Who the hell is Donna?

Life was a lot easier back in 1999 when fresh out of high school, my parents sent me abroad for 8 months with a sleeping bag, a discman some clothes and not much else. I called home once a week and emailed every couple of days. My day was about what I was going to do not about who I needed to communicate with back home.

Fast forward a few years and I have found that I have become obsessive about communication. Case in point, I am typing this on route to Budapest (on a nightmare flight, sure to be a rant later on down the track). I check my 2 email accounts, my facebook and my telephones for messages at every opportunity. It came as no surprise then that a few hours before embarking on my world trip my father handed me another telephone to add to the other assortment electronics in my possession, that I now cannot do with out.

For about a week of my visit to USA, I received at least a dozen phone calls from gentlemen looking for a Donna. The first few times this happened I politely told the callers that they had dialed the wrong number. However, my interest had been piqued and I was interested to know who exactly Donna was. Unfortunately for me, each time I asked this very innocuous question, my gentleman caller would slam down the phone. No help there.

In my over-active imagination, I came up with the following possibilities:

1. Donna is an escort who advertised in the Village Voice (hopefully an exotic one, who does very bad things, or very good things depending on where your tastes lie I suppose);

2.Donna is a drug peddler who recently had a cap put in her ass thereby freeing up a telephone number which was then randomly assigned to me; and finally (and probably the most likely)

3. Donna is really a middle aged lady selling her car.

Regardless, I never got to the bottom of who Donna was. I toyed with the idea (a litte too late) of pretending that I was Donna. But by then I had no more callers. Perhaps Donna realized her mistake and rectified her phone number. Or changed professions.

Soundtrack

Better – Regina Spektor
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (cover ) – Sarah Blasko
Smoke Detector – Rilo Kiley
I’ll kill her – Soko

The happiest place in the world

When people ask me where my favourite place is or where i feel happiest (typically an awkward first date question), I generally give one answer while in the back of my mind I am harboring a little secret. My standard response is usually "at Orange or at the Wall reading the newspaper and listening to some tunes" (thereby indicating that I am very comfortable hanging out on my own in trendy public spaces and by deduction, am very cool). Although the above the activity is something that i most definitely love to do and do actually do most weekends, i do have another happy place that I am almost ashamed to share with people.

Bloomingdales*. Call me superficial but Bloomingdales really is the happiest place in the world.

Visual merchandisers working at Bloomingdales do a terrific job in making me want to buy everything in sight. Everything is so pretty. Every time i visit USA and wander through the store i can almost believe that I can afford a $500 handbag, because hell, it only costs $200 more than the other one. And look, there is a 16 year old girl buying it with her daddy's credit card. Bloomingdales makes me believe that I have the right to fill my life with beautiful things which in turn motivates me to work harder. Shallow? Absolutely. Thank god i don't live here permanently.

Soundtrack for the day:

Hilltop Hoods - the Nosebleed Section
Jason Mraz - Geek in the Pink
Velvet Underground - Who loves the sun?
Vampire Weekend - Cape Cod Kwassa
Bob Dylan - Subterraneain Homesick Blues

* this is not a paid plug. I would however be happy to accept a gift voucher which entitles me to a new pair of jeans or a handbag or even an overpriced pair of pyjamas.

New York - the end of a love affair

I always thought i would end up living in New York. My love affair with the city began at the age of 9 when I devoured Sydney Taylor's "All of a kind family" books - stories about an immigrant Jewish family on the lower east side at the turn of the century. A few years later I discovered Betty Smith's "A tree grows in Brooklyn" and not too long after that my imagination was captured by the Woody Allen greats - Manhattan, Annie Hall, Bullets over Broadway etc (Mind you the nuances were beyond me for many years but being self-consciously precocious I understood that if I was going to really love New York City, i would have to love Woody Allen). I was hooked.

I finally made my first visit to New York City in 2001, when aged 21, i escaped an uncomfortable situation and came to this crazy city to visit friends and take a holiday for the first time in 3 years. That visit confirmed everything i had already known - I was destined to live the Jewish upper west side dream - complete with a banana republic wardrobe, Sunday brunch at Isabellas and Saturday afternoons at Central Park. In short my life was going to be a Woody Allen movie but with taller, more attractive and less neurotic protagonists.

I have been back to New York several times since 2001 and over the years, my aspirations have shifted only slightly: in 2003 i desired a Soho loft and model's physique (both of which will forever remain elusive). In 2004 i lusted after an apartment on the lower east side, a job as a music journalist and a rockstar boyfriend and in 2007 all I wanted was a quiet brownstone on a cobbled street in the Meatpacking district (and an outdoors table at Pastis goddammit). Over the years I have played a game with one of my best friends every Monday morning where we amuse ourselves by picking out the most ridiculous New York Times wedding announcements and supplement it with our own acerbic commentary. I do not even want to estimate how many six minute billable units have been wasted on those email exchanges.

My love affair with New York may be coming to an end and this is something that I am now ready to accept. I arrived in the city last week and almost immediately I noticed that i was feeling anxious - so much to do, so little time and why are all these people in my way? New York can be the most alienating and lonely place in the world. There is always someone here who is smarter, richer, cooler and more fabulous that you and chances are that person is standing behind you in the line at Starbucks. Here, you are just another person and for all the wonderful things this city has to offer, I have realised that when i am here I fixate on the most superficial aspects of my life. I had the opportunity to visit Chicago last weekend and I noticed how much more down to earth the people there are and how conversations are not all about name dropping the latest and hottest restaurant/bar/designer. Refreshing.

I have been showing some of my Australian friends around the city and i take pride in the fact that i know my way around Tribeca, Nolita and Alphabet City as well as I know my way around my own newly gentrified neighbourhood back in Melbourne- that i know where the best cafes and restaurants are as well as all the trendiest places to shop. But deep down I know that this visit marks the end of an era. Truthfully, I feel relieved- as my friend commented - one more thing that I can now cross off the to do list and get on with it (thanks for the insight Alon, as always).

i am excited to find my new "New York".

Soundtrack for the Day:
Death Cab for Cutie - Marching Bands of Manhattan
Elliott Smith - Tomorrow, Tomorrow
Bright Eyes - First day of my life
Duffy - Hanging on too long
Ryan Adams - Damn, Sam

Coming up for air? Existential crisis? Or just plain old spoilt? The boring details out of the way

I have often fantasised about how I would start my blog. I imagined that it would be punchy, witty and insightful. Instead, i imagine that what i have to offer is the stuff of after school specials and terrible books geared at the women's market. Derivative, tired, old (just to stress the point!).

Excuse me while i introduce myself and get all the tragic details out of the way.

I am a girl coming up for air. I have taken a few months off my life to try to figure it all out. I went to a Chinese restaurant a few nights ago here in Manhattan and my fortune cookie read "only you can decide what is important to you". Fittingly, i am far from home, on the move, trying to figure out what everyone else figured out years ago while my head was buried in a book and my heart was invested in the wrong person.

I spent too much time being earnest and expecting so much from life. Every facet of my life was supposed to be extraordinary - I wanted to excel at everything and i expected to have everything- a fulfilling career, beautiful love and a pretty life filled with Global knives and Kosta Boda housewares. I am starting to understand that perhaps my life is not destined to be extraordinary but a rather a never ending cycle of average days interspersed with brief moments of brilliance. Can i accept this? Will I accept this?

I packed my bag, closed up my cozy and comfortable apartment, left behind my books and have been travelling for almost 3 weeks (so much more interesting material to follow after this tragic post, I promise). I left behind my family and friends. I left behind a "great job" - one that i spent 5 years at university studying for (while racking up a considerable debt) only to feel unfulfilled every morning and to leave every day more and more convinced that the world is full of arseholes. Strangely enough my work is supporting me taking time off to travel the world and have my existential crisis. I am doing my best not to construe this as an admission of guilt on their part.

I also left behind someone new who was crazy about me but entirely unsuitable - I felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate his feelings and for knowing that being with him would be equivocal to contracting into a lifetime of boredom and unwelcome compromise. At what point do I give in and just say "fuck it"? When does the revolving door stop at the same time for two people who can tolerate each other? Barely a week passed and I met someone who I feel that i could be crazy about but am entirely geographically incompatible with. Karma biting me in the butt. I deserve it.

Soundtrack for the day:
Josh Pyke - Memories & Dust
Fionn Regan- The Underwood Typewriter
Fionn Regan - Hotel Room
Augie March - One Crowded Hour
The Shins - Kissing the Lipless