Yesterday, there I was, on a stage in the MidCity Centre in Sydney, with Nicole Richie (she was out to launch the new shopping centre and wear lots of their clothes). You can’t miss me. I take up twice as much room on the page. I’m HUGE. To be exact, I’m 9.5 inches (whatever that is in cms…I always do height in old-school terms) taller than Nicole.

As it turns out I wore mid heels to her skyscrapers. But stooped a little. When you’re tall, you do that. My back is out from standing off-kilter all my life, one hip thrust to the right to shorten myself.

While I was in New York last week, I hooked up with my Year 8 English teacher Mrs Cochrane. Fun-weird. We connected via a few degrees of separation on Facebook, and via the same network, she worked out I was coming to New York (which is where she’s now based) and so we had dinner at Bread in Soho, which is one of my favourite joints, despite the preponderance of bread (which I can’t eat). So I ate braised beef with polenta.

And, OK, after dinner we might’ve popped in to Rice to Riches across the road. You been? Crikey, what an experience. Rice. With riches, such as nuts and chocolate and coconut cream and lots of chunky, sugary bits and…well, dieting is optional.

The funny thing about the night was that it felt like I was catching up with an old mate. Even though I was 14 when we last sat opposite in a classroom. And she was the teacher.

Just to be clear, I DON’T think I’m famous (I put that in because I have brothers out there who will give me grief about this when I see them). That said, I’m pumped to be part of the Australian Electoral Commission’s Famous People Vote gee-up to get everyone enrolled to vote for the upcoming Federal election (likely to be around September).

This is how excited I am (I’m almost falling off my chair):

Another installment in the series. This time, it’s by a reader with CFS – Natalie, who writes a very sweet blog, lemon butter. I really do believe that AI is something that’s going to become more prevalent…I think it’s a symptom of our stressful, A-type and toxic times.

Which is not to say I’m totally dark on life and all it sends my way. No fear. Having an AI is a great wake-up call. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been. And I’m in a great position to issue warnings and advice and love to others who push their bodies a little too hard…(yes, do as I say, not as I did).

Enjoy Nat’s e-share. I totally get the peanut butter thing and the vegemite thing. I do both when my body is craving instant energy hits….

I’m Natalie, also known as the girl on reception, Max’s girlfriend and the girl that had that sickness where you’re always tired.  I prefer to call it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or Mylagic Encpehalomyelitis, or for practicalities sake; CFS/ME, which is an autoimmune disease that has ruled my life for the past 5 years and although always tired, gave me chronic insomnia, too.  Other symptoms like paralysis and loss of speech got me too.  A quick Google search will show you more.

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.

This week I annihilate my unfinished tasks

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.

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:

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.

As we drank tea, she bent a spoon.

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.

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.

There’s a scene in Sex and the City 2 (which, I think, we all agree is 101% trite, grimful and offensive) where Carrie rants about her negative book review in The New Yorker magazine. She reminisces that she’s carried a copy of the weekly magazine in her handbag for 20 years. As have many New Yorkers.

This is Yet Another Thing I Love About New York: the culture of reading the New Yorker on the subway. The magazine itself is sublime reading. If you’re a writer, you should study it closely. Observe the different styles of writing, the free, creative way that mundane issues or a simple interview is approached. But I also love how parochial it is. It takes a small issue that’s buzzing around a big issue, something that everyone has noticed in their travels, and extrapolates eloquently. It’s Manhattan writ small.

I saw, I left, I’m still reeling.

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.