Friday Night Glass

I played a gig at an Irish pub in Newtown, Sydney, a couple of weeks ago. It went reasonably well, not well enough I needed to tell you all about it, but well enough. It's a nice set-up at Kelly's, with lights and a stage and good sound. The guy who runs the shows thinks I'm really hot stuff, musically speaking, and has me come to almost every venue he runs. Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, I do music. It's heaps of fun. 

Friday is a new addition to this rotation, and this past Friday was the first go. I played before the feature band, and did really well, if I do flatter myself with saying so. 

I settled in the crowd with a friend (Have I mentioned how good I've become at making friends? I'm really doing well for myself with friends here. Be impressed, because, while it sounds like a totally normal skill for a nineteen-almost-twenty year old to have, it's not something I considered, previously, to be a strength.) and I've bought myself a beer. It's a crowd filled with very musical people; I recognise a few faces from other gigs and open mics. It means a lot to me when a couple people come up to congrats me on the set. Two buy me a drink, which means I've had two more drink than my original night's plan was to have. 

Not a big deal. I'm not driving or anything; I'll be slightly tipsier on the train home than usual. I'll be a six out of ten, ten being stop drinking before this becomes unsafe for a female's public drunkenness. It's a reasonable level for enjoying the rest of someone's set. I'm having a very fun time. 

And then, something really fun happened, which has never happened before. 

Someone had asked the MC, the guy who runs this thing, if, when the feature band finishes at ten thirty, I can go back on till eleven. 

I got asked for an encore. 

It was so much fun. The crowd was admittedly dwindled by then. It was my friend, and five other musicians, who stuck around genuinely to hear me. I technically could've ignored the mic, and had a show, it was so intimate a setting suddenly. 

I sit on a stool and I ask for feedback and try some new things and explain that I'm a little drinker than I intended, which leads only to laughter. 

I originally started this post with the intention of making a poignant point, maybe something about growth or taking risks. In revisiting the night and remembering it into words, I'm really just kind of giddy and proud. I lost what I was originally going to say. I impressed "real musicians" and I got to interact on their level. I have been playing guitar casually, and arguably therapeutically, for years, but I think only in the past few months started playing music. 

It was a really cool night. 

Musical Friends

One time, at Shattuck, my theatre friends and I started an impromptu improv game in the weCreate Centre. It was a game of Freeze, I think, and it went on for ages and other kids from outside our group joined in, and it was such a good night. It fills me with this warmth, even now, thinking of my high school friends and that energy of positive collaboration that I was blessed to have. I was so lucky. It was such a great night, filled with energy and creativity and fun. It was like a scene from a movie, lit warmly and filled thru a soft lens. The lights in the background become white and gold circles, indie music swells and the audience feels a sense of joyous longing because we all want those nights. 

Shattuck was filled with nights like that. 

I had one of those nights last night, far from Shattuck but lucky enough to be with a group of people that would have got right in there. I performed a week or two ago at the Forest Lodge Hotel in Sydney. They asked me back and last night was the night I performed. I have these other two friends here in Sydney, an American and an Englishman, and they came along. It was a great show, went well. 

We went back to the American's flat to celebrate the night, have a few drinks and enjoy the fact we didn't work in the morning. I few drinks and some ice cream later, I had my guitar out and we were all singing and writing and critiquing each other. It was such a lovely evening. I enjoyed it so much. I learned a lot and I got to hang out with creative people, which is something I will never take for granted. 

Australia Day

It was Australia Day! I think it's technically today, since it's Monday, but the fireworks were last night at Darling Harbour. It was loads of fun, popping down to the Harbourside with a bunch of friends and a few bags of wine between us. We found a spot that was nice and sunny, grassy and lovely, and settled in to wait for the nine o'clock fireworks. 

Turns out we had a terrible view. There was a tree and a tent AND a bridge in the way. Absolutely terrible and by then there were too many people to bother pushing thru to better spots. 

As I was there, tho, I noticed the vast majority of people out were Australians rather than tourists, which made heaps of sense. I was surprised then, by two things. One: I observed there were very few people standing and/or singing the anthem when it played. Two: the Brits I was with thought there were lots of people singing. I compared the experience of Australia Day in Sydney to Canada Day in Ottawa, and, lemme tell you, Ottawa took it way more seriously. 

Australia is apparently much more patriotic and proud than the Brits are, but they've got nothing on us (I've also lived in the States, where people famously do not know their anthem, but perhaps we won't explore that in this post).

Perhaps it's that I live in a relatively small town in Canada rather than a huge city centre, but it's a very different national culture here. When I think about national pride, a few things come to mind about Canada. I think about everyone singing the anthem at the hockey game. I think about the amount of red and white in July. I think about Mounties. I also think about that Tim's ad where the newly landed immigrant is handed a large regular and told, "Welcome home". I think about how incredibly inclusive our culture is to immigrants and bred Canadians alike, how women have a pretty excellent time of it, where queers like me can marry whomever we please, how university is pretty affordable and health care is free and reliable. 

Australia's Person of the Year was made a Person of the Year (as I understood at the ceremony at the Harbour) for his anti-racism work, but a video went viral here in Aus of a grown woman screaming abuse at an Asian high schooler for a good five minutes on a crowded daytime bus. No one is saying anything to her. I can't imagine someone getting away with that on a streetcar in the daylight in Toronto. Maybe I'm seeing the wrong side of things. I also haven't been here that long. But so few people sang the anthem today at the Harbour. In Ottawa in July, it was a sea of red and white. I wasn't in a sea of blue today. 

I'm going to pay more attention to this. I'm going to find out if the average Australian is as proud to be Australian as I am to be from Canada. 

I start a new job on Tuesday. I'll let you all know how it goes. 

Soup's On!

Live Music

Live music is something I've been doing a lot of here in Australia. I had a concert just outside of Sydney, I've been doing loads of open mics, I've been busking, and I've got a repeat gig out in Coogee. 

I played Coogee for the first time Sunday night. I was one of the opening acts for a White Stripes cover band. I was paid in free drink tickets, which was tons of fun. I met an artist from Essex there, and another from Wisconsin. It's a small world. We had an absolute blast playing our music, and we left our instruments backstage so we could watch the White Stripes band. 

I don't know if they were missing people from the lineup, or if they hadn't practiced, or if they drank all of their free drink tickets in one single go and weren't running at top speed. We decided to stay for their show; they started. We found out shortly thereafter that the White Stripes band was easily the worst thing ever to exist in the history of ever. Ever. 

Ever. 

But our guitars were backstage and we couldn't get them until the White Stripes band stopped. So the three of us cheered aggressively and hung out for the full hour twenty they played. We had an absolute blast, despite the very disappointed energy of the crowd. 

It ended, as things do, and after I got my guitar, a lovely woman named Sue came up to me. She had come to the show to see if she could find any musicians to play at her restaurant and bar out in Glebe. I got her information and gave her mine and I really hope that pans out, because how cool would that be. 

Anyways. I hope you're all well. It's been a frigid 22 degrees C today. I hope you're all staying as warm as I've been endeavouring to. 

Toot Hill or Tooth Ill? 

A Study of Skint

Skint.

This is a word I have become lovingly familiar with over the last few weeks. I came here with enough money to last me two months, thinking I'd work over the holidays and save some more money before travelling. What no one tells you, when you're planning to come to Australia, is that literally all the places that hire casual staff (cafes, dive bars, restaurants) close over the holidays. So many things here in Sydney are closed until the middle of January. This makes it hard to work in Sydney until mid-January. It makes it hard to earn money in Sydney.

Skint.

Also, rent is far more expensive than I was lead to believe. I have spent about a thousand dollars since I've been here, and just over eight hundred of that has been on rent. Do you know how little money that means I've spent on food, transportation, amusement and activities? That's, like, two hundred bucks. That's, like, fifty bucks a week. Which is incredibly impressive when a bag of pasta is about five bucks at the local bodega. A small jar of sauce is four bucks. Takeout Thai is about eight bucks.

Anyways, skint means broke. That's the point of this small update. I am starting to feel a little broke. I have a job, but the coffee shop I work at is closed until the fourteenth of January, so I'm looking for day jobs in the meantime. Which is hard to do because literally everything is closed. I have money in the bank, but it's about enough to get a plane ticket, so I'm not really willing to spend much more, in case I want to leave on short notice.

Life is difficult. Skint.

Skint.

Christmas

I got locked inside my house.

I didn't get locked out. I got locked in. And I'm not an idiot, yes, if I could have just flicked a latch I would have. The front door, whether this is a unique quirk or an Australian thing, has a key hole on both sides of the door. It's never been locked before. I don't have a key. None of us have keys, or, someone does and locked the front for the first time since I've been here.

I was meant to meet some friends for Christmas partying at half eight, and I knew I lived about twenty minutes from where we were supposed to meet, so I tried to leave right at eight. Put on my shoes, got my bag, checked that I had my ID, and off I tried to go. I got to the front door, gave it a tug, and yep, I was locked in.

Not a big deal, right? Houses have back doors. The backyard is walled in. On top of the wall is a barbed wire fence, but there was a door in the wall that lead to the back alley. Not a big deal, loop around, extra two minutes. I went out the back door, to the yard door, and, for whatever reason, there was a giant padlock. The front door was locked and the back yard was locked in. There aren't windows in my bedroom, and the window that leads to the street is in someone else's room, so I can't go that way.

I was literally locked in my house.

I ended up getting out of the house. It was some serious Assasin's Creed level stealth. I know this because a guy watching me from his balcony shouted at me and told me it was some Assasin's Creed level stealth.

I used a small, broken table in the back yard as a ladder thing so I could get on the wall that doesn't have barbed wire at the top, just a short fence; it just leads to the next person's yard. I climbed that fence so I could get to the corner that would lead to the street and be on the other side of the barbed wire there. Then it was just a matter of rounding the barbed wire, rather than climbing it, and holding onto the ledge of the wall until I could drop down and into the alley.

That's when the guy yelled, impressed. And frankly, he should have been impressed. I was impressed. I thought I couldn't do that again in a million years.

I was wrong, because around two or three in the morning, Drunk!Shae had to get back into her house, and the front door was still locked. So Drunk!Shae climbed the wall and fences again.

Drunk!Shae hurt her hand. And dropped down from the wall into the yard far less successfully; my shoulders have never been this sore in my life. I woke up at ten AM-ish the next day when my parents called to wish me a Happy Christmas and the front door was unlocked.

So who the hell knows what that was about?

My roommates are still crazy. I didn't wake anyone up last night when I came home. I know this because the girls this morning were like, "how did you get back in without waking anyone? The door was locked!" One of my roommates woke up everyone at four with her alarm tho, which kept going off periodically until she went to work around eight.

I'm looking at other apartments. Ones with keys, and maybe one where I could get my own room.

Christmas Eve Night and Christmas Day were very fun for me. I don't really remember who's they were, but I wore a pair of reindeer antlers and told everyone Fun Facts about caribou all night long. I went out with a group of people from Nottingham, and I think I might be travelling Australia with two of them come late March. They're living free with family, or I'd be telling them we're all going halfs on a real apartment here in Sydney.

Sydney's a great city. I love my area. It's basically the Roncesvalles of Sydney. I'm super close to the city, but we kind of have our own thing going on as well. There's cool shops, and cafes and stores. I really like the area, which makes it harder to find a new place, because I'm not willing to move out of Pyrmont. There's tons of flats out in Campsie or Rozelle, but I really like Pyrmont.

I hope everyone had a lovely holiday. I'll try and take a few photos of the fireworks on NYE for you!

AJ : Apartments and Jobs

Technically it's a house.

It's a small house, tho. It's called a terrace house here in Australia, I think, even tho there is certainly no terrace. This room is about the size of my room at Shattuck in grade eleven (my single that used to be Maggie's double when she was in grade eight?) but there are a total of five of us girls living in here. I got stuck on a top bunk, which I hate more than I hate lobsters and more than I hate blisters.

I also hate the girl who lives just below me, by which I mean, I hate the fact that she's gotten phone calls at two AM every single night since I've got here like clockwork, and even more specifically, the fact that the ringing noise doesn't wake her up until I hit her with a towel to make her stop the noise.

I hate the fact there are no windows in this room. It is so hot. It is Australia. It is summertime here, for some reason, and at night it gets down to a cool twenty five C in a room with no windows. It is very hot. The girl who lives on the bottom bunk across from me owns a space heater. She insists on having it on before she goes to sleep.

I also don't understand why the girl who lives on the other top bunk was shocked that coming home at four AM last night, turning on the overhead light and then digging thru her plastic bag of toiletries woke me up as well. I'd been woken up twice already that night, once by the heat, and once by a phone call. I also had to work at six AM, so I got up, got out of bed, and got ready downstairs. When I came back from work at noon-ish, I wanted to do my makeup for the day, head out on the town. The girl who woke me up at four was still sleeping, and the overhead light was off. I could have easily turned it on. The bathroom downstairs was occupied by a showering man, and I couldn't wait a half hour for him to finish and vacate the room. I also wasn't willing to brightly turn on the light and wake up a sleeping person, even if it would be returning the favour. So I did my makeup in the dark (Which is really difficult. Also, I used orange when I thought I was using my copper shadow, so I kind of made it smokey and purple to hide the whoops of the original attempt. It was a kind of a slapdash sort of look today. Think Lestrange.).

I was complaining to my friend, Dan (I have made a friend) about everything that's been inconveniencing me at this house. He pointed out that I could "easily" just tell everyone firmly to cut the shit, or I could stop trying to hard to be a good roommate, since it clearly doesn't matter to anyone else enough for them to try. I realised two things: a) he's absolutely right, the solution is really easy, tell everyone to cut the shit, because at least then I tried to be assertive and defend my right to sleep the night thru etc, etc, and b) hahaha, you're hilarious if you think that's something I'm capable of. Once, a restaurant just straight didn't bring my food. We were there nearly three hours, and I didn't at any point receive my food. I also did not at any point complain about the fact I hadn't yet received my food. I eventually left with my friends, and my parents (who had been at lunch; I didn't call them in to save the day) collected my food after they got the order repeated from the waitress. My point is that I was unwilling to complain. I am unwilling to complain. I could easily stand up and at least attempt a solution, but I think we all know I'm not going to be doing that, at any point.

For all I am exhausted beyond belief, and would like to sleep for at least four hours in a row at some point this week, I am thrilled to announce that I had to get to work for six. I have a job. I'm front of house staff for a coffee shop and cafe called the Counter in Petersham, and I actually kind of like it. I've had only a training shift, and of course the interview and trial, but I'm pretty thrilled with it. It's a quaint, granola sort of shop. It kind of reminds me of Squamish, but that might be because it rained just like Squamish rains today.

Also, also, also, also, also! I have a concert on Saturday. By which I mean I'm performing. It's my concert. On Saturday. Here in Sydney.







Is this the real life?

Addicted

It is the eleventh. I landed on the first. I made it ten days before I broke down and bought a guitar. 

(it's a nice guitar. she's an ashton electric acoustic and her name is the queen.)

Moving House

My biggest complaint about the hostel I stayed in was that it was so damned cold in there. 

What a lucky complaint. 

I met a bunch of people, from all over and headed everywhere. I went exploring in Sydney and got sunburned on two different beaches. I drank entirely too much boxed wine. I was surrounded constantly by young people, people like me, escaping the "real" world for a while and travelling in between university years and jobs and existential crises. 

For all that I loved the people I met and the friendships I made, and for all it was great being surrounded by people like me, it was amazing how unlike me everyone was. I'm an incredibly nervous person and no one else seemed to match me for that. They are all these bright, sun kissed fools with giant bags, empty wallets, and big smiles with open hearts. How I envy that. How I endeavour to be that. 

(Part of me wonders if we're all like me in the end: nervous and pretending to play it cool. Maybe all of these assured humans I see turn about and see me as the image I try to reflect from them: whole and happy and safe. Perhaps we're all hiding our cracks and we're the only ones who can see them in the end.)

I would have had a great time staying longer, in my bottom bunk in a fourteen person dorm room that was entirely too cold at night and brilliantly quiet. But the rates over Christmas were extortionate, hopping from the 140$ I paid for my week to a whopping 87$ per night. So sad as it was to go, I went. 

I moved house to Harris St, which is actually quite a lot closer to the Sydney downtown. I'm in a house with seven other people, a bunch of people from Taiwan, a guy from Iran and a guy from France. It's not terribly cold here at night, but being closer to downtown makes the street noisier than I'm used to. That keeps me up a bit. I also got stuck with a top bunk and I hate that. I want to go back down, closer to the ground. 

The 501 bus rumbles by every twenty minutes, and Saturday night drunkards at the stop across the road laugh with an enthusiasm I will face tomorrow with.