Why I am terrified of being creative and an apology

That was embarrassing.

It’s been so long since I’ve logged into this that I had to click ‘Lost password?’

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To my blog and the side of my brain that exercises writing:

Rebellion ales at The Masons Arms

Sometimes being the one to suggest a place to drink is unnecessarily stressful. The other day, drops of sweat began to populate my pits as our small group looked around at each other, waiting for someone to suggest a pub.

“Somewhere we can sit outside,” offered one, as though that would make the decision any easier. Then again, this was one of those uncommon dry nights where a minute longer under a clear sky made all the difference.

I knew where I wanted to go. Question was: would they want to go have an adventure right with me?

Lost in Translation on shared alienation

The last time I watched Lost In Translation I was in my mid-teenage years, testing the waters of critically acclaimed films. Careless proclamations of love did not elicit the warm fuzzy feelings I needed to ignore a dreadful story and an even more dreadful script; car chases and helicopter crashes no longer made my heart rush with adrenaline.

I was ready to graduate to elite films, to turn up my nose at the overrated box office hits and wince for the snuffed ones. Maybe I could watch what the cool kids were watching, too. And in 2003/2004 they were buzzing about Lost in Translation.

Gobbling up my pride…

I really tried to fight it, deny it, reject it completely. I tried to immerse myself in either developing my career or catching up on the latest news. Sometimes I would go out of my way to encase it in a pretty little shell I labeled as ‘another interest’ so I would appear to be a little more…dimensional. Now this little nagging has raided my conversations too often for me to continue in this reticence.

My life revolves around food.

Work is not my life, work is not my life…or is it?

Shortly after taking this photo a few months ago, the head of my department passed by behind me, paused, and said in genuine concern, “What are you doing to your desk?”

“I know,” I whimpered, planting head gently on desk. “It’s making me stressed out.”

The Rusty Bicycle and my brilliant business equation

In memoriam of my media training last week in London where I learned the ‘Brilliant content equation’, I present the Brilliant business equation:

Quirky name + hype like whoa + fitting into local culture + meeting consumers’ expectations = Brilliant business*

There. I’ve answered the basic question of what it takes to run a good business. (*Disclaimer: Supported by nothing but speculation and guesswork as math is pitiful and knowledge of business is nonexistent.)

Sort of.

The sunrises of Oxford

Before I begin divulging the little treasures that surround our new home, I’ll reflect briefly on  our previous flat.

I won’t lie – I’d like to forget most of the experience, but there’s the sap in me that has to see it as some significant period of my life. After all it was the first flat I’ve inhabited in Oxford, the first humble abode I shared with ABC, the first personal space where I learned so much of the British lifestyle.