’re very very lucky or like Gretzky, have a bruiser like Messier look after them. But in football here, the violence is subtle. If you know one of the forwards has had a knee injury, a well-placed ‘accidental’ kick wouldn’t go amiss. The fans cry foul but of course the referee didn’t see and the cameras were elsewhere. A game full of small wrong doings and with no final catharsis on the pitch, no clash of fists or faces smashed into the pitch, resentment grows in the guts of the fans. Without the release, they’re left to carry it out into the night to take it out on the opponents they think wronged their team. As the players aren’t usually readily available, the other fans will have to do.

If football had more contact and could give the spectators more of a release like Aristotle says all good shows must, perhaps there would be less violence amongst the fans. Of course this is only a theory. I don’t expect anyone to change a major world-wide sport just to test my idea but it’s worth thinking about.

Why I'm here instead of there: part 2

April I had the call. She was doing poorly and as I tried to figure out how to get home to see her, she was taken to the hospital and in less than a day, she was gone. So here I am half a world away and there was nothing I could do but listen to my family’s recollections of standing around her bed saying goodbye. I wish I had my own memories of it but that is part of the price of choosing to emigrate to a country five time zones away. Though I have great friends who are there in a crisis or when I want a little birthday boogie but it’s not the same as the easy rapport of family who carry with them the same history as you. I know everyone doesn’t have a great relationship with their family and I definitely have lengthy stories of the ups and downs of our complicated one but they are the first people you look to when you’re missing home. For me, it’s not the place I miss but the people. If I could just transport them over here, it would be much easier. It’s a bit selfish of me as they all have lives over there, just as I have one here but it would suit me better if they could be installed down the road and on the days I didn’t want to see them, I could whisk them back. If only they’d hurry up and invent teleporting. It would make visiting much quicker, save on our carbon footprint, and relieve our worries of buying tickets off charter companies in case they go bust like my favourite airline provider ZOOM just did.

Going home for the holidays is so expensive that I rarely go. So last year (as one of my sisters, Becky, was living here) we planned to have Christmas together and our other sister, Sarah, decided to join us from Canada. A Taylor sister Christmas. Cameras at the ready, Becky and I descended on Heathrow the 24th of December to pick up our Christmas guest. As she met us in arrivals, Sarah informed us that she bumped into someone on the plane who knew me and wanted to say hi. I thought a few minutes more wouldn’t hurt so we waited.

Suddenly Sarah pointed and shouted “there they are.” I turned, curious to see if I’d recognize any faces in the crowd and instead of a random friend, I was looking at my mum, step dad and brother who flew to england as a surprise. I was in shock as I cried and clung to my family. I couldn’t believe – my mum – here. But it wasn’t just another plane ride for another person in this case – my mom hadn’t flown in almost 25 years. But she was here. For us. Its things like that that make you appreciate and truly understand how much you love them.

Why I'm here instead of there: part 1

Often when I meet people, I get mistaken for an American. I don’t mind so much but the person who made the error gets extremely apologetic about the mistaken nationality. As I’m from the prairies, I think I sound like those in the American Mid-West – how would they know the difference if I can’t always?

Other than this first question – “ Where in America are you from?” , the second most asked question is “why would you move here and when are you going home?” I don’t think they are trying to get rid of me but can’t seem to imagine why anyone would give up the pristine streets and wildlife of Canada. Now this is not meant as a slam on my own country but I live in LONDON. There is a lot that goes on here. More than a lot. Granted, I don’t think London is the 24 hour culture it makes itself out to be. Tubes shut by midnight, most pubs still stop serving at 11 despite the new 24 hour drinking bill put into effect and there are no 24 hour gyms, diners, coffee shops, and restaurants that North America has. The upside of living in a place like Alberta with its regular influx of truckers through your town means you can get breakfast whenever your heart desires. 3 am after dancing used to be a popular time for me and my friends.

But other than the 4 am fry-ups I seem to be missing, London is chock full of stuff to do. There are 43 theatres in central London alone and then there are the cinemas and galleries, concerts and sporting events. – it’s a long list I can barely keep track of. Then there’s the architecture. There are buildings here older than my own country. I crane my neck on a regular occasion and I still get that cheesy warm fuzzy feeling every time I cross the Thames as I make my way to the modernized Southbank, St. Paul’s nestled amongst the classical architecture to the North, a long row of patchwork concrete buildings to the south.

Most of all I love the people. Sitting in a coffee shop in the centre of town and it’s a virtual UN in relaxed coffee mode. The accents and foreign phrases hang thick in the air – Italian, French, German, Mandarin, Bengali. In my time here, I’ve met so many people from around the world that I never expected to meet when I lived in Alberta.

The only problem with living so far from home is that you don’t get the family time you crave (and are sometimes annoyed with) that you can get when you live nearby. I’d like to think if I was at home, I’d be over on Sunday afternoons having food Grandma used to be good at cooking but has lost the touch of now that her sense of timing has decreased and her forgetfulness has increased. I’d be the one holding the camera for my brother’s stage debut as the dog in Peter Pan as I try not to laugh too much and shake the camera. And I’d be there when my sister’s new crush ends in a break-up and she needs hugs, tea and a shot or two of Jack Daniels.

Instead, we communicate in zeros and ones in the world of MSN messenger, phone calls left for the announcement of bad news or birthday greetings. I think this is why I look to my friends and my relationships for some local sense of family. My good friend Lindsay allowed me two Christmases with her in Leicester, in the middle of England. Her mum learned what I could and couldn’t eat concocting vegan sausage rolls from scratch. I made them home-made perogies like we had every holiday and made friends with their cats after a healthy double dose of allergy meds. We played Trivial Pursuit, watched the standard Television Christmas specials that are on here every year and they didn’t say anything when I disappeared upstairs to wish my family a Merry Christmas as I had a little cry because I missed them so much.

Missing this element of family hit me the most in the last year or so as my aunt was diagnosed with cancer. I had already planned to be home to visit for Christmas for the first time in five years so when we found out she was terminal in November, it was also a chance to see her for what may have been the last time. I can still remember our last night together...

The couch is crowded with cousins so I lie on the floor by her feet. The oxygen pump works double time as she gasps each breath, no one asking if everything is alright anymore as we know the answer will always be no. Dinner eaten, we put on Labyrinth, her favourite film. She loves David Bowie even in tights and I laugh enough for the both of us as heads bob off Henson Creations and worms talk in funny British accents.

The film seems too short just like the days and the moments she’s not sleeping become our living room features. My time at home is purgatory as I use those moments there as a waiting game for when I can return as if being here will change something, holding her hand a lifeline.

The strange and wonderful world of food: part 2

Fast forward to Vancouver, I’m going to school seven days a week and being a student, meat’s a luxury I can rarely afford. Instead I live off brussel sprouts and perogies – a Ukrainian dumpling Canadian students everywhere have a love affair with. I probably had more variety to my diet than that but I can’t remember what it could be. That is until I moved in with a vegan chef.

She opened my eyes to a new, animal-free way of eating and I felt amazing. Meat always left me feeling a bit dirty but not anymore, not with this veggie-tastic way of eating. It’s easier to be a hard core vegan in Vancouver as it’s an expected way of being. So there I was, on the Vegan path and then I found myself in England.

Now I don’t use the title of Vegan as it carries with it connotations and choices I’ve not made and I don’t want to seem hypocritical. I wear leather. I wear wool. I use honey on occasion. I like animals but don’t LOVE them. The list is long of all the food and product rules I’m breaking if called vegan so I say strict vegetarian. What makes this choice even harder is that I have a few unusual allergies. Lettuce, spinach and celery. It’s a source of amusement for many. “A vegetarian allergic to salad? You don’t know what you’re missing.” In fact I do! I dream of salad – on more than one occasion I’ve woken up after spending my REM sleep time tucking into a large green salad with all the fixings. I want to cry when I realize it’s not real...

So with these restrictions installed, I embarked upon the restaurants of London. There is a lot said about the bland and boring British diet. In London and the rest of the large cities in the UK (and some of the small ones too), I am thrilled to say there is a huge range of restaurants serving food from around the world. Even tiny shops will have a range of hummuses so I’ll never be left completely hungry. I do have to say when travelling, this option can wear thin as three days of hummus on the trot is not something I’d normally choose to do. But overall, it’s not too bad Being that I’m not a real vegan, there is always something I can eat.

Unfortunately though, it is rare that I have a choice in what it is I can eat when out especially a healthy one as I can’t have salad. British pubs on a whole are usually the worst for me. And French food? I don’t even bother. I will have to make an exception to the pub comment with an odd admission – Lloyd’s and Wetherspoons – though not known for their gastronomical delights – give me at least 3 or 4 choices. Hallelujah for them...and for me! But the number of times I’ve been out and had to have a selection of bland side dishes as a main, would surpass all the fingers on my hand.

The first time I had to do this, I was with my friend’s parents who were over from Canada. They wanted to go to Argus Steak House so go there we did. I shouldn’t have been surprised that there would be nothing for me but there really was nothing. This experience happened once in Calgary when I was left eating a cold Chinese Takeaway in the car before joining the rest of my friends in a house of meat, meat and more meat. But that was Calgary and this was the metropolises of London. And in the restaurant with my friend’s parents, I scanned the menu and the only option was side dishes of boiled potatoes, tomatoes, and broccoli at almost £4 each,

I didn’t want to offend my friend’s dad by ordering nothing so I went for it. Our dishes appeared and three small bowls were sat in front of me. A tomato cut in half, three boiled new potatoes and a few broccoli florets. All for the low price of £12. Amongst the medium rare steaks gracing the table, my mini meal was by far the most expensive. Her Dad paid saying he should take me out more often as veggies ate cheap. I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

The strange and wonderful world of food: part 1

Living in a new country, you are granted a new pass for foods unexplored and names you’ve never heard creep into your vocabulary. When I first moved here, my boyfriend at the time wondered aloud what to have for tea. I glibly responded “Tea” not realizing until he laughed at my naivety that tea was another name for dinner. He also gave me a taste for a chip butty – chips in a roll with ketchup. Seven years ago I would have grimaced at the thought of eating that but since then have converted many a Canadian to the joys of fried carbs with more carbs. With a kebab shop on every corner, it’s an easy thing to find and something you’d never get at home.

I’m most fascinated though with all the names for bread – we call bread rolls buns in Canada whereas buns here are sweet things. Then there’s cob, bap, butty, barm – all names for the same thing whose use can betray where you come from. Suddenly there’s a new vocabulary of foods known by one name here and another at home. Ask for zucchini or eggplant and shop assistant’s eyes look at you blankly. But say courgette or aubergine and everything becomes magically clear.

Now I must confess, I love food. Love, love, love it and being in England, I’ve got a whole new range of food I eat...kinda. Some people who know me may be surprised to hear this as I’m a strict vegetarian – kinda like a vegan but not too overzealous. To those in question, a vegetarian, especially one who doesn’t do dairy and cheese and cream and eggs, etc., can’t love food let alone a range of it only because I don’t eat most of what THEY love. “Live without bacon sarnies and full fat fry-ups? Sunday roast or proper Christmas dinner? Gasp, shock and horror! It’s if the world will end without those food groups – or at least mine will.

I didn’t start out this way. I was born to omnivore parents in the heart of Alberta, a place known as much for its beef as its oil. There are more bumper stickers than I can count that say “I LOVE Alberta Beef” and how could you not? We didn’t grow up with a lot of money so other than Christmas, when we got all the food we couldn’t afford to eat the rest of the year, we had cheaper meat choices and mechanically prepared frozen vegetables gracing our table. As a side note, I blame my mom’s overzealous use of these veggies in all our meals for my current aversion to square shaped carrots and sweet corn.

Anyway, it wasn’t until I was twenty and living with a boyfriend that my true experience with meat began. He had an unfortunate (and deadly) allergy to chicken, fish and turkey so ours became a red meat house. Over the next year I ate more red meat then I’d ever had in my entire life – I gained a good stone and a half and didn’t feel my best by any means. One break up later and meat once again became a casual thing but now my taste for it was gone.

Learning After Effects at Barcamp London 8

Though I've been editing film on Premiere Pro for the past 2 years, I've never used After effects before. So when I saw an After Effects for beginners session on at Barcamp London 8, I jumped at the chance to find out more.

Emma ran the session. She explained that animation, graphics, and rich media is handled better in after effects. Excitedly, you can bring in video to colour correct. I wish I looked into this earlier.

It is great if you are using other adobe software as it's compatable. You can bring in drawings from illustrator, and cut video from premier. When you look at the set up of After effects, it's also similar visually. To me this would make it even easy to use.

Here are a few tips/ functionalities that Emma went through:

• When importing, footage flattens whole document, composition brings in layers.


• Placed higher up in the order, the file becomes the top layer


• Every layer has a transform layer underneath: anchor point, positions, scale, rotation and opacity.


• Pan behind tool allows you to move anchor point.


• All compostitions can have different settings within the project.


• Effects panel: Alot of effects are generative and you will lose what you had on that layer if you add it directly to the layer. You need to create a new blank layer as a place holder. - effects control panel opens


• When in the effects panel, the conductivity state moves the animation using keyframes.


• You can also use Moca to select an area and it will tell how selection is moving throughout the clip.

I'm definitely going to try to use this for my next project. Thanks Emma for getting me thinking about this and thanks Barcamp London 8!

Glengarry Glen Ross and the American Dream

First world nations operate in a realm where capitalism is the main building block on which the society functions, no country more so than America. In constant pursuit of the American Dream, the ultimate capitalist ideal where money equates success and happiness, most of the nation lives in perpetual poverty. David Mamet easily constructs a microcosm of America and the idea of the American dream in Glengarry Glen Ross. Set in the cutthroat world of real estate, Glengarry Glen Ross shows four salesmen struggling to make it to the top of the board during the ultimate sales competition. The winner takes home a Cadillac, the automotive representation of success; second place gets a set of steak knives while the other two are fired. , In this pressure cooker environment, David Mamet shows that the American system of capitalism is innately divisive, dishonest and destructive.

To show the divisive nature of capitalism, Mamet builds it into the setting itself. He blurs the lines between the world of business and pleasure by setting the first half of the play in a restaurant and the other half within the office itself. The character’s use of language remains unchanged between the settings and within the context of their conversations. By doing this, the reader can see that there is no boundary between the work environment and what could be deemed as down-time. In Act I, scene iii, we see Roma find a customer (or mark as they call them) in the restaurant itself. This shows that even when trying to maintain a sanctuary from the daily grind, i.e. having a private meal, a person can be touched by business/ capitalism. In this world created by Mamet, business is life and the characters are defined by their jobs. This is further compounded by the use of the sales pitch within their dialogue. Whether it be to gain leads (Act I, Scene i), to commit a crime (Act I, scene ii) or to actually make the sale (Act I, scene iii), the characters are using sales techniques to try to get what they want. This shows the disruptive nature their jobs have within the rest of their lives and in fact, within themselves.

The story of this play revolves around a company which sells non-existent land. This lays the groundwork for the dishonest nature of the characters within it. These men will do anything they can in order to make the sale. In Act II, Roma’s big sale to Linck begins to unravel when Linck comes to the office demanding his money back. To keep the sale, Levene fictionally becomes a very important client and role plays to help Roma keep the deal. This tag team effect has the flavour of being well practised, as they quickly take visual cues off each other and without much prelude, Lavene was able to play his role effectively. This shows that this dishonest behaviour is often employed by these characters in order to convince suspecting clients to stay in the game. This is an extension of the sales pitch where they will say or do anything to make the sale, even if it is impossible. For instance, in Act I, Scene I, Lavene and Williamson agree on a price of $50 per lead, but when asked for the money, Lavene doesn’t actually have it. With the loss of honesty, you have the loss or destruction of the moral code that is meant to dictate our actions.

Ultimately, Glengarry Glen Ross revolves around destruction. David Mamet winds this concept throughout the dialogue and the setting itself. In Act I, scene i, Lavene shows the lack of teamwork and the disregard of friendship evident when pressured to sell his way into getting premium leads from Williamson. Though he talks of needing to build the organisation, Lavene says “It’s me. It isn’t fucking Moss. Due respect, he’s an order taker, John. He talks, he talks a good game, look at the board and it’s me John. It’s me.” The ultimate destruction comes at the end of the play between these two same characters, when Levene reveals that he stole the leads from the office the night before with Moss as the accomplice. Ironically this confession comes from Levene’s own slip up when spieling to Williamson about knowing your place within the company. “Don’t/….” Therefore his own sales pitch resulted in his downfall. As a reader, we are aware that he went for Moss’s own sales pitch to commit the crime which we are to assume was the same as was used on Aaronow. This is one further illustration that the pitch is geared toward the mark and that there is no certainty in anything that is said. Even though Lavene goes off on Moss on the top of the play, we find out by the end that they are partners. It is only at this moment that we see that the sales pitch will no longer work as Williamson reports Lavene to the police. Mamet further shows the destructive nature of capitalism in Act II when we are faced with an office that has been ramshackled during the theft of the leads. To Williamson, who maintains the office, this destruction is felt more than the actual loss of leads and represents the level of viciousness the characters have come to. In the world that Mamet has created, when even the office no longer maintains sanctity from the downward spiral of destruction it shows the characters will do whatever it takes to make it, even if it means destroying itself.

On the face of Glengarry Glen Ross, one could easily take it to be a story of greed and the struggle for power amongst a group of success hungry men. But in even saying that, one can see the correlation between that and the struggle that is on-going in America. In its capitalist environment, the people have to do whatever they can to survive, just as the characters in this play do. Mamet has shown that ultimately all of this search for the efferial American Dream will lead to destruction just as Levene faces when he confesses to committing the ultimate crime of not only stealing from his provider but by messing up the office which in effect is the thing that defines his existence. In a world where business is everything, this means a lot. It would mean the destruction of its very existence.

How I ended up on a small island: part 2

When I moved to England, I realized I didn’t want to be another one of the horde of ex-pats who gravitate towards each other to reminisce about how much better their home country is. In the UK, no one knows the difference between Alberta and Ontario so you can sink into the description of being a Canadian, a name that spreads across a vastness of diversity that no one could understand unless they’ve been there.

I’d never wanted to go to England. I saw the occasional 10 year old episode of Coronation Street, met stuffy British ex-pats that collected spoons and Royal Family china so I let that colour my idea of England. If that’s what it was like, I didn’t want to go there. It was a small island that hung on the edge of Europe. A place not included in any of my travel itineraries. So how did I end up here?

About 6 and a half years ago I was checking on cheap flights to go back home to Edmonton from Vancouver. Skimming through a student travel centre site, I noticed a little trivia contest. Enter and win it said. You could be on your way to an adventure of a lifetime it screamed. Win this and you get a Student Work Abroad Programme registration to the UK for absolutely free! This means I could get a two year working holiday visa (only available to us in the commonwealth) alongside a few other helpful bits like a few nights in a youth hostel and advice from the British Universities North America Club during my stay.

Well...that sounded pretty good to me so I entered the thing. It consisted of finding the answer to some pretty obscure questions about the Royal Family – nothing dirty mind you – needless to say it took hours to find them. I did my little bit of Internet searching, answered the question and let the whole experience leave my brain.

Flash forward to April, three months later. I am sitting in a coffee shop with a couple of friends. A trendy little place called Starry Dynamo on Main Street in Vancouver which gave a little bit of free Internet to those who buy coffee. Sipping on my cuppa Jo, I plug myself in to the web to check my mail. SWAP? Who? Why are they writing me? And that's when I discovered it folks. Discovered a chance of a lifetime whilst with my coffee shop friends. The opportunity to take a plunge and see the world. This of course was my lucky day as only three people in the country won this fabulous prize and I had won second place.

So I went. My plan was a year and then I’d teach English as a second language around the world or go back to Canada and back to the real world. My cousin said I’d never come back but I protested it until the day I arrived and something stuck. Within a few months, London felt more like home then where I was from. I had friends who longed to return back to prairie winters and childhood friends. They said they barely saw the beauty of the city anymore, were tired of the drive of the city, the dirt of the underground turning their nose black.

But I was determined to stay.

How I ended up on a small island: part 1

I never called myself a Canadian until I moved away from there. In England, where I settled, you’re surrounded by a sea of faces from around the globe and you become classified by where you came from – even if it’s a few generations back. You may be born in Tottenham but could get away with saying you’re Jamaican even if you’ve never been there. So in the middle of London, I am always classified first as Canadian – that Canadian salesgirl, a Canadian friend of mine, my Canadian girlfriend – I don’t mind that as long as they didn’t mistake me for an American.

When I was growing up, I never thought about where I was from or any stigmas that sat around it. Being in Edmonton, Alberta as part of a family that never travelled, there didn’t seem to be the opportunity to meet anyone apart from the people who were also born and raised there. This could be due to the distances between cities as everything is so far away. The nearest big city to Edmonton was Calgary, a 3 hour drive if you stuck to the limit but could be done in two if you had a fast car and a keen eye for speed traps. We were lucky to have a place that close as most cities were at least 5 hours away.

In my early twenties, I headed to Vancouver to go to school and for the first time saw the ocean and found that people judged me on where I was from. Vancouver is one of those places that everyone ends up moving to and those who move mainly move from east to west. Though it’s probably an urban myth, some people say Vancouver has the highest suicide rates. The Americanized Torontonians, the poor sons of Maritime fishermen, all make their pilgrimage west for a better life, an easier time, easier weather. As Vancouver is as far west as you can go without living with Wolves and grizzlies before you hit Japan, if life isn’t great then there’s nowhere else to go. Hence the high suicide rates. Vancouver, the final resting place, the horde of huddled masses, the destination on one-way tickets handed out to the homeless of Toronto and Edmonton in the winter.

What shocked me the most when I moved there was not the change of environment or the snowless winters, but that people could tell I was from Alberta straight away. I, of course, thought I was more sophisticated than that. Alberta is the home of rednecks and mullets, oil men, farmers and cowboys. We’re the Texas of Canada. Even our premier, with his grade eight education, embodies the stereotypes I thought I could escape. With a midnight drunken visit to a homeless shelter to rant at the jobless to get a job doesn’t really help our cause. So it’s easy to see why I wouldn’t want the association.

It took me some time to understand, it wasn’t the stereotypes that I was bound to but something greater. Albertans talked slower and took up more space – like we embodied the whole of the prairies as we walked through life. We all carry a piece of our home in the way we deal with the world and I understood why some people gravitate towards others from their hometown. In Vancouver, I found myself relating to the pockets of prairie kids banding together cause no one really understands wrangling cattle in an old, red pick-up truck unless you’ve been there. But Canadian?? I never referred to myself as one.

Reading: Up the Line Event – November 11

I'll be reading Canadian war poetry at this event on Thursday. It was a magical and moving experience to be a part of last year and I think it will be even better this year. Hope to see you there.
________________________________

The FOBLC is delighted to have received confirmation from the organisers that following on from the hugely successful 2009 event there will be a bigger and more beautiful evening performance of ‘Up The Line’ in Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery, two weeks tonight, 11.11.10 from 7pm

Poets, musicians, dancers, soundscape and film will begin their performance at the sound of a single Scottish piper along a one and half kilometre path running through the cemetery with the children’s lantern procession beginning at 7.30pm.

Monuments to those who were injured during the conflict and subsequently passed away in Lewisham Hospital and those killed in Deptford by the Zeppelin attacks will be lit by light artist Tom White using hydrogen fuel cells, dispensing with the need for diesel generators and reducing our CO2 emissions by 70% on 2009.

We do hope you can make it along to this free unique event with entry anytime from 7pm until 8.20pm. The wheelchair and pram accessible path will take between 55-70 minutes to walk so please dress appropriately, wear sturdy shoes and bring a torch.

Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery
Enter from junction of Brockley Road and Ivy Road, SE4 2QY
Ivy Road will be CLOSED to traffic from 4pm
Exit Ladywell Gate SE13 7HY
Thursday 11th November 2010
Arrive anytime between 7.00pm – 8.20pm (last entry)
Lantern Procession by children 7.30pm
Post Event Reflection from 7.30pm
Admission Free


Transport:
Trains/Overground Stations: Brockley 6min // Crofton Park 4min // Ladywell 15min
Buses: P4, 122, 171, 172
Parking limited


The FOBLC is delighted to have received confirmation from the organisers that following on from the hugely successful 2009 event there will be a bigger and more beautiful evening performance of ‘Up The Line’ in Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery, two weeks tonight, 11.11.10 from 7pm

Poets, musicians, dancers, soundscape and film will begin their performance at the sound of a single Scottish piper along a one and half kilometre path running through the cemetery with the children’s lantern procession beginning at 7.30pm.

Monuments to those who were injured during the conflict and subsequently passed away in Lewisham Hospital and those killed in Deptford by the Zeppelin attacks will be lit by light artist Tom White using hydrogen fuel cells, dispensing with the need for diesel generators and reducing our CO2 emissions by 70% on 2009.

We do hope you can make it along to this free unique event with entry anytime from 7pm until 8.20pm. The wheelchair and pram accessible path will take between 55-70 minutes to walk so please dress appropriately, wear sturdy shoes and bring a torch.

Brockley and Ladywell Cemetery
Enter from junction of Brockley Road and Ivy Road, SE4 2QY
Ivy Road will be CLOSED to traffic from 4pm
Exit Ladywell Gate SE13 7HY
Thursday 11th November 2010
Arrive anytime between 7.00pm – 8.20pm (last entry)
Lantern Procession by children 7.30pm
Post Event Reflection from 7.30pm
Admission Free


Transport:
Trains/Overground Stations: Brockley 6min // Crofton Park 4min // Ladywell 15min
Buses: P4, 122, 171, 172
Parking limited

For the days I'm not here

For the days I'm not here
For those days away
You can have a piece of me on your shelf
For a little piece of me on your shelf

Here's to happy times.

Think of this as a little piece of me on your shelf.
And remember any time to cheer yourself,
make sure you read something else.
But if you want a piece of me,
here is something for you.

Hotels: the undiscovered country

I love hotels. I've been in a few. Quite a few. For me, it's like Naria. At the door, with the key in my hand, I'm standing at the door of the warbrobe, feel the brush of the coats on my face as I open.

Every room is a surprise. High ceilings, a hidden TV, chocolates on the table, a bed that comes out of a wall. I love rooms in Europe with coffee machines, kettles and sachets of fancy tea. As I open every door, drawer and curtain, I have my camera in hand. What's the view? What are the treats left behind in the bathroom - shampoos, cremes, a shower cap. Once there was a fluffy robe and slippers. Once I had a door that opened onto a pool I never used.

I've had the opposite - dorm rooms where only a towel seperated me and a couple having sex. Beds that sag and graffettied walls. But I still search each space, see what's left behind, see what's left for me.

I think this is why I used to like to move so much. New homes have that same magic. What will I paint the walls, where will I put my jackets and shoes and my couch. My mom says I'm her gypsy daughter. It's in my blood, the love of something new.

LinkedIn: Building your personal & company brand

So I'm a lukewarm LinkedIn user. I understand it's value (mostly) and have started using it as my online CV for my more recent work. So I was really interested to hear what Jeff Willinger had to say at the Ungeeked conference on improving your personal brand starting with LinkedIn.

First off, the professional headline. This is where people can see what you are good at. It's a place to tell the viewer what you do and not who you work for. They can see that in your employment section that is usually immediately following your headline on your profile.

I have it wrong. The first thing on my headline is where I'm currently working. I have a discussion at my table what I should call myself. It now says Social media & community specialist but I'm not sure if that sounds too protentious? How the heck do I tell people what I do? (side note: I'd love your imput on this as I want a quick way to let people know what I do in the best way possible). Moving on...

The second most important is the summary and specialties. Specialties is actually what is looked at when people search for people to work and connect with. This needs to really say what you do in a words that your potential clients or employers will look for. Mine needs work. Oh LinkedIn profile. How I've failed you. This will take a bit longer to craft.

Jeff then has used applications to add a box on twitter, his reading list, and trip it. Interesting. I actually signed up to tripit ages ago but never thought to connect to my LinkedIn to allow my professional connections to be able to contact me when I'm near them. Added. He also has slideshare on there which is an area that I want to use now that I'm speaking more. This way my contacts can still be able to experience a talk I've done if they can't be there.

On my LinkedIn, I also have events added to show where I'm speaking or what I'm going to so I can meet with other contacts (which I can honestly say I've not used as well as I could) and have my blog posts there as well so I can share what I'm writing about.

Jeff left us with these points about LinkedIn:

• Take time


• Be remarkable


• Be helpful


• Be supportive


• Be resourseful


• Do NOT sell


• Have fun

This was great for me in terms of utilizing LinkedIn as an individual. This is great for me in terms of figuring out how best to use this tool.

I've also been exploring LinkedIn as a company. One of the areas that I have as part of our strategy is showing our expertise not only as a company but as individuals. Linked in is perfect for this. We have a company page that lists all employees and on the front page of our site, I've now added a link to our LinkedIn page as well as Facebook, YouTube and Twitter. On our meet the team page? We link to everyone's individual profiles.

This didn't necessarily come easy. "But people can contact us. I'll be spammed." I explained that people outside of our organization want to know who works behind the scenes. In order for our members to gain trust, they need to know that there are experts working for them. Allow access to LinkedIn will help them with this, and to be honest? If anyone wanted to find your LinkedIn, they can. It's called Google.

But an explanation isn't enough. So I created a document that explained how to change your LinkedIn settings to make it more private if they wished (you can see it here). I also knew that a number of our team weren't on twitter. But if they connected our work account in a certain way, I could add #in to the twitter posts that were about our blog and it would be posted in their status. This will help us spread the word about what we are doing to their network and help them show what they are working on.

Last thing I want to leave with you came from Jeff. He says thank you to everyone who joins him on LinkedIn. I like that. So thank you for reading.

PS Any other LinkedIn tips? I'd love to hear them so please leave them below!

Mark Bowden on Communicating Authenticity at Ungeeked Toronto

Starting day 2 at ungeeked and I have a splitting headache. Yep. Jetlag has given me something to remind me that I am in a different continent.

First up is Mark Bowden, CEO of Truth Plane & Author of Winning Body Language. A power dynamo, he hit the front of the room showing how he is actually appealing to our reptilian brain and indictating he is a friend:

• Open palms: no tools no weapons


• Open stomach: shows we can trust

So the discussion on natural impulse and communication has begun with his talk Communicating
Authenticity – Being Social is The New Body Language

When we first meet people, we categorize them into 4 categories:

• Friend


• Enemy


• Sexual Partner


• Indifferent

So how do we do this online?

It is very important to create something that people understand and relate to. The more certainty we have, our dopamine level increases. So the more it increases, the more the brain wants to go there. On the otherhand, the more you don't understand something, you often resort to the negative and your dopamine levels decrease. In relation to that is the idea of framewalk. If you get a suspicious parcel, it won't be opened but if you got it at Christmas, then you would because of the framework. So if people belong and understand the structure and framework of your site/ business, the more they'll come back and engage.

Basically we're looking for stuff that will make us live longer - the things that make us feel good from the people and places where we belong. Mark said "We don't need logic for survival, we need friends who will feed us." We have the instinct that if people look like your tribe and hold your beliefs, they will be more likely to help you. You want to have your status raised so if you ask questions and for the opinions of your followers or staff, you raise their status and they will be more likely to come back and engage.

What's interesting is, the inverse to that, we can threaten

• autonamy


• status


• relatedness


• fairness

When we do this, people will retreat. If you are unfair to your followers, clients, customers, they're out of there. This applies especially with social media when there is a lack of consistancy. We can relate it back to food. Company means to "eat bread together." Companies are simple - it's a dining table. If you take more bread than me, it's unfair and I'm out of this company. Or if unconsistant, you can't be trusted or relied upon as you may dissapear with my food so you lose that follower.

Our decisions are based on our values, beliefs, rituals and customs. So if you are looking to create rewards and recognition, they need to be correct for that group based on those. If you value something, you will work for it.

The last thing I took from this talk is that we're way more the same then we're different. You may not authentically join your customers or followers in all of their beliefs, but if you respect those values, beliefs and customs they hold, you can still have that connection. We are human after all. Humans all have feelings - and you have feelings about your feelings. We can all understand that.

My thoughts on The Social Network

This January, I was in San Francisco and attended the Crunchies, the start-up world's equivalent to the Oscars. If you didn't have your elevator pitch down for your new revolutionary business or if you weren't someone who could fund it, you weren't worth talking to. It was like being in a genius version of Hollywood. And when Mark Zuckerberg walked into the room, he was mobbed.

I was curious then to see the Social Network. Aaron Sorkin was right – it’s not about Facebook but it is very much about the dos and don'ts of start-ups which Facebook was. What struck me as I left the theatre was that without Eduardo, there wouldn’t have been Facebook. I’ve met a lot of entrepreneurs working on new ideas and what makes or breaks them is money. It’s not enough to just have a good idea anymore and I may argue that it may never have been. Weekends in the UK are raft with barcamps and hack days and events such as Seedcamp or Launch 48 where entrepreneurs try to work on that next big idea hoping to get just enough money or kudos or contacts to get started.

And when this does happen, you can expect that, like the Social Network portrayed, someone who suggested changing the brand colours or gave advice over coffee one day will expect a piece of it. They’ll say they were one of the founders thinking that providing a name for something equates beginning your day waking up with your phone in your hand and ending it falling asleep while still typing. That takes love and dedication and probably a small dose of crazy. And money.

That’s the world of Mark Zuckerberg. And though he was one of the lucky ones to get funds to start up, he could have easily not been. He could have been one of the many brilliant entrepreneurs who go from event to event hoping to get their break. Maybe there is the next Zuckerberg already in our midst but without a trusty friend to invest, his Facebook will stay in his head and we’ll be stuck with the next Harvard Connect instead.

Pre-talk to screening of Psycho for Care International

via AudioBoo

Live film soundtrack by Minima at Tate Britain

via AudioBoo

Sweetie Pie & the Gutter Man

via AudioBoo

Canabis Gran by Gabrielle at upstairs at the Ritzy

via AudioBoo

Are awards ceremonies really all that?

So last week I attended an awards ceremony with work. It was the second award we'd been up for so the whole team turned up in force. At a cost of course.

Now I've never been involved in a pay to enter award. Im trying to think back to those events I've attended for creative awards but I don't remember a cost associated, other than wooing judges ;) So this awards function was going to be somewhat of a first.

These events are not cheap. It cost around £100 for each of us to go so I guess I expected more. The venue was nice but it was basically a bar that had the heating cranked. Nothing like sweating on strangers when you are trying to be glamourous. The heating problem was not the fault of the organisers but I don't like saunas even when I'm dressed for them.

We grab a drink - I can't resist a red wine - and I watch a lot of meat pass by and wait patiently for some veggie canapes. I'm unusually restrained as the waiters offer more drink. I do have a tendency to overindulge when things are free but I want to take some nice photos just in case we win.

The awards ceremony begins and thank goodness there will be no speeches - just awards and then back to drinking and mingling. We all clap, people beam at cameras, and it's done. Hooray!

But wait. It's now a paid bar. Between us we've had maybe two drinks each and a couple canapes. That makes the £100 price tag seem very steep. We could have had a quite nice sit down meal for that amount. What are we really paying for? The infamy of an unknown award and a picture on a website?

Now maybe I'm just nieve. But other people I spoke to also felt cheated. And not because they didn't win but because they felt taken for a ride. They didn't expect much. They just expected what they've had before - an average meal at their own table, a few bottles of cheap wine, a band and a DJ. They did not plan on bringing an iPod to help play communal DJ.

Maybe I expect too much. But especially in this economic climate, is it OK to charge people so much for so little? Are these awards really worth it?

Trapped up north

Now the first thing I'd like to stress is that being up north in England is not a bad thing. But when you are trying to go south and all you want is the comfort of your own bed, being stuck in Sheffield in a train station at 10 at night can reduce some people to tears. (please note I did not cry but I really wanted to).

Basically this is how it went. I agreed to a gig in Rotherham on a Wednesday night. I didn't check where exactly I was going to before I said yes which was a mistake, but I honoured my commitment and said I'd take the 2.5 hour trip up. I had a plan. Finish work, jump on train, the train arrives, I do the gig and then jump on the 9:27 train, change once and then I'm home by 12:30. If I screw up once, disaster. But as I had the plan, there was nothing to worry about.

The way there is uneventful. I work on the train. I change at Sheffield and make it. Right on time for the gig. The audience is very small but lovely and want me to stay for a drink. No I say. Yes the station is close but I can't chance missing it. So off we go and I'm at the station 5 minutes early. Result.  

As I wait for the train, I look up and see the it is coming at 9:32. Odd, it should be 9:27. I guess it's running late. I think nothing of it and board the train to Sheffield. After a short journey I'm standing in the station and I'm looking up at the departures board. Where is the train to London? Where is the bloody train? 

With no staff on the platform, I rush through the station trying to find someone. Anyone. Where has everyone gone. Finally I find a booth. Sorry, the man politely says. You should have gone to Doncaster. There are no more London trains departing from here tonight. Stupidly I thought if I came through Sheffield to get to Rotherham, I'd go the same way home. I say stupidly but really it's logically right? You would imagine the route would be exactly the same. And then i find out there are no more buses going south either. What to do...

Calling the organisers of the gig, they say come back to Rotherham. I can stay the night and go home first thing in the morning. Good plan, I think. I'll just email work, tell them I'll be late for my morning meeting and it'll all be fine. But wait. My ticket isn't valid in the morning. It'll cost m e nearly £100 to get a single ticket. What the. That option out. Check my handy phone. There is a bus leaving Manchester at midnight and another at 1:30 am. Because of my faffing, there was no way I'd make the first bus but the 1:30 one could be my salvation.

I head to Manchester. This is the very last train there. But at least I'm heading south. I arrive at midnight to pouring rain but I'm here. I put on my "don't fuck with me" London face and walk the 15 minutes to the bus depot.

In the florescent box, people are sleeping on metal benches or looking vacantly at the floor, out windows, at crappy magazines. My heavy heals draw tired eyes. I ignore them in search of ticket machines. I find them and put in the details for my ticket. The bus is....full? What? Yes, the buss is fully booked but if I wait I can see if the driver has any room. Panic sets in. What if there isn't room? What if I have to sleep on the floor? How will I get home? I check the trains. £132 to London in the morning. It's even worse. And the next bus at 3:30 doesn't get in until 10:30. I'm screwed. Still I join the vacant eyed stares with my own and I wait.

Bus arrives right on time. I wait until everyone shuffles on and hallelujah! I have a seat. Another £23 but at least I'll be home by 6 am. I think I sleep most of the way. I do wake up ever hour or so to switch positions but at least I'm sleeping. 6 am we hit Victoria station and it's off to the tube to change and then head straight to work.

Yes. The lesson here is that I should read through my travel itinerary and not rely on common sense. BUT. Why is it the last train to London from Sheffield is at 9:15 pm? The last one to Sheffield from London is 10:30. Why can't it be the same? Maybe if there were more trains that left later from the North people from London would be more likely to go there for an event or a gig or a happening. Instead we constantly cater to a London centric approach to everything we do. Does anyone else think this is backward thinking? Other countries have 24 hour trains and buses so why can't we? We sure pay enough for it.

My first day @giffgaff

Today was the first day of my new job. I've had two weeks off since I've left my job at PayPal so it was strange to get up early and head into a new office with a new commute to figure out. I thought in true blogger style (and in hommage to what others have done today with the Apple announcements), I would live blog the "event."

Yesterday:

9:30 pm - It's the night before I start my new job at giffgaff. So I go to bed to try to sleep. Who am I kidding? Instead I read notes from friends and family, enter the Sheffield Documentary competition and watch Warren the Ape until I fall asleep at 1 am.

Today:

6:52 am - Alarm goes off. I'm dreaming. Think snooze button will let me download another program into my system. That's all I remember. Was I a robot or dreaming of the future?

7:08 am - Out of bed. Stare at closet. What to wear? Important to establish coolness so I can sit at the cool table.

7:30 am - Flatmate vetos outfit. No. I can't wear jeans on the first day. Even black ones? "If you must..." Her tone tells me otherwise.

7:50 am - Settle on dress, leggings, heals and a sweater. Wearing the "Inspire" necklace my sister gave me for luck. Make-up, purse...run back up stairs for my keys, run down and back up again for my sunglasses. No packed lunch. I'll figure it out when I get there.

8:02 am - Bus gets to Clapham Common. Decide to ride it to Brixton so I can get a seat on the Victoria line. Will this save time?

8:03 am - Tweet out my nervousness. Reassured by 140 character comments. Yes, I respond. I am wearing clean underwear.

8:09 am - Arrive at Brixton. Ooo. There's a Starbucks. I can get my coffee fix. Coffee to go!

8:17 am - Finally on a train. Have a seat. Seems not too full. No sweaty, angry people in suits yet. So far so good. Worried that I might have left home too late. Maybe I should've got on at Clapham and crammed onto a carriage to save 5 minutes.

8:25 am - Find a notebook and pen. Realize notebook is nearly full and pen is from the job I just left. Hide pen. It can't be cooth to use branded merchandise from another company on your first day

8:33 am - Change trains. No seats so I'm standing. Discover I can't write while holding coffee, notebook, free paper and the pole so I give up. Would rather not fall over. Only 3 stops til Marylebone.

8:45 am - No queue for ticket. Hoorah! Walk against the commuting hordes to platform 6. Hello commuter train. So we meet again. (Side note: I used to work in Beaconsfield where I'm now working again so it's a familiar sight. As are the film students in ripped t-shirts, flat caps, and hoodies. They ooze cool. Maybe it's their first day too.)

9:20 am - After flipping through my iPad that I bought under the excuse of needing it for my commute, I arrive at Beaconsfield. Hope the walk is no longer than 10 minutes.

9:35 am - Arrive at giffgaff. Yay! Walking time may decrease if I don't text and twitter as I walk. Greeted at the front office by Sheena. Am brought through the office. I shake a lot of hands and forget a lot of names. There are around 20 people working here so I should be able to remember their names sooner or later.

10:30 am - First ever meeting. It's nice that everyone in the office is in one room talking about what's coming up.

11:00 am - My stomach is grumbling. Could get a coffee but instead get everything set up on my computer. Tweet deck installed. Web browser upgraded to IE 8. Anyone want to go for lunch? Me! Me!

12:00 am - Seven of us head to the pub across the road for lunch. It's so peaceful. No traffic or honking horns. Sit in the back garden and get to know part of the team. Everyone is great and we don't talk about work once.

1:00 pm - Back at my desk. Reading, reading, reading. Pivot tables? How do these things work again? Reading, reading, reading.

3:30 pm - Meet with the head of marketing. We read and talk some more. It's all becoming a blur. Suddenly it's almost 5. Need to get all the notes so I can read again. Brain has slightly melted. Have forgotten how hard first days are.

6:35 pm - Get an offer of a ride to a bus stop near Shepherds Bush. Figure I'll get home faster and that it would be great to talk to my new co-worker Claire as we drove. It was. Great I mean.

8:02 pm - Bus, train, bottle of wine, bus, keys, home. 12 hours after I left it, I'm back in my flat. Decide to order chinese (yes, eating out all day. Bad but yet oh so good!) Glass of wine and Project Runway refocuses my brain. Still processing the days events.

Unsure how I was then realize that it's day one. It's OK to go slow. Very against my nature but have lots of time to push ahead. I'll take a couple of days to listen, learn and absorb. Tomorrow I meet the PR agency. Another new day of new things ahead. It's definitely what makes life more interesting.

The next steps for iAmerica

So now that the tapes have all been digitized the next stages of work on iAmerica can finally begin. Though we filmed the documentary nearly 5 months ago, I'm happy to have had a bit of time to sit back and look at the footage with fresh eyes. What is the real story in there and what am I really trying to say.

I'm glad that it isn't far from what I wanted it to be, it's just that I may tell it in a different way. So instead of showing the journey that we did with tuttle2texas as a backbone and driving force of the story, I think the interviews we did tell the story I want to tell. And it was only by watching the 3 days worth of footage, that I realized the strength of that. Unfortunately, the real story didn't come before we pitched to Channel 4 - but either we can approach them again or if we get accepted, pitch to hundreds of possible distributors and broadcastors at the Sheffield Documentary Festival.

So that leads onto the next step. Applying for the Sheffield Meetmarket. Anyone can apply for £10 and a pitch package including a 100 word pitch, a 500 word one, a summery of the people working on the project, a budget and a one minute trailer.  

I've been working on the trailer for the past week and just finished it on Friday as you can see here:

One minute is not a lot of time to say what an entire documentary is about, so it's a challenge to tease out the right quotes. Trolling through 30 plus hours of footage to find quotes can be quite daunting but luckily as we digitized we also pulled out quotes we thought may be useful. As inspiration, we watched documentary trailers and loved the drama of "Man on Wire" and thought we'd play with mocking the form of it.

I've drafted out the 2 pitches with the hopes that it will explain the essence of what we want to do. It's now with a few people for a sense check and then one more look through from me and it will be done.

Luckily for me, the budget will be done by the lovely Katie Kinnard of Free at Last TV.  She has been helping us along the way since we pitched her a documentary about the only UK cowboy and she seems to continue to like the ideas we're bringing her so I'm happy to have her on board. I also hate doing budgets so this means I can concentrate on the things I do like doing - writing and filmmaking.

All of this goes in on 1 September and then we wait. The festival is at the start of November so my hopes is that we can get in.  I'll keep working on the next stages (transcription and scripting) but really, until we get some funding, we can't complete this documentary. As much as I don't mind not getting paid, I do hate asking anyone else to work for free. And my DOP Michelle Tsen, who is also my editor, already shot the whole thing for free so I can't really ask her to continue doing so.

I'll keep you posted on the process as we go. If you have any questions or want more details, let me know. To see more on the Sheffield Documentary Festival, go to: http://sheffdocfest.com/

Around the World @upstairsritzy celebrates Madagascar

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We're really making a movie...

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What do you want to see from the #tuttle2texas documentary?

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Impromptu drumming

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New writing courses at the Idea Store in Canary Wharf

Are you a budding writer? Have you always wanted to know more about
writing a screenplay?

My old screenwriting tutor Chris Fallon is starting an "Introduction to
Screenwriting" course which begins on Weds 8th Sept, and these from 6:30 -
8:30 for 6 Wednesdays. These courses are at the Idea Store in Canary
Wharf. The fee for the six sessions is only £60.

If you are looking for a more general course, he is also running a 6 week
creative writing workshop on Monday 6th Sept. The course runs for six
Monday evenings, from 6:00 - 8:00 and the fee for the workshop is £48 for
all six sessions.

What else can I tall you about them? Knowing Chris as I do, I think the
sessions will be a lot of fun, and practical.

If you want to find out more, check out the Idea Store website at
www.ideastore.co.uk.

The end of Foursquare?

As the gong sounds to end the Facebook Places announcement, I feel like I'm watching some sort of frat initiation. If the geeks help the cool kids with their homework, they can maybe come to the party. It doesn't mean they'll get to stay but for one glorious moment they'll be part of something. Until they wake up the next morning with a killer hangover and 'loser' drawn in thick marker on their forehead.

The geeks? Foursquare, Yelp, Gowilla - any of the lot that have been working and growing the whole geo-locations game. They have been trying, failing and trying again at seeing how this whole new malarkey works. Then Facebook comes along and they suddenly have location based check in and beyond. So here is the Vice President of the department of something or other looking like a deer in headlights, nodding along to the excitement of this 'new shiny toy' that Facebook has put out. The nice shiny toy just like the one they've been sweating over for too many months and too many packets of instant noodles to count.

But hey. The geeks get to be the first to use the Facebook APIs. Yay. So all those foursquare fans can post to Foursquare AND Facebook. But wait. If you can just check in on Facebook, why do you need to check in on Foursquare too? Isn't it easier to have everything in one handy to use application? You know...the Facebook one?

I feel sad watching this. The party has started - the food is outside with plenty to go around. But for how long? The gong has sounded. Will mayors and passport stamps be retired? Is this the end of third party check-ins? Is this the end of foursquare?

Facebook Places: a game changer or has the game already been changed?

So I have a confession to make. I've never been a user of Foursquare. I don't want people to always know where I am - not that I'm paranoid but I don't need my mom to have a list of every bar I've visited. Of course you can always opt out of pushing your location to the masses but I feel iffy about the whole thing. I do like the yelp type reviews but then again, I can look at Yelp.

Instead of sleeping as I should be, I'm watching the Facebook Places announcement. Hmmm. So Facebook Places. It's foursquare. On Facebook. So you now can check in and everyone on Facebook (or just your friends) can know where you are. Hmmm. Like foursquare. And you can tag your photos by location. Like I do on Twitter. You can add reviews of places. Like Foursquare or Yelp. But most scarily, unless you opt out (and this is not a default setting), anyone can tag you at a place they check in to. And your friends could be checking in to your house.

As the announcement continues, the initial partners include foursquare, Yelp and Gowilla who are using the Facebook APIs to integrate their applications with Facebook. Even though they were using this location based application first. Hmm.

So what's the big deal? What's so innovative and new? Nothing. But Facebook is a growing monolith with numbers unseen by any other social networking applications. So Foursquare, Yelp and Gowilla, do you sit back and say - "Hey. That's our shtick"? I guess the answer is no. But how can they not jump on the Facebook bandwagon?

But what do you think? Is this a game changer or has the game already been changed?

**One last note - one of the speakers is going on about how this is a way to share human stories, interact, dust off old memories. I hope they also have a way to disable pictures of exes. Some memories I may not want to relive. In real time or not.**

What’s next for Drew Barrymore & improv on set

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Drew Barrymore on why she is in film

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A little night music at Casablancas in Brighton

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Empire Avenue - what exactly have I signed myself up for?

So I'm trying out this new Empire Avenue. You buy stocks and shares in people. I think. I'm still checking it out. But in order to verify my blog I have to put in this code: EAVB_SVQEKVFEBR

It then has to be read by the little spiders that the site sends out to prove that I'm really the owner of that glorious site. I am the owner. And that's the code.

Check out Empire Avenue on www.empireavenue.com and let me know what you think. Actually let me know what to do. I'm a little bit hazy on why I signed up but hey, it's worth giving everything a go at some point or other.

My first ever Edmonton Folk Music Festival experience

I grew up most of my life in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada which is known to most as festival city. Summer is a buzz with festivals celebrating food, comedy, theatre, music, cars - you name it, Edmonton has it. Despite this plethora of festivals on offer, I have been to relatively few of them which made my trip to the Edmonton Folk Music Festival my first visit ever.

Normally the festival experience starts with colours. People come down for 6 in the morning where they are alloted a number and are grouped with 25 other people. Once the numbers are allocated, one group at a time are allowed to walk (not run or god forbid, skip) down the hill and place their tarp down in front of the main stage. This is then their spot for the the rest of the day.

For me the festival didn't start until well into the evening at stage 6. This is where workshops are on throughout the day. I, being a newbie to this folk festival, was confused why they would have a workshop on a dedicated stage. Were they going to teach us to sing? Should I have brought a guitar?

I soon found out how wrong I was. Workshops are where the festival brings together different artists who are performing throughout the weekend to basically jam. So we had the pleasure of seeing the group dubbed "Talkin' About My Generation" made up of The Waifs, Patrick Watson (without the rest of his group The Wooden Arms), Lucas Chaisson and Kate Reid, take to the stage.

I have a Waifs CD in my collection so I had a certain sound in mind. But together with this collective, the styles of the musicians blended to become something entirely different. The music was mixed and eclectic, morphing into something new as each of the artists took the lead.

It felt like we were in someone's living room instead of the side of a hill at dusk. At one point, Patrick Watson, who was one of the hosts, asked if anyone wanted a drink. A couple mumbles of yes led him to bring out a bottle of whiskey for them to try much to the delight of the crowd.

As the session grew to a close, Patrick asked for a random title for a song the group would make up on the spot. The only stipulation was that the title couldn't be one of a song that already exists. A few suggestions were thrown out and "Snakes and Ladders" was chosen. A few of the singers hadn't improvised lyrics before and they found it a bit of a challenge but the crowd was behind them every step of the way as you can hear here:

After sampling the festival food (the Indian food stall was supurb) and watching the latern parade, we joined our friends on the hill by the main stage to catch a bit of Calexaco. I heard them back in May at ATP in Minehead. I wasn't overly impressed by them then but maybe the indoor Butlins venue wasn't the best to hear them in. Out under the stars, their Mexican inspired spread an air of romance over the hill and more than one person in our group commented on how cute the lead singer, Joey Burns, was.

Though I only caught a part of the day, as a first experience, I can see why this is such a popular festival. I'll be back tomorrow to catch the wonderful Sarah Harmer who I've been listening to for the past 9 years or so. Now that I've stuck my toe in, there's no going back.

Improved song: "snakes & ladders" at Edmonton Folk Music Festival #efmf

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Sometimes it’s good to go home

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London to San Jose ponderings

I love to travel. I love mostly the public kind. Trains, planes, buses and road trips - as long as I'm not driving on my own. I especially love the time I'm given when I'm travelling. I'm a mover and sometimes a shaker which mainly means I'm never home and never give myself a second for myself. Unless you count watching episodes of Australian Masterchef or napping in the hour between being somewhere and going somewhere.

I'm too used to not getting free travel, to making my own way, so when I get paid to travel, I find it hard to expect anything beyond economy. I'm surprised that someone will actually pay for a plane to get me somewhere.

So I'm on the way to San Jose for work. And on the way I'm not in business class (which I've never been in) but economy plus. I've discovered what the plus means. Wine. I had wine before my meal and after and didn't have to have my arm twisted for one more when he came round. But then a walk to a bathroom led to a run in with my steward. Another wine? Why not. And sitting writing, a wine was in his hand and then it was nestled on my lap. (a note to those who may cry abuse – he did hand it to me and I did nestle it in my lap myself).

So as I drink my forth mini bottle of wine, I muse. My ambition, I've realized, beyond being great at "things," is to go to as many places as I can. I was my mom's gypsy daughter. I still am. I can't help myself. I don't crave security or sameness or uniformity. Granted I may actually be thinking of getting a house and something more long term but I still like the ebb and flow of the crowd. A life of coming and going and coming back to somewhere I love, someone I love.

I asked my father advice the other day. Do what you love I've been told throughout my life but should I go for something secure but restrained or something fun but potentially will fall to pieces and I'll be jobless. He said that I always land at my feet so I shouldn't worry. He also said that he couldn't really give me all the advice that I needed as he worked for the same company since he started working. In that way, I am not my father's daughter.

But risk is what makes the greats, greater. I'm sure Richard Branson, Mr. Virgin himself, took more risks than I could count. But with risks, not only can you win, but you can majorly lose. My life has been a series of leaps of faith, so taking a leap isn't new. But maybe I'm getting older (well, yes, I am getting older as that is a biological fact) and starting to think that risk is good, but these risks should be a bit more calculated. What are the pros and cons of each choice and what is driving me to take this risk? Maybe this is what happens when you finally grow up? You actually think about things before you do them. Hmmm.