The irony of posting this is not lost on me:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/14/opinion/sunday/the-elusive-big-idea.htmlhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
8.15.2011
8.14.2011
Worth Repeating
For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
7.25.2011
For Amy
I just came across this blog post written by Russell Brand in honor of his friend, Amy Winehouse. Out of all the press and comments I've seen in the days since her unfortunate death, this stood out to me as the most honest piece of work from someone who is in mourning in more ways than one.
http://www.russellbrand.tv/2011/07/for-amy/
--------------------------------------------------
When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.
Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.
I’ve known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as a bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.
I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they’re not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.
From time to time I’d bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was “a character” but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn’t especially register.
Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I’d not experienced her work and this not being the 1950’s I wondered how a “jazz singer” had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn’t curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.
I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I’d only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn’t just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a fucking genius.
Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.
Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn’t even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.
http://www.russellbrand.tv/2011/07/for-amy/
--------------------------------------------------
When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.
Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.
I’ve known Amy Winehouse for years. When I first met her around Camden she was just some twit in a pink satin jacket shuffling round bars with mutual friends, most of whom were in cool Indie bands or peripheral Camden figures Withnail-ing their way through life on impotent charisma. Carl Barrat told me that “Winehouse” (which I usually called her and got a kick out of cos it’s kind of funny to call a girl by her surname) was a jazz singer, which struck me as a bizarrely anomalous in that crowd. To me with my limited musical knowledge this information placed Amy beyond an invisible boundary of relevance; “Jazz singer? She must be some kind of eccentric” I thought. I chatted to her anyway though, she was after all, a girl, and she was sweet and peculiar but most of all vulnerable.
I was myself at that time barely out of rehab and was thirstily seeking less complicated women so I barely reflected on the now glaringly obvious fact that Winehouse and I shared an affliction, the disease of addiction. All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they’re not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his “speedboat” there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they’re looking through you to somewhere else they’d rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief.
From time to time I’d bump into Amy she had good banter so we could chat a bit and have a laugh, she was “a character” but that world was riddled with half cut, doped up chancers, I was one of them, even in early recovery I was kept afloat only by clinging to the bodies of strangers so Winehouse, but for her gentle quirks didn’t especially register.
Then she became massively famous and I was pleased to see her acknowledged but mostly baffled because I’d not experienced her work and this not being the 1950’s I wondered how a “jazz singer” had achieved such cultural prominence. I wasn’t curious enough to do anything so extreme as listen to her music or go to one of her gigs, I was becoming famous myself at the time and that was an all consuming experience. It was only by chance that I attended a Paul Weller gig at the Roundhouse that I ever saw her live.
I arrived late and as I made my way to the audience through the plastic smiles and plastic cups I heard the rolling, wondrous resonance of a female vocal. Entering the space I saw Amy on stage with Weller and his band; and then the awe. The awe that envelops when witnessing a genius. From her oddly dainty presence that voice, a voice that seemed not to come from her but from somewhere beyond even Billie and Ella, from the font of all greatness. A voice that was filled with such power and pain that it was at once entirely human yet laced with the divine. My ears, my mouth, my heart and mind all instantly opened. Winehouse. Winehouse? Winehouse! That twerp, all eyeliner and lager dithering up Chalk Farm Road under a back-combed barnet, the lips that I’d only seen clenching a fishwife fag and dribbling curses now a portal for this holy sound. So now I knew. She wasn’t just some hapless wannabe, yet another pissed up nit who was never gonna make it, nor was she even a ten-a-penny-chanteuse enjoying her fifteen minutes. She was a fucking genius.
Shallow fool that I am I now regarded her in a different light, the light that blazed down from heaven when she sang. That lit her up now and a new phase in our friendship began. She came on a few of my TV and radio shows, I still saw her about but now attended to her with a little more interest. Publicly though, Amy increasingly became defined by her addiction. Our media though is more interested in tragedy than talent, so the ink began to defect from praising her gift to chronicling her downfall. The destructive personal relationships, the blood soaked ballet slippers, the aborted shows, that youtube madness with the baby mice. In the public perception this ephemeral tittle-tattle replaced her timeless talent. This and her manner in our occasional meetings brought home to me the severity of her condition. Addiction is a serious disease; it will end with jail, mental institutions or death. I was 27 years old when through the friendship and help of Chip Somers of the treatment centre, Focus12 I found recovery, through Focus I was introduced to support fellowships for alcoholics and drug addicts which are very easy to find and open to anybody with a desire to stop drinking and without which I would not be alive.
Now Amy Winehouse is dead, like many others whose unnecessary deaths have been retrospectively romanticised, at 27 years old. Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy’s incredible talent. Or Kurt’s or Jimi’s or Janis’s, some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill. We need to review the way society treats addicts, not as criminals but as sick people in need of care. We need to look at the way our government funds rehabilitation. It is cheaper to rehabilitate an addict than to send them to prison, so criminalisation doesn’t even make economic sense. Not all of us know someone with the incredible talent that Amy had but we all know drunks and junkies and they all need help and the help is out there. All they have to do is pick up the phone and make the call. Or not. Either way, there will be a phone call.
5.14.2011
Some Really Good Advice
I am almost done with my last exam (woot woot!) and am about to start seriously thinking what comes next after I end my program in September (eek!), so I thought I'd share part of this speech that my friend posted. It's a speech her colleague gave at her last day at her job and it's pretty great. Here's most of it:
------------------------------------
This was my best try at a pep talk. There’s way too much doom and gloom about journalism these days; it’s a counterproductive distraction. Newsrooms that embrace change will find a way to do what journalists are called to do, regardless of the obstacles.
For a truly inspiring pep talk, I urge you to read Robert Krulwich’s commencement speech to the Berkeley Journalism School’s class of 2011. I’m not sure I can articulate how perfectly wonderful this speech is. It starts with a swashbuckling “good old days” war story, the kind reporters love to tell. Just when you think it’s going to be one of the usual laments, Krulwich hits you with stark, brilliant, liberating realism: “…things change. They always change. And companies won’t protect you from that change. They can’t. And these days, they don’t even try.”
But then he gets to the hope, by remembering the calling, the urge, the hunger, that drove him into the business: ”Something inside you says I can’t wait to be asked I just have to jump in and do it.” He sees that same impulse in a particular community of science bloggers; I think his observations apply just as well to Edmonton’s blogging community.
His advice to the students? “Think about NOT waiting your turn,” he says.
“Instead, think about getting together with friends that you admire, or envy. Think about entrepreneuring. Think about NOT waiting for a company to call you up. Think about not giving your heart to a bunch of adults you don’t know. Think about horizontal loyalty. Think about turning to people you already know, who are your friends, or friends of their friends and making something that makes sense to you together, that is as beautiful or as true as you can make it.”
I love that concept of “horizontal loyalty.” I see it in the League of Extraordinary Media. I see it in the philosophy behind YEGLive.ca. I see it in the “let’s help everybody” spirit behind the Edmonton Champions Project. I feel it every day on Twitter. Mainstream journalism would do well to catch that spirit; if it doesn’t, the kind of work it used to do will be done by people who ache to do it anyway. I plan to be among them.
------------------------------------
This was my best try at a pep talk. There’s way too much doom and gloom about journalism these days; it’s a counterproductive distraction. Newsrooms that embrace change will find a way to do what journalists are called to do, regardless of the obstacles.
For a truly inspiring pep talk, I urge you to read Robert Krulwich’s commencement speech to the Berkeley Journalism School’s class of 2011. I’m not sure I can articulate how perfectly wonderful this speech is. It starts with a swashbuckling “good old days” war story, the kind reporters love to tell. Just when you think it’s going to be one of the usual laments, Krulwich hits you with stark, brilliant, liberating realism: “…things change. They always change. And companies won’t protect you from that change. They can’t. And these days, they don’t even try.”
But then he gets to the hope, by remembering the calling, the urge, the hunger, that drove him into the business: ”Something inside you says I can’t wait to be asked I just have to jump in and do it.” He sees that same impulse in a particular community of science bloggers; I think his observations apply just as well to Edmonton’s blogging community.
His advice to the students? “Think about NOT waiting your turn,” he says.
“Instead, think about getting together with friends that you admire, or envy. Think about entrepreneuring. Think about NOT waiting for a company to call you up. Think about not giving your heart to a bunch of adults you don’t know. Think about horizontal loyalty. Think about turning to people you already know, who are your friends, or friends of their friends and making something that makes sense to you together, that is as beautiful or as true as you can make it.”
I love that concept of “horizontal loyalty.” I see it in the League of Extraordinary Media. I see it in the philosophy behind YEGLive.ca. I see it in the “let’s help everybody” spirit behind the Edmonton Champions Project. I feel it every day on Twitter. Mainstream journalism would do well to catch that spirit; if it doesn’t, the kind of work it used to do will be done by people who ache to do it anyway. I plan to be among them.
3.13.2011
Another Year Older
It's time for my annual birthday post. On Friday, I turned 26, the same day that a massive earthquake and tsunami struck Japan. It's another example of Mother Nature showing just how destructive she can be. It's also another reminder that life is a very precious thing.
In the last year so many things, both good and bad, have happened. There are times when I desperately want to push the rewind button to a time when some things weren't so complicated, but then there are other times when I truly believe I am where I'm supposed to be. It's a strange feeling to go back and forth between the two, but I tend to feel the latter more than the former so I suppose that's a good thing.
In light of Friday's events, as well as several more personal reminders to be grateful for what I have, I feel blessed to have family and friends. It always sounds cliche to me when I say things like that but it's very true. As I grow older, I realize more and more the importance of family and by that I mean my biological family as well as my family of friends. Just as 25 brought a lot of changes, 26 promises to bring more. In the last year, I've moved to a new country for grad school and had my eyes open to a lot of things. As for the next year, who knows. I could still be in London or I could be somewhere else. It's hard for me to predict, but that's how I wanted it, so I can only continue to be grateful and appreciative as I keep on going.
In the last year so many things, both good and bad, have happened. There are times when I desperately want to push the rewind button to a time when some things weren't so complicated, but then there are other times when I truly believe I am where I'm supposed to be. It's a strange feeling to go back and forth between the two, but I tend to feel the latter more than the former so I suppose that's a good thing.
In light of Friday's events, as well as several more personal reminders to be grateful for what I have, I feel blessed to have family and friends. It always sounds cliche to me when I say things like that but it's very true. As I grow older, I realize more and more the importance of family and by that I mean my biological family as well as my family of friends. Just as 25 brought a lot of changes, 26 promises to bring more. In the last year, I've moved to a new country for grad school and had my eyes open to a lot of things. As for the next year, who knows. I could still be in London or I could be somewhere else. It's hard for me to predict, but that's how I wanted it, so I can only continue to be grateful and appreciative as I keep on going.
1.31.2011
Shout Out to the UK
Anyone who asks me which city I prefer, New York or London, I still continue to say New York because, well, it's true. BUT I do like London a lot and one thing I absolutely LOVE about the UK is the music! I'm talking Adele (already loving her latest album), Florence and the Machine, Duffy, Amy Winehouse (before her sad downfall), Joss Stone, The XX, and so many more. The talent coming out of the UK is insane and amazing and, in my opinion, beats the US, hands down. Is it in the Wheetabix? I just don't know...
So, back to Adele, who just released her album in the UK (hits the US later in February- another perk of being in Adele's hometown!). While I love her single Rolling In The Deep, this one gets me every time (sorry about the size, not sure how to fix that):
So, back to Adele, who just released her album in the UK (hits the US later in February- another perk of being in Adele's hometown!). While I love her single Rolling In The Deep, this one gets me every time (sorry about the size, not sure how to fix that):
12.31.2010
Peace Out, 2010
I am writing this post in a very strange mood, so just a forewarning. It's almost 2011 and all I have to say to 2010 is, "Maaan, you wore me out!" A year ago, I wrote this: So 2010, I want you to scare me, I want you to have me wondering what's next, and I want you to make me uncomfortable and excited for what's to come. Let's look back at the last year and see how I did.
If I had to make a general statement, I would say that 2010 spun me around and spit me out. Let me clarify that. I started off the year feeling really overwhelmed with things going on at work and just the whole work/life balance thing. I also had some moments where I felt like a few of my friendships were not where I thought they should be and I voiced my feelings. I'm happy to say those friendships are still in tact and I've since learned that sometimes keeping things bottled up only pushes you backwards. Fast forward a few months when I made the terrifying but equally exciting decision to leave my job, pack up my life in New York and head to grad school in London. I basically reset part of my path, which scared the bejesus out of me. I've since completed my first three months in school and can honestly say I don't regret my decision for one second. Maybe in a year when I'm paying off more school loans I'll have some complaints but for now I am loving the new sights, sounds, people and experiences. I've taken two solo trips by myself and as a result, feel more in tune with what I like and don't like. Overall, as cliche as it sounds, it really has been a growing experience.
Then we have the last few weeks. I'm not going to go into detail but all I can say is that things have happened that have made me look at a lot of the relationships in my life and what's important to me. There are things that have made my heart hurt so much it feels like it's physically aching. At the same time, I still believe everything happens for a reason, even if that seems a little crazy to believe in right now. I'm not sure where 2011 is going to take me but I hope it is better than the last few weeks. I also hope it continues to make me grow myself and my relationships with others. I don't necessarily want 2011 to spin me around and spit me out the way 2010 did, but if 2011 wants to shake me up a little, I guess I can handle that.
If I had to make a general statement, I would say that 2010 spun me around and spit me out. Let me clarify that. I started off the year feeling really overwhelmed with things going on at work and just the whole work/life balance thing. I also had some moments where I felt like a few of my friendships were not where I thought they should be and I voiced my feelings. I'm happy to say those friendships are still in tact and I've since learned that sometimes keeping things bottled up only pushes you backwards. Fast forward a few months when I made the terrifying but equally exciting decision to leave my job, pack up my life in New York and head to grad school in London. I basically reset part of my path, which scared the bejesus out of me. I've since completed my first three months in school and can honestly say I don't regret my decision for one second. Maybe in a year when I'm paying off more school loans I'll have some complaints but for now I am loving the new sights, sounds, people and experiences. I've taken two solo trips by myself and as a result, feel more in tune with what I like and don't like. Overall, as cliche as it sounds, it really has been a growing experience.
Then we have the last few weeks. I'm not going to go into detail but all I can say is that things have happened that have made me look at a lot of the relationships in my life and what's important to me. There are things that have made my heart hurt so much it feels like it's physically aching. At the same time, I still believe everything happens for a reason, even if that seems a little crazy to believe in right now. I'm not sure where 2011 is going to take me but I hope it is better than the last few weeks. I also hope it continues to make me grow myself and my relationships with others. I don't necessarily want 2011 to spin me around and spit me out the way 2010 did, but if 2011 wants to shake me up a little, I guess I can handle that.
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