Sarah Wilson

and now my inner nerd would like to share a few words…

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It just so happens I’ve stumbled across a few tidbits that appeal to my geeky side recently. I know lots of people like to say they were geeks (especially models). Well, I was one, fair and square. I was in a “special” class, I got the maths prize in Year 12, and the double major maths prize. And the physics prize. I wore an eyepatch for a year when I was 11-12. Need I say too much more…?

1. Guess what released this week? The Huffington Post FREE iphone app. Neat.

2. Do you have a stack of old National Geographics?  Sean Miller made a very cool bookshlef out of his. Public holiday craft project, anyone? (PS he coated the magazines with a a water/starch mixture;  placed them under pressure for about a week; carved out space for a shelf with a bandsaw; about 80 mags were used.)

3. Fun clip of psychologist Philip Zimbardo lecturing on how different cultures’ attitudes to time affect the wellbeing of that society.

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sunday life: to finish or to abort?

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This week I annihilate my unfinished tasks

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I call it the Un-Albumed Photo Problem. In households around the world, shoved at the back of some cupboard, is a box of old photos with negatives that have come loose from the packet. This box elicits much guilt. It probably hasn’t been touched in years; I mean, who gets photos printed these days? But rarely does a week go by when someone in said household doesn’t say to themselves, “I really should put those photos in albums”.  I had dinner this week with a frazzled TV executive toying with taking extended leave so she can regain control of her life. “If I could just get time to put the baby photos in albums,” she said. “That’s all I need.” The “baby”, by the way, is now 18.

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a new york wrap

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I’ve just got back from New York. Somehow I managed to sleep 8 1/2 hours on the plane. Which is so weird given I don’t sleep that long in a bed…ever! I adore the city. It makes life feel expansive. But before I forget, a flotsam of observations:

1. I don’t like shopping, but I like checking out shop names. This city has some great ones. Like this one:

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2. On my last day, I spent the morning with Oprah’s life coach Martha Beck. She is a Dead. Set. Legend.  A wonderfully wise soul who has LIVED. She was raised a Morman in Utah, raped by her Dad, had a Downs Syndrome child then shortly after her husband announced he was gay and left. Not long after that she realised she was also gay. Hmph.

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As we drank tea, she bent a spoon.

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The big shaggy: a very strange New York Times comment

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I mentioned yesterday my love affair with The New Yorker. I equally love The New York Times. Especially the columnists. My friend Kersti was saying the NYT  encourages a workplace structure where they give their top journalists time off the newsdesk to reflect. And write considered pieces. Which explains a lot.

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David Brooks is a New York Times columnist who I follow and yesterday he wrote the kookiest column ever about the importance of delving deep and exploring what he calls The Big Shaggy. It’s an insane concept for a conservative columnist to tackle. The Big Shaggy is the inner beast within that controls our yearnings.

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I debated whether to post this (a Sex and the City 2 tirade)…

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I saw, I left, I’m still reeling.

Because this is what ones wears in the desert...
Because of course this is what ones wears when strolling in the desert...

This weekend, I parted with more than two hours of my existence and $5 to see the SATC2 movie here in New York. It offended from every angle and I fear writing about the experience is adding oxygen to the bonfire of crass consumerism, woeful colonial arrogance and destructive relationship messages that is this creation.

But there are some important things to be said on the matter.

* It’s off-kilter: I think right now Americans do not want to see themselves represented as crude spenders (every scene all four of them are wearing new outfits, one more decadent and showy than the next) and arrogant tourists.

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this is the nutrition course I’m studying (plus a cool plan to donate $500 to charity if you enrol too…)

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In February I started studying to become a health counsellor with the Institute of Integrative Nutrition in New York, via correspondence. Name someone big in nutrition and I can safely say they’re probably lecturers at this place…Deepak Chopra, Joel Fuhrman, Sally Fallon Morell, Mark Hyman, etc.

I’ve learned things like: Eat melons alone or leave them alone (they digest so fast that if you eat anything else with them, digestion is retarded…leading to gas). There you go, hey!

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Also, always soak brown rice overnight before cooking. It gets breaks down the phytic acid in the husk, which when ingested regularly can leach zinc and other vital minerals from your system.

Anyway, I’ve managed to strike up a deal where if anyone reading this decides to enroll in the course, too, and they mention I referred them, INN will hand me $500, which I’ll donate to OzHarvest.

OzHarvest is a wonderfully authentic Australian charity run by Ronni Kahn (who meditates in the same group as me) that collects excess food from restaurants and cafes and delivers it to those in need.

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sunday life: mindful eating

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This week I eat mindfully

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Now here’s a thought: what if all those folk who take photos of their every meal and post them on their blog/Twitter/Facebook were actually onto something? I’m sure you’ve seen them about. I was at lunch recently and watched a table of six whip out their iphones as their food arrived, repositioning the Maldon salt pot artfully and angling the lighting all Petrina Tinsley-like.  In a flurry of thumbs they then tweeted the images on to their cyber followers replete, no doubt, with foodie-ese captions (“River Café-inspired mascarpone-stuffed chook with intriguing heirloom tomato smear”; “Well, if those toffee shards don’t take me straight back to 1992!”).

I’ve previously found such faddish behaviour bewildering. But this week I discerned a point to it all. Fastidiously honouring your food in this way is mindfulness in action.

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How to start a book? Write drunk, edit sober.

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I’ve just started a book. As in, writing one. I’m not quite sure how this came about. But as with most thing in my life, they’ve happened while I’ve been doing other things (I’d never even read Cosmopolitan before I became editor of it). Anyway, contracts are signed. I’m off.

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How do you start writing a book? If you’re not writing a book, you might ask, how do you start a big project with multiple layers of complexity and emotion involved? I’ve been seeking an answer for a few months. There’s some common thinking out there, in case you’re wondering. Principally: don’t worrying about the perfect start; just… starting. Vomit forth ideas. Let them unfurl in a mess. Be messy with it. Be loose. Use butchers paper. Get fired up. Creative. No holds barred. Have no structure, no semblance of order.

But don’t edit.

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a sneaky trick for pushing back emails

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You go on holidays. You come home. You have 2937498237 emails in your inbox. Your heart sinks. True?

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The funny thing about this, though, is that when you start wading through them, about 80% are actually redundant – miraculously (!!) the issue or request has either been sorted by someone else or dropped off, deemed not so critically urgent, in your absence. Or the sender of the email actually pauses for half a second and realises they can answer the issue/request themselves. Der.

I’m away for a few weeks and this time I tried a new tactic.

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you look hotter on a bike

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So, I’m here in New York. And it’s bloody hot. I woke at 5:30 am in a sweat and ran around Central Park. I’m staying right on the park – my bed overlooks it. The truly divine thing about New York  is that when it’s hot everyone is out on the streets…and lots of them riding bikes, which is just lovely. The city is slowly becoming very bike friendly. My mate Bec is meeting me today in Bryant Park, riding from Brooklyn. Unreal.

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Dressing for bike riding is an interesting challenge. I personally like to push the parameters. I ride mine around Bondi in heels and skirts, if required. My style and my wardrobe work around cycling. Everything I own is stretchy (in part because I don’t iron). I buy handbags that can sling over my shoulder along with my bike lock. I wear a lot of shorts. Or pants/jeans under dresses. That kind of thing.

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