« December 2006 | Main | February 2007 »

January 30, 2007

Waiting for Blogot

The weekend was so hot here in Australia's Most Expensive City (take that, Sydney!) that I couldn't even face the prospect of typing. Plus, I had to work on Invasion Day, and so while the country was seized by paroxysms of the most excessive jingoism* I've seen since I attended fireworks in America on the fourth of July in 1997 in Detroit, I was learning all sorts of new works, like diamondiferous.

Say it with me kids: diamondiferous. Isn't that a grand old word? It has to do with matters geological, or so I am informed.

You see, the best thing about being a journalist, besides the awesomely great pay, the numerous career opportunities, the cushy working conditions, and the respect and admiration of the people, is learning stuff. I get to learn about new things every day. This week I have learned about diamonds and pinot noir, amongst other things.

Of course this can also be a bad thing, particularly when you've got a lot of work to do and you're expected to write seven or eight stories a day, and you need to learn a lot really quickly, and then your f*ck up rather badly in some way or other. And it also means you're often interviewing people and making a complete arse of yourself because you have very little idea what questions to actually ask them.

Still, it's all good.** Payday on Thursday. New staff starting soon so hopefully I'll get more time for blogging when I'm not working 12 hour days.*** 


*Australia, WTF?

** Except that I start work quite early in the day and so this means a 5:40 wake-up time. After my first week on the job I took my social life outside, shot it, had a photo taken of myself in fatigues standing over its sad little corpse, and then had its head mounted and put above the fireplace in the den.

*** I am turning into one of those bloggers who only blogs to apologise for being so busy they haven't had time to blog! I have lost all respect for myself as a human being.

January 22, 2007

Huzzah!

The fabulous Zoe has had her baby! Even though I would probably not recognise Zoe if she and I passed each other in the street, this news fills me with joy. Babies make me happy. Yes I am one of those sappy people who goes all googly eyed around babies. Until they cry. And then I turn into one of those people who suddenly wants a drink.

In other news, I am alive and kicking, as this photographic evidence shows. Actually, this shows me alive and knitting. Same thing, right?

Yes this post is about nothing (except Zoe's baby, which is most certainly something).

January 19, 2007

Tired and emotional but sadly not drunk

What a week.

I'm utterly undone.

If I count working on Sunday, I think I put in about an 80 hour week at the new job and finishing the freelancing stuff. I don't know if I did either very well. I also contracted a brief case of insomnia -- Sunday through to Thursday night -- and so I was operating on a max of five hours a sleep every day.

I suppose, if I were a workaholic type-A CEO, or a brickmaker in Calcutta, neither would be remarkable. For this somewhat lazy 20-something first worlder with a penchant for sleep, it's been quite awful. I'm hoping now I've tidied up the freelance stuff and settled a little into the demands of the new job I won't be stricken with the whole lying in bed listening to that damn whirring noise in my head thing again, or at least not five nights in a row.

I have to go and hold the couch down now.

January 18, 2007

We all live in a Capital I

Capitali

 

This blog, she is all about the personal pronouns, because I love them, oh how I love them. Due to my incredible narcissism, of course. It's all about me. Oddly enough, that's because this is MY blog, and I write about what I want. Whenever I want. I don't get paid for the privelege of nattering on about my precarious mental health, my fascinating excursions into the world of work, my endlessly wonderful and amusing dog, or my odd predilection for yarn.

This blog is not some extension of Kate-as-journalist. (Kate as journalist is getting quite enough extending right now as it is.)

This is me doing fuck-knows-what because I essentially like the sound (metaphorically) of my own voice. Because in blogging I have found a community of writers whose company I enjoy in this space so much that I feel bereft when I cannot read their words.  Because I have found myself included in circles with women I respect and admire, whose lives are not delineated by the shape of a culture which seems to find us laughable at best and at worst despises us. Because I have met so many decent people with so many interesting things to say that I won't be giving up this conversation even if I feel like I'm mostly talking to myself.

I do it because I can.

Also, I am not even going to touch the misogyny of a certain blogger's pronouncements, other than to say there's a reason why I like my little female ghetto (with token blokes) corner of the blogosphere, where the air is mostly fresh and clean and the people are friendly, polite and always extremely fascinating.

Anyway, if you're ever looking for me, you know I'll be here, polishing up my I.


 

Polishi_1


 

January 16, 2007

Oh I do love to live beside the seaside

No, I don't know what that title has to do with anything either.

New. Job. Is. Kicking. My. Arse.*

If I owe you a parcel or an email or a phone call, please don't take it personally, I am just VERY tired and overwhelmed, and I will get back to you soon.

Hopefully I'll get the last vestigies of my freelance work cleared away soon and life should find some sort of equilibrium. Until then, this blog is probably on a (hopefully short) hiatus.

Oh and Zoe, hurry up and have that sprog already! It's all that's keeping me checking bloglines. (Okay, that's totally not true, I love youse all, but the mental effort in trying to keep up with everyone's blogs is a bit beyond me. I am reading, just not commenting.)

*It is however interesting and challenging and my colleagues seem very nice and I even have half a view of one of Perth's ugliest buildings, there is a plethora of lunch choices nearby and my work wardrobe doesn't feel like a prison outfit. Yet.

January 12, 2007

Last day of freedom

Today is my last day of being a freelancer/unemployed bum/general lay-about. For the past two years (roughly) I've worked from home as a magazine editor and writer.

A few things I've learned:

Freelancing at home does not mean 'hanging out at the beach half the day then banging out 200 words in the afternoon'. It's work. You need to set yourself somewhat regular and strict hours, which you need to comply with. Yes, there is more freedom. But there is also more weekend work, evening work, and also, there is more pressure on YOU to be organised and professional without anyone prompting you. This can be hard. It is hard. I basically ensure I sit down at the computer every day by 8:30 at the latest and I try to stay there until 5pm, otherwise I just faff around and don't get anything done.

Income can be irregular and even when you're working, a lot, there's no gaurantee you'll be paid promptly. Or at all. I had some jobs I didn't get paid for last year for various reasons, and other jobs where it took up to three months for my employers to cough up the money. This can lead to a famine and feast cycle which is hard to break out of, even with budgeting and planning. I maxed out my credit card about eight times last year. Thankfully I have a partner with a good income to smooth out the rough bits, but if you're doing this as your main form of family income or as a single person, it can be really really hard coping with the varied cashflow.

Being your own IT person, HR manager, accounts person and boss can also be very tough. I'm not very good at financial and technical things but I've become a lot better at managing my bills, tax information, receipts, super, and so on, as well as trouble-shooting my computer equipment and so on.

If you are in a couple, the person who works from home can end up doing more housework. A load of washing here, a quick sweep of the kitchen floor there, washing up after breakfast, walking the dog, and so on. This can be a tough thing to negotiate, my advice is to sort out a way of it not becoming a big issue. Either don't do the  extra housework or try to figure out a way of making it equitable. In my own relationship, I justified it on a financial level. I decided that my additional housework was compensating my partner for the additional money he paid into certain things, like our car and our health insurance. It might not be an exact trade, but you know, justifications are nine-tenths of, well, everything.

Anyway, I could have kept going with freelancing and working on it as a career, but I found it too hard. Living in a relatively new city and working from home, while my partner travelled a lot, has been really isolating and difficult. My natural tendencies for procrastination and my shyness have been my own worst enemies. While I do appreciate the freedoms that come with being your own boss, I have also spent a lot of the last two years feeling utterly alone and miserable; and either pressed upon by too much work, or unwanted with not enough. I never really wanted to freelance either, I just fell into it as a way of paying the rent while I looked for work.

And how can we forget working at the cafe to make ends meet when the freelancing lagged? That was a pretty low period of my life. Cafe work is not, in and of itself, a demeaning or awful thing. But I felt like I had been revealed as a person who was only capable of the most basic sort of work, and it was a blow to my idea of myself as someone capable of conceptual thought and writing. After eight hours on my feet dealing with rude customers and their awful messes, not to mention the loo-cleaning and being bossed around by teenagers, I really felt like a complete waste of space as a human being. If you are in the service industry, I don't mean to diminish the work you do -- this is as much about my own ridiculous ideas of what it means to be 'successful' as anything else.

Anyway, I don't expect my new job to make my life all sunshine and flowers and so on. However, having a regular income, and a place of work outside the home, as well as colleagues and a defined structure to my life, is something I recognise I need -- at least for the next few years. It's easy to romanticise that-which-you-do-not-have, and I know the new job is going to be a challenge. I will miss those days when I knocked off at 3pm and took the dog to the beach, or being able to duck out and grab some yarn and do some knitting in the back yard when I needed a bit of a break.

But it's a good thing. (God I hope it's a good thing and I hope there are no psycho bosses, evil workmates, crazy hours or electric-shock delivering computers. Or yachts. Please don't let there be any yachts.)

January 09, 2007

Tuesday dog-blogging

Six views of Jasper

Six views of a ball-mad dog.

January 08, 2007

Unpleasantries

Doing the stuff I really don't want to be doing today, like ringing up my freelance jobs and letting them know I'm not working for them anymore. I'm only really sad about two jobs, one of which I tackled before Christmas, and the other I just did today. But that's okay, everyone has been really cool about it.

Other unpleasant things:

- Paying the two parking fines I got in December. Gah.

- JW has been sick, and I suspect I am coming down with his sore throat achy muscles flu thing.

- We have run out of Battlestar Galactica. We watched all of season two over our 10-day break and NOW  WE HAVE TO WAIT. And yes, I've seen the Webisodes. So we are now watching Scrubs instead, as the proud owners of seasons 1-3 on DVD. (I heart Dr Cox!)

- I am on a bit of a knitting roll. Unfortunately, knitting with wool gives me dermatitis. Mainly it is limited to the bit on my thumb and finger which come into contact with the yarn almost constantly. I am taking evening primrose oil and fish oil to try and fool my skin into believing it is Happy Skin but since I've suffered from various forms of eczema and dermatitis (along with hayfever and asthma) my entire life, so I don't see it getting any better soon.  But I will not quit the knit. No sirree.

- I start my new job in a week from today. Scary. I haven't had a new job for five years. I haven't worn anything other than tracky pants to the office (read, the sleepout) for two of those five years. 

- Doctor appointment for one of those hideous uncomfortable examinations which female people undergo to ensure their cervixes aren't riddled with cancer. Need I say more?

-  Must finish lots of freelance work before new job starts. Busy busy busy. Don't even have time to write this post, really, and I need to excuse myself right now.

January 04, 2007

In which I cast aside dreams of being a writer to pursue photography

Actually, I'm lying. I love taking photos but I am smart enough to know two things:

- Photographers get paid even less, on average, than journos and there is possibly even less work of the non-soul-destroying variety available to a photographer than a writer. Most photographers survive on weddings, and I can't imagine anything worse than going to a wedding or three every single weekend. A couple of weddings a year is fun. A couple of weddings a week is hell. Also, small children. Also, clients complaining about how fat they look. Also, hideously expensive gear that can be easily ruined by a grain of sand or a splash of water.

- And why ruin a fun hobby by turning it into a job? Plus I am far too old to retrain now, or at least that's what I'm telling myself as I slave over a really really dull story all in the name of cold hard dosh.

Anyway, on NYE Anthony asked me to take some pictures of his fabulous seven course dinner for 16 people. I know, the man is a freak. Wagyu beef?! For 16 people?!? Plus all that other food!? I get nervous about having people over for a bring-your-own-steak-and-beer BBQ.

Of course I said yes mainly because I love playing with the Spicedude's Nikon D70. And I prefer to be the picture-taker rather than the takee, because I am one of those annoying people who looks at a photograph of myself and says 'ewww I look so chubby and what is up with my arm and who the hell thought that outfit looked any good jesus do I have a farmer tan but I guess my new glasses are quite cute' and so forth.

It was a very good, nay excessively fabulous, dinner. Delicious food, good conversation, classy booze like martinis, ladies in pretty clothes, gentlemen all scrubbed up and smart looking.

Actually, the martinis (and the beer and the wine and then some more martinis) were the reason why I spent most of 1.01.07 lying on the couch with my eyes closed. Despite being awfully tipsy for the better part of the night, I managed to take some okay photos. You can check 'em out on Anthony's Flickr page (nb: did not take first one or one of myself, obvs).

342491687_95f4129c4f

Scallop with Champagne and Speck Risotto (with Spiceblog and M2M blog widows in background).

I am Spam, Spam I am

The Internet has it out for me.

I cannot post a comment to any Wordpress blogs, because Askismet, the despamulating machine thingy, thinks I am spam. This includes blogs which I write (occasionally) for, like Sarsaparilla and Larvatus Prodeo.

And now I cannot post to Sarsaparilla AT ALL. I can log in, faff around, see what everyone else is doing, and actually compose my post, but if I go to post it or save it, I get an error message saying 'Sorry, you need to enable sending referrers for this feature to work.' I tried following all the destructions in the Wordpress help page to enable sending referrers, whatever the hell that means, and nothing worked, not the Firefox add-on, not gingerly playing around with the settings on my firewall, not changing something else in Firefox, and not doing a magic dance widdershins around my computer whilst chanting to all the goddesses of teh intertubes.

Finally, I am also having trouble seeing images on about half of the blogs I read. Sometimes, I refresh the page and they appear. Sometimes they do not.

All of which is leading me to suspect there is a vast conspiracy being enacted against me by  some malevolent artifical intelligence. Or intelligences.

Some of whom look and feel like humans. There are many copies. And they have a plan.

Excuse me while I go and bang my paranoid luddite head against a brick wall somewhere.

Cylon_1

We control the Internet! It is god's plan. Humans do not deserve to see pictures of Doctor Cat's dinner.

My Photo

The Feminist Reading Room

July 2007

Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 12 13 14
15 16 17 18 19 20 21
22 23 24 25 26 27 28
29 30 31