KETCHUP!

That’s an obscure and not entirely relevant reference to the punch line of the joke told by Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. Anyway. It’s been a while, so I thought a “ketchup” of somewhat enormous proportions was in order. I am writing this from Sydney, from my desk at my old advertising agency. But do not despair. While it might sound like I have slunk back to my old digs under a shadow of mission failure, this is decidedly not the case. Instead, during my recent hiatus from blogland, I have been hustling like a professional and actually kicking goals (which is more than I can say for my beloved Canterbury Crusaders rugby team in the Super 15, but the less said about that the better.). Am I sounding cocky? Well let’s not forget where I’ve been for the last two to three months: in the U. S. of A., land of self-promote or die. So yes, I have learned to project confidence and successfulness until proven otherwise, and I have achieved some good things. But I’m still not in any position to be hanging up my hustler’s hat. Specifically, since my last warblings, I interviewed again with my dream agency and talked next steps for further interviews and specific positions. Meanwhile, I was also interviewing extensively with another agency for a position that would stretch my brain in a different and satisfying direction. Six interviews deep I had a job offer. With my remaining time in the US swiftly diminishing, and delays at the dream agency meaning any kind of offer would still be weeks off, I accepted the offer I had, packed my bags, left my scuzzy yet endearing Hell’s Kitchen apartment and jumped on a plane home. Home? Where is it exactly that I live right now? Nowhere in fact, but home this time meant Christchurch, my original home, the home that will always be. Because in my final days in New York, while it was my time to be packing suitcases, it was also my grandfather Nod’s time to leave life as we know it and move on to whatever comes next. I received the news while on a jog in Central Park, and quickly became one of New York’s many public blubbers. At least I was in a beautiful environment, one that Nod, being a gentle, gardening man, would have appreciated. And so, I re-routed my trip to include a side-trip to New Zealand, then travelled a bewildering 30+ hours across the world in an attempt to make Noddy’s funeral. I missed it by an hour, but did manage to catch the after party, peopled by a childhood’s worth of friendly, familiar and comforting faces, many not seen since I was a year shy of my first pimple. It was quite a miraculous experience to step into a church hall pulsing with so much happy history, “fresh” from an epic journey, and about to embark on another – NYC round two. Anyway, where you find me, I am back in Sydney, earning dollars while having my visa stuff processed. And before I head back I have many things to arrange, like the small detail of a roof over my head, and how to transport my worldly possessions to my new home without emptying my bank accounts. This year, it seems, was meant to be a mind-boggling one, filled with many moves and many tiresome yet necessary tasks. Still, I am happy that I have achieved what I set out to from my first NY stint: a writing job in the big smoke, and a to be continued with my agency number one. Time then, to get down with my US spellings and local words – of which, come to think of it, “ketchup” is one.