Homer Simpson once said, "You don't win friends with salad." Well, actually you do. Because this week, salads, and variations thereof, have become some of my best friends. Rainbow chard and basil, grated carrot, beetroot, and ginger, roughly chopped tomatoes, goat's curd with olive rind, fresh corn on the cob, cold roasted potatoes, all drizzled with balsamic and olive oil, a sprinkle of black pepper and a pinch of salt.  Oh my. The flavour explosions of joy.  Filling refreshing, and so damn tasty. It's hard to believe I was once rather adverse to the idea of being a vegetarian. But fresh salads made from locally grown organic ingredients, and purchased from the markets where I have a community of friends who like me love the idea of fresh greens, I believe dear Homer, that I have won.

There is a song in the musical [title of show] called "Part of It All", in which the two leads Hunter and Jeff sing about wanting to be a part of the buzz, excitement, inevitable post-show blues, and life that is show business. And it is lovely when you are in the midst of it, and feeling exactly part of it. When you spend your days singing and dancing and fluting and running to the theatre and from rehearsal to rehearsal and you go to sleep dreaming about inversions and chord progressions and you spend your nights covered in white paint and hair gel and glitter and the thrill buzz excitement of being in front of an audience. And you wake up ready to start all over again. And if that is being part of it all, I love it with every inch of my being. 

magine if you will, a purple bean. It is so purple it is the very definition of purple. It is what purple should be. The bean is long and skinny. And you have a handful of these purple beans. And you chop off the end bits and peel off the stringy bits and you throw them in the fry pan along with some chopped zucchini and capsicums and kernels of yellow corn and Spanish onion and garlic. And it all smells amazing. And as the stir fry simmers and sizzles, a miraculous transformation begins to take place. The purple beans, so purple in their purple  beanery begin to change colour. It is like kitchen magic. See here my purple beans! See how radiant they are in their purpleness! Look closely, watch carefully... a flame, a sizzle, a wave of the magic wooden spoon and VOILA! Green beans! And before you know it, there are no more purple beans in your stir fry. Just green. And the tiniest traces of purple to remind you of what was once before. 

And soon the stir fry is ready. And you turn off the heat. And you munch into your greens. And they are delicious. And another day you can add purple beans to a salad. You can sauté them in olive oil and a bit of garlic. You can drizzle lemon or garlic butter over the top. They are even delicious raw. And as you consume and remember to be thankful to the people  who took the time to plant the beans and watch them grow and harvest them from their vines and bring them to the markets, you know you have shared in the magic that is the bean. Lovely.

I'm not big on maths, but I love patterns in numbers and dates. Like when the date is 01/02/03 or 04/05/06, or the fact that one of my birthday's fell on 10/09/87... It's a strange idiosyncrasy that completely defies my utter distaste of mathematics as a subject. We were never good friends. But I digress. 

This week I received a delightful email that stated the following. In 2011, we will experience 1/1/11, 1/11/11, 11/1/11. and 11/11/11. So cool. There is something poetic and lovely about all those ones. Now, take the last 2 digits of the year you were born. Add the age you will be
this year. The answer will always be 111... Amazing. And yes it works for everyone, even if you were born after the year 2000 (the answer will be 11). 

One of my work colleagues pointed out that this will work for any year (for example, in 2012, the last two digits of the year you were born plus the age you are turning will be 112). Now, how all this works is completely beyond me comprehension of mathematics. I'm sure it's so simple it's obvious. But my brain doesn't work that way. I'm just happy to enjoy the symmetry and poetry of it all. 

In the world of numerology, eleven means mastery. It is also said to represent idealism, vision, artistry, invention, and balance. So if this is the year where we master our dreams and passions and artistic selves, may the year be filled with eleven. And now, if you will excuse me, I'm off to enjoy elevenses...

Once upon a time yesterday there was a girl called Lulu who liked musicals very much. She liked them so much that one she decided to fly all by herself from Sydney to Melbourne to see some new musicals. So she booked her ticket and off she went. When she got there she was very excited because her hostel was right by the river and in walking distance to Federation Square and the Melbourne Arts Centre, which are both very lovely. 

After walking down by the riverside and admiring all the pretty sculptures lining the riverbank, Lulu took herself to the Australian Centre for the Moving Image to see the current exhibition, “Dreams Come True: The Art of Disney’s Classic Fairy Tales”. Lulu spent a few happy hours wandering the halls of the exhibit, admiring how clever the people at the Disney Studio were and still are, and getting a little bit teary at all the lovely princess stories and remembering just how much they are a part of her psyche, even if her university educated feminist self says that the messages they espouse are a little bit dated. The critical part in Lulu’s mind also wondered about the stories not being told in the exhibit, for example, why/how/when did the Walt Disney Brothers Studios become just the Walt Disney Studios. Lulu remembered from her university days that there is a lot of story being told in what is purposefully left out, and she made a mental note to investigate it further later on. 

Then Lulu made a mad dash for the Melbourne Arts Centre, which was luckily just a hop, skip, and a jump across the river. She collected her ticket, and went downstairs into the Fairfax Theatre to watch Program One of Carnegie 18, a new musical theatre development  program. In short, it was utterly wonderful (if you would like to hear the longer version of this part of the story you will need to keep an eye on Flusical for Episode 6: Carnegie 18). Lulu laughed, cried, held her breath, and was filled with utter excitement at the high level of talent, and the wonderful new works on display. In the interval she met a lovely lady named Jan, who happened to be the editor of Australian Stage Online, the newsletter in which Lulu
found out the London Central School was holding Sydney auditions. Lulu thanked Jan profusely for changing her life for 2011, and with much discussion about musicals and Australian theatre to be had, Lulu and Jan sat above the river eating wicked but utterly delicious treats.

In the late afternoon, Lulu was lucky enough to interview Vanessa Pigrum, the Artistic Director of Carnegie 18, for Flusical. Vanessa was very lovely, and Lulu was left feeling inspired and ready to take on the world. The second program of Carnegie 18 was equally as exciting and moving as the first program, and Lulu was particularly taken by the new opera about netball. She had no idea that the drama of netball could be so fitting for an opera. Or that sopranos could be so funny. 

By now the sun had set over Melbourne, and while most other folk were watching the tennis, Lulu made back for her hostel. Sitting in the kitchen writing up her notes for the day, Lulu had a wonderful conversation with a Canadian traveller. They talked about politics and nations and the state of the world and indigenous affairs and national identity. It was very lovely, and it was only when the kitchen was closed for the night did the conversation come to an end.

Four hours later Lulu was back at the airport, and by now she was very tired from her grand adventure and severe lack of sleep. Thankfully adrenalin and inspiration were abundant, and helped her to stay awake throughout the day so she could work, edit the next episode of the podcast, and write about her adventures. And then she collapsed into bed to dream about all
things musical. 
 
The end.

In primary school, we used to spend our recess and lunch times jumping rope. The teacher on duty would bring out the crate full of skipping ropes. Red handles for individual ropes. Yellow for long ropes. If you combined two together, you could play double dutch, two ropes turning in opposite directions. It was tricky, but with practise, you could do it. And perfecting the art of double dutch was hardcore. You were elite if you could do double dutch.
 
Yesterday I came across a group in Pitt St Mall called Dutch Double, a performance troupe using a combination of break dance moves, fast jumps, pumping music, and skipping ropes. It was awesome. It made our primary school days of skipping in the playground look like, well, primary school kids skipping in the playground. This is hardcore skipping.

A quick Google search reveals that double dutch is quite popular all around the world. There are championships. It's an official varsity sport in New York. And watching YouTube clips this morning of other jump rope troupes, I thought, wait 'till they make a movie of this... And then discovered, they already have! Disney (of course) released "Jump In" in 2007 starring the rather gorgeous Corbin Bleu, which roped in (sorry) a massive 8.2 million viewers when it premiered in January 2007 (higher than High School Musical which debuted at 7.7 million). But the sensation is not new as evidenced by this HILARIOUS pop song by Malcolm McLaren (former manager of the Sex Pistols)...
 
Skipping. It's fun. It's good for your heart. It's good for your soul. And if you master double dutch, you will have awesome dance skills, be able to work in a team, and busk in Pitt St Mall for money. Win.

Ah the magical world of Disney. It has received  many criticisms over the years. That Walt was a controlling, conservative, women-belong-in-the-kitchen-and-chained-to-a-man kind of guy, that the corporation treats its employees badly, that it fills children's minds with unrealistic expectations about life and love. As an eighties baby, it's almost in my genetic code to love Disney. I grew up with The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. These movies are under my skin. The heroes and heroines and tunes are a part of my very being. 
 
In recent years, Disney have churned out a few great films. Wall-E was beautiful. Any film where the world is saved by a robot watching Michael Crawford croon out “It Only Takes a Moment” on repeat is a winner in my eyes. But the message of Wall-E was spoilt by the plastic land-fill filling paraphernalia that inevitably followed the film. Enchanted was fabulous. It humorously captured the magic of Disney at its escapist, all singing, all dancing, all glorious technicolor best (though I will never understand why they cast Idina Menzel in a non-singing role. That’s just ridiculous). 

Today, I saw Tangled. And it was magic. It made me cry. It made me laugh. At twenty-something, Disney still has me oohing and ahhing at a cartoon. The girl twirling in the meadow, the lanterns floating through the sky, the wild chases through medieval Europe. The re-telling of a fairytale with plenty of feminist, post-modern self-referential punch. The
score, by that genius of film music, Alan Menken, though not particularly memorable is beautiful. The throw-away lines and psychological break downs provide plenty of adult humour. It is Disney doing what Disney does best. 

Yes, it is escapist. It is a land where the concepts of republicanism or fear do not even exist. The environment is still in tact. Girl can meet boy. Boy and girl can fall in love and have adventures. There is sunshine. There is love.  And your dreams come true. And you live happily ever after. Is Disney filling me with false hope that life can be so sweet? Perhaps. But it is nice to have hope. And it is nice to believe, even if only for a couple of hours in a darkened cinema, that love and beauty and inspiration can win over darker forces. And that is the magic of Disney.