What I Realised Tonight…

  • VIP. An acronym so fierce it brings out the worst in people. Whilst it’s nice having those little letters on a ticket (I sure don’t mind them) it’s also not a signpost of being ‘someone’. Everyone’s someone. Perhaps, for some people, Vile Irritating Person is a much better definition of VIP.

Tonight, I went to the Designer Series 2 Runway Parade, as a part of Melbourne Spring Fashion Week. And not because of, but rather in spite of doing so, I realised a lot of things about myself. And other people. Things I knew, but maybe didn’t recognise.

And I’m not sure why tonight, of all the nights, of all the years, this realisation struck me, but it did.

  • I realised that I’m not interested in standing out of the crowd because of the label on the inside of my dress. Or because of the size of my waist. Or the length of my hair. Or because of my seat number. I’m far more interested in standing out of the crowd because of the content kept between my ears. Because of what I do. Because of how I do it. Because of what kind of person I am.
  • I realised that the only time I ever care about being in the front row is when my husband’s on a stage, singing into a microphone, with a piano under his fingertips or a guitar in his arms. Anything that is not that, is, quite simply, not that.
  • I realised that smiles are facetious. None of the ones I got tonight bore any resemblance to the ones my dad shoots my way when I walk through his door for a visit. None of them come close to the ones my four year old nephew beams after playing tiggy, or wrestling on the couch. They are not filled with love or wit or admiration or cheek. They are hollow and devious and full of plots and plans.
  • I realised that looks will only get you so far. The title on your business card will only get you so far. But the talent that you have speaks volumes. It’s about doing, instead of being. Using it, instead of showing it.
  • I realised that most ‘things’ in life are overpriced. That true quality can’t be bought, it’s made, and you can’t put a price on things that are made. Nor can you place a value on things that matter – maybe not most of all – but in making your night just that little bit better;
  • driving on an open road, music bouncing around your car, spurring you on,
  • falling into a warm bed, wrapped in the arms of your lover,
  • hot tea in a big mug,
  • toast with honey and cinnamon,
  • your feet sliding into ugg boots on a cold night
  • I realised that glamour can only be had when you’re truly happy and content, and that nothing’s uglier than pretending to be so.

I realised that style lasts. Substance endures. And everything else just ends up in a pile on the floor, or filling the inside of a bin. And you make the choice as to where you want to go. Because of what you do. Because of how you do it. Because of what kind of person you are.

Sandi Sieger15 Comments

Underrated Carnations.

Carnations get a bad wrap. So many people think of them as the common flower, as the boring flower, as the meaningless flower.

But they’re not.

They actually mean ‘Flower of the God’ or ‘Flower of Love’.

They smell like sweet cloves and brighten up any room. And they are so pretty, and ruffly.

And they last for such a long, long time.

My husband brought carnations home last night. Because I was feeling sick, with a cold.

And they have brightened up the room, and smell sweet, and look so pretty and ruffly.

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My Secret Crush, Continued.

The other day, I stepped into my local secondhand bookstore (never a good idea) and emerged with two more books to add to the collection:

The Getting of Wisdom by Henry Handel Richardson, from 1960, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents ‘My Favourites In Suspense’ from 1959.

As a huge Hitchcock fan (heck, I did an entire subject on him at University), this was a massive coup. Made so because I didn’t even know the book existed. Yes, after an entire Semester spent on the one man, I didn’t know this book existed. And of all the secondhand bookstores, in all the world, his book happened to sit on a shelf in mine.

Fate? I like to think so.

I will be taking Hitchcock’s personal advice prior to starting the suspenseful collection, “When you begin reading, may I suggest you choose a time when you are alone in the house. If there are people there, get rid of them.”

And if, and most likely when, I get too freaked out, I’ll put Rear Window into the DVD player and relax. Because, while it may be slightly suspenseful, it’s one of the most beautiful films ever made.

To me.

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Corks?

As soon as my husband and I moved into our new home, which is actually an old home, with new parts and old parts that mix together to make something lovely and beautiful, I told him I was going to start a collection.

Of what, dear? He asked.

Of corks, dear. I replied.

Corks.

There is nothing incredible or beautiful about them.

But what they signify is great; a dinner with friends that goes on. And on.

A celebration.

An occasion.

Long conversation.

The beginning of a memory. The creation of a new one.

A quiet night with a book. Or a DVD.

A romantic dinner.

A birthday brunch.

And on I could go.

Corks. Little things that block the neck between you and liquid gold. Between you and a sigh of relief. Between you and a cheer. Between you and a giggle.

And they are becoming surprisingly rare. Screw tops are taking over a great deal of bottle necks where corks were once secured – and, indeed, they should. Screw tops are far more effective than corks, on a general basis, and they don’t result in a cork tainted taste in your wine or champagne.

But.

A screw top doesn’t ‘pop’. It doesn’t hit the ceiling at an angle, with a force, and cause a stir.

A screw top doesn’t bleed. Or absorb the odour of the alcohol it houses. It doesn’t call out to be played with, to be rolled between your fingers, like a cork does.

It doesn’t sit, on the bench, for a few days, like a cork does, and linger and roll about.

And so because of that, and because of this, I decided to collect every cork that my husband and I chose to unseal in our new home.

Of which there have only been three (so far). Not three unsealed bottles, because there have been more, but three unsealed bottles that were once sealed with a cork.

Corks? He asked.

Yes, corks. I’m going to keep them, every single one that we pop, or pull, in this beautiful house of ours. I’m going to keep them in a jar. I said.

I like that. He remarked.

Me too.

Me too.

Sandi Sieger5 Comments

The Must See Of The Year.

First published in Onya Magazine on June the 21st, 2010.

The spectacle of the year, the must see of 2010, is not anything you’d expect it to be – or anything you’ve seen before.

It’s not a sporting event. It’s not an international performer in concert. It’s not a blockbuster film. It’s Circus Oz. And it covers all bases.

A night at Circus Oz intertwines everything we expect from entertainment – humour, awe, a touch of magic, shock, suspense, funky fashion, live music, boundaries being pushed physically and just the right amount of sexiness. And this year’s Circus Oz ‘Under The Big Top’ delivers all of those things. And more.

The circus can so easily be relegated to magicians and rabbits out of hats, ring-tamers and lions, freaks and clowns. Circus Oz is none of those things. It’s stylish, without trying to hard. Funny, without being forceful. And magical, without being corny.

The theme for Circus Oz 2010 is Steampunk – and the parallels between the theme and the contemporary circus are endless. The two are a match made in circus heaven.

The entire show – from the moment the band forces you to attention, right through to the very end – is superb. It features hoop diving, inline skating, juggling (and some amazing foot work you couldn’t possibly have ever seen before), group bike, rola bola, pole and so much more – including one very talented vocalist Sarah Ward. Her presence on stage is electric, her entire personality clownish. The same must be said for the performers on stage, including six new Circus Oz members that, quite impressively, give the air of being circus performers for years.

What impressed me further about Circus Oz, beyond the show, is that this uniquely Australian group has been around for three decades – and has performed across the entire world – to hundreds of thousands of people. Melbourne, I discovered, is one of the top three circus cities in the world – and when you witness a spectacle such as Circus Oz, it is really not hard to see why. Fitting, it is then, that the world premiere season kicked off last Thursday night in the city Circus Oz was born in – and the city that plans to continue supporting it – financially, as well as by having people show up in the masses and clap until their hands are pink.

Australia has a lot to be proud of – and Circus Oz is a part of that, even though it is rarely thought of as being so. For a group, an organisation, that has an equal number of men and women on stage and behind the scenes, that includes a diverse range of backgrounds, all working together to deliver a show of original live music and performance, embracing the notion of diversity, variety and eclectic hilarity – well yes, indeed – we have a great deal to be proud of.

Do yourself a favour and see the must see of the year.

Circus Oz runs in Melbourne until July the 11th, 2010 at Birrarung Marr, Between Federation Square & Batman Avenue, Melbourne.

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My Secret Crush.

I’m not really a secondhand kind of gal – I’ve never bought a used item from eBay, I’ve never worn an item of clothing purchased in an op shop and, if I were to be entirely frank, I doubt I will do so in the near future. I prefer my things clean, and new.

Except when it comes to books.

Whilst the majority of my book collection boasts clean covers and barely touched pages, I have a secret crush on secondhand books – very old secondhand books.

My copy of Tennyson’s Poems from 1899

I love the history of old books – thinking of who purchased it originally, how many hands it has passed, how many people it has inspired, entertained or taught. I love the inscriptions you find in them – books given to people with love, with hope.

I love their stained covers, marked by someone placing a coffee cup on its cover, or spilling the wax from a candle over it accidentally.

I love their musty smell. Their fragile pages.

I adore secondhand bookstores, because they are comforting and warm, but also because they house some pure gems. Gems I cannot allow to leave behind.

My copy of Thomas Paine’s The Age Of Reason from the 18oos

Yesterday, I visited a secondhand bookstore that only opened last week, mere minutes from my house. Imagine my joy to discover an illustrated copy of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas from 1928.

Or what about this absolutely wonderful collection of quotes, prose and thoughts – on various facets of life – from 1919. If this were published today, it’d sit in the ‘self-help’ or ‘motivational’ categories in modern bookstores, such is its wisdom and power.

Sandi Sieger7 Comments