A plea for help from Lady Spam-a-lot

Hello,

My name is Dame Yorkshire Pudding of Worcestershire, and I am writing to inform you of the loss of my dear late husband, Sir Edward B. Spankalot, or as I affectionately referred to him, "Spanky". Spanky was heir to the throne of Wonkaville and the fortune bequeathed to him has now been transferred into my withered young hands. Having only been married to dear Spanky for the brief -but beautiful - period of 3 1/2 months, I couldn't possibly dream of keeping the fortune to spend on further breast augmentations or impossibly oiled pool-men whose names I can't pronounce. No, the honourable thing to do is to give it to various charities who can use this money for further good in the world, such as bringing authentic designer labels to the third-world, or the funding of medical science via the church of Scientology. Hence why I am writing to you, stranger. I seek to maintain anonymity throughout these proceedings so the privacy that Spanky so dearly valued due to his unspeakable deformity (a ghastly hangnail) is respected. All that would be required of you would be sending your bank and credit card details to me so that I may immediately transfer the funds to your nominated account for you to then pass on to the appropriate philanthropic organisations. I would attach a list of some of the causes and groups Spanky supported throughout the course of his life but alas, the majority of them have been outlawed.

Yours ever-so-sincerely,

Lady Spanky von-Worcestershire

Aaaaand, we're back.

Hola, marhaba, hello, dear readers!

Whether you have been waiting avidly for me to resume my blogging duties or stumbled across this page while searching for porn I would like to welcome you. I know my absence has been an extended one. I ask only that you treat it as you would that of a distant cousin in the 1950s whose return you acknowledge with a slightly arched eyebrow and a nod that says "you fucked up, but we won't mention it again", with no questions therein asked.

I am back in sunny Sydney and have had many months to reflect on my time as Sofia, the fish-mongering gondolier with big dreams and humble English. Often it is only with the passing of time that life's biggest lessons are made clear to us. I have been lucky to have already had some major revelations which include:

1. I never want to have to row any kind of gondola/motorised boating device/thing with an oar, for my occupation again. Ever.

2. Singing unaccompanied in noisy canals with people yelling at you all day is not fun for you, or your vocal chords.

3. I got really fat in Macau.

4. 3 servings of MSG injected food per day will make you fat.

5. I like to eat when I'm depressed.

This all sounds pretty negative, but in the same way that we tend to forget everything but the stale peanut butter sandwiches from our childhood (of which there were many), it's easy to push aside the good moments. So here are some happy things I have taken away from the experience:

1. Friends! (And I hope to see them both again some day!)

2. $---- (unspecified for tax purposes)

3. A far deeper understanding of my singing craft (singing in canals will f*%$ with your voice)

4. A far deeper understanding of the dynamics within musical ensembles (some "jazz" musicians are just a**holes)

5. An appreciation for the beautiful blue Australian sky and scenery (as opposed to variations on "overcast" and "grey")

In other news....

My Sydney return saw me launch my debut album "Waksing Lyrical" (yes I thought of it all by myself, and behind the scoff I sense your respect for my pun-tastic powers). The launch was a big hit and the cd has gone on to do big things, selling like hot-cakes on whatever corner I am begging, I mean performing, on a given day. I have calculated that taking into account future inflation and the digitisation of media forms I will recoup the expenses of making the album in approximately...

1025391.7435 years?

Until the album really takes off or finds its way into the hands of a capable marketing manager (or even just someone who could upload it to iTunes) I have secured the happy position of "The Nanny" for two separate households. Apart from the uncanny cultural and vocal qualities I share with the character in the much beloved television show of the same name, my job is slightly different. I basically get paid to go to the park, play wii, watch tv, play lego, and make origami. I guess you could say I'm getting a chance "to do over" my childhood. There is some light cooking involved but my previous microwave experience meant I was more than qualified. I love being able to hang out with 6 yr olds because they don't judge you when you speak in weird voices as the cat or do extended jazz improvisations ("Does this sound like a trumpet to you??????") - in fact, they respect you for it.

This wasn't so scary, re-establishing my place in the cyber world. Until next week when I will no doubt have many a thrilling narrative to relate (eating all-you-can-eat pizza tomorrow, sounds like a bestseller!).

x

So far.

I have reached the 2 week mark of my Middle Eastern travels. The first week was spent in Hebron, Palestine. What I didn't understand was why when I'd tell people I was in Palestine a few would say "but Palestine isn't a place". Being ignorant of basically anything outside of whether or not Beyonce is doing a kick-ass vocal run this confused me deeply. The people I was meeting called themselves Palestinian? The area they occupied was not called Israel or Lebanon or any other neighbouring countries?? Their travel documents are Palestinian and so thus are their listed national identities. So what was the problem?? What I was to learn was that while something like 140 nations recognise Palestine as a state, the magic wizarding authorities with super state-giving powers, have yet to follow suit. The reasons for this are part of a much more complicated issue relating to the establishment of the Jewish state of Israel in 1947/8. I will not bore you nor insult your intelligence with my limited knowledge or lacking journalistic skills (then again if Fox News gives it a go.....) but here are some links below. I will assume you will all go away and do your background reading and become experts on the Middle East and find a solution to the seemingly unsolvable leaving me free to get back to doing what I do best, posting slightly amusing anecdotes of my life (like the time all my stuff was destroyed in a housefire).

I will continue to refer to Palestine as Palestine in my future posts.

http://www.mideastweb.org/briefhistory.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Israeli%E2%80%93Palestinian_conflict

www.haaretz.com

From Palestine, With Love

"From where?", I hear you saying.

Yes, dear readers. I am no longer in Macau. After completing 8 months of probably the hardest job I will ever carry out - (no, I am not joking) - I knew I would be in need of a holiday. A rest. As the French would say, a "Vacation". I was tossing up between Malaysia and the Philippines. Until my sister interjected with a proposal.

"Why don't you.. come visit me in Palestine??"

"Well", I replied, "without knowing much about Palestine, what are the beaches like?"

I had, after all, dreamed myself up an intricate holiday itinerary which consisted of travelling to a tropical paradise where I would proceed to lie in a hammock from dusk till dawn playing my ukulele before getting a nightly full body rub down by a man named Julio.

Shifra assured me that I would not disappointed if I came to see her, (really she just wanted me to come for her birthday so I could give her shit). After some sturdy assurances that I would not get "blown up" I decided to book my ticket. I was eager to see my baby sister and how she has been living for the past few months, but I was also interested to experience Palestine for myself. Not having the strongest knowledge of world affairs (you're saying Sydney isn't the capital of Australia...?) but being acquainted with the Palestine-Israel conflict and also knowing that the media doesn't always get it right (nice to meet you Fox News), I thought the best way to really understand anything about the immensely complex issue would be to go there. And so go I have. ? .... (mmm grammar)

My darling sister who is actually not related to me - (I think she came from a distant galaxy called "Nerdtron" where everyone speaks 500 languages and steals their sister's belongings) - speaks 6 languages and came to volunteer in Hebron, the largest city in the West Bank. Since joining her here I have had the opportunity to meet many incredible people and hear their stories. The stories that I relate are not seeking to incite anger or offence but merely provide an insight into the lives of some of the Palestinian people I have been so fortunate to meet, and thus contribute to people's awareness of the state of affairs here in the Middle East.

With love.

xx

A Tipsy Blogster's Tips For Happy Living (Or Existing In a Vaguely Happy Way)

Tonight was our fair entertainment department's official christmas party held at the Bellini Lounge at the Venetian Casino. Alcohol was provided - (neverending vodka bottles with various forms of accompaniment ranging from cranberry to orange juice).

Having a long day of work ahead of me this must be brief. But basically. Here I am. Tipsy or possibly just exhausted, and feeling the need to record something of how I perceive things at this very moment in time. Truth is readers, it has not been all sunshine and Portuguese food since I have been here. Perhaps that explains the sporadic nature of my posts (or maybe we should stick with laziness for that one?). But I have had my moments of depression here. It's partly the strangeness of the world which is Macau which in its modern context of gambling and debauchery does not appear to have any particular kind of overriding morality. Also, as is often one of the great challenges faced by people living overseas and constantly travelling, you are constantly having to develop new friendships and relationships. Don't get me wrong. This, to me, is one of the absolute joys and attractions of travelling - never knowing who you're going to meet and forming these incredible bonds with new and fascinating people who you might otherwise never have had the opportunity to connect with. But these connections do not always(generally) provide one with the same emotional comfort and support as those which have been forged over any large period ranging from years, to a lifetime. And so comes the hitch. You can be left feeling alone. No matter how many people are around you. Some people travel purely to partake in this particular sensation. Sometimes solitude is bliss. But sometimes it is not. And so the challenge is to learn how to be "self-sufficient". How to know yourself well enough and find enough joy in that that the new interactions do not have to challenge your sense of identity, purpose, or belonging.
Add to everything above the fact that, as the holiday season is wont to do, it can promote a feeling of all-pervading happiness and contenment. If you're with your loved ones it's the happiest time of year full of celebrations and festivity. BUT if you are removed? It's a time for all forms of nostalgia to attack you with a christmas carol softly singing "you're all aloooone this christmas" (in a Bing Crosby imitation), (or otherwise feel free to picture Bridget Jones gorging on a tub of ice cream and miming violently to "Alllll by mysellllllfff"). So what ensues when all this overwhelms the individual??? Crying and eating. And an approximately 10 kg weight gain. But with the breaking down comes a rebuilding. And so now. Day by day, and kilo by kilo, I am discovering resources and learning lessons which will serve me undoubtedly for the rest of my days.

So my tipsy blogster tips for leading a relatively happy life whether at home or as an expatriate in a world such as Macau?

1. Take time to find out who you are, and once you do, never apologise for it.

2. Take strength and joy from your family and friends. No matter where they are in the world. Love!

3. Learn ukulele.


Merry Christmas everybody. And a Happy belated Chanukah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
xooxoxoxooxox

Off Days Rock

Just a brief post to record my night so future Miriam does not forget. Today was my off day. Had a ridiculous day of bipolar-fuelled spending at Zhu Hai (which incoincindentally is pronounced, "Jew High"). Highlight of my purchases was a grey hoodie with a batman emblem (king of superheroes) and a gold ring which said "strive". After that I made my way to Macau Cultural Centre via (thankfully) free shuttle bus to watch Roby Lakatos & His Ensemble. The concert was absolutely wonderful and I was furiously writing notes at interval and after the show so I can review it for my new website www.miriamreviewsthings.blogspot.com . I ran into a friend and colleague of mine from the Venetian, a great musician called Oleg. Oleg introduced me to his friend Darryl who plays a traditional Chinese instrument called the Ehru. We waited around for another musician friend of Darryl's, an incredibly sweet girl called Ines who plays the Dulcimer. Ines had approached Roby's cimbalom player after the show to talk to him about the cimbalom and the dulcimer. He let her play his cimbalom and then he came with us and we went to Ines' house and she set up all three of her dulcimers and played for us. She is phenomenal. The cimbalom player had a little hit and even let her have a pair of his cimbalom mallets! Very nice guy. After we dropped him off we went and had delicious food, (I had the best Rose Iced Tea of my life) and we talked for hours. Darryl and Ines are wonderful people, Darryl is from Singapore, Ines is Macanese. They met at Beijing Conservatory of Music where they both studied. Now Darryl plays in the Chinese Traditional Orchestra (which is an orchestra of entirely traditional Chinese instruments playing Chinese music) in Macau. Ines teaches part time for Macau Conservatory (I think?) and also teaches privately. Such wonderful people and there was so much to talk about. I miss having an exchange with musicians. It felt nice not to feel over-the-top or out of place in my enthusiasm for discussing all things musical. That's my favourite part of travelling, those serendipitous moments where you are thrown in the path of wonderful and talented human beings who you can connect with.

"I'm a slave 4u" - A jukebox rants

The canals have been quiet these past few weeks. Quiet days always signal excitement in the form of nothing less than...

Empty Boats

Ahhh the bliss of being able to row your gondola knowing you don't have to sing "Santa Lucia" for the 50 000th time on a bum throat. I can daydream the ride away with occasional pauses to pose, wave and smile, all the while holding my fingers up in the Asian-appropriated "Peace" sign.



((**I am fascinated to discover just how this:







transmogrified into this:**))






Unfortunately, there is a drastic flaw to my idealised empty boad ride. And that is a certain breed of tourist I like to call the Chunga Chanter (pronounced Ch-uh-nga - definition: Cantonese for "sing" or possibly "sing song you stripey-shirted fool"). The Chunga Chanter stands to the side of the canal yelling "CHUNGA, CHUNGA" and usually proceeds to open their mouth and give their own decibel-fuelled rendition of "O Sole Mio", expecting you to then do the same. Usually, when confronted with one of these individuals, I smile sweetly, (for Sofia Lorenzo is not an aggressive soul), and utter the phrase "I no speaka Engleesh" before jamming my foot on the motor - (which propels the gondola forward at approximately the same rate as a motorised boat in a bathtub).

"What's the big deal?" I hear you asking. Surely, I am a singer. That is my job. It is what I am paid to do. You may think, "Miriam, these poor creatures have travelled miles by air and sea to reach the humble gates of The Venetian. They are just reaching out to be entertained and touched by you and your gift of song". And you would have a point.

BUT.

I have my limits reader. And being treated like a human jukebox does not, in my eyes, fall under the category of professional requirement, nor artistic expression. What did we think of the circusmaster yelling "Dance monkey! Dance!", or Pozzo yelling "Think Pig! Think!" ??

Not much I dare say..

Do I walk up to a plumber and say "Plumb! Plumb those pipes!" ?!

I do not.

Because plumbers - as do all professional beings - have their pride and deserve their peace. If I pay a plumber then I expect him to do his job. I give my passengieri (passengers -ie. paying customers) my all. And if someone on the side of the canal makes an effort at conversationalising - getting to know the REAL me (I mean, Sofia...) - and then ever-so-sweetly requests a little ditty? Well, I am not wholly without a heart. I will acquiesce with the utmost enthusiasm. But "Sing! Sing!" without so much as a smile or a please, will not induce me to any kind of melodic serenade, I don't care what language the request is uttered in.

Would it you?