Seven Magazine Launches New Site

Searching for a refreshing change, a magazine that wasn’t just about celebrities or high street clothes, I stumbled upon a glossy with a black front and intriguing cover stories. Seven Magazine came home with me and I fell in love with it because was exactly what I was looking to read – something with substance and heart.
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True to its name, Seven looks at both serious issues and culture on every continent. It is described as a magazine for politically-conscious men and women with an interest in international arts. It is even forming its own charity called Seven Foundation.
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This week, Seven launched their new website at www.sevenglobal.org. Some of the magazine articles from the print version have been posted and there are more to come. It is definitely worth a read. One of my favourite articles discovers the gangs of Cape Town, South Africa, but there is plenty more right here.

A Weekend in Amsterdam

Clinging bicycle bells welcomed us as we stepped out of Amsterdam’s Centraal Station into the cool late night air. The streets were buzzing with mingling tourists, smart cars and blue and white trams that roll down the centre of the main streets. An intimate network of small streets can be walked from one side to the other in 30 minutes. Carefully, of course, as there are 600,000 bicycles to contend with along the way. Webbed with weathered bridges and houseboat-lined canals, Amsterdam is a quaintly exotic oasis of culture. It is not only a city, but a way of life.

After a quick stop in St. Christopher’s Inn The Winston on Warmoestraat, our hostel and home for the weekend, we set out to explore our surroundings in the Red Light District. I felt a bit sad for the women dancing under the glow of seductive lights in large windows, on main streets and in alleyways, but maybe that’s just the feminist in me because they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Fat City, now a pool hall and pub, was our first stop. My parents met there long ago before it changed from a club and youth hostel where my dad was a DJ and my mom was a backpacker. Being in Amsterdam where coffeeshops dot every street, we stepped into a smoky den and then made our way past whispering drug dealers back to The Winston, where we spent the rest of the night dancing in the club run by the same management as the hostel.

The next morning, our first full day, we started with a hostel breakfast followed by tea at a café called Bagels and Beans (coffee beans, that is) then the obligatory canal tour that starts outside the Heineken Experience.

From there, we walked along the canal, up through the grassy space near the Van Gogh museum and got distracted with hot waffles, cherries, ice cream and Chocomels to wash it all down.

Eventually, we made it to Vondelpark, a welcoming green space with joggers, Frisbee players and more bikes. Back on the other side of town, we dined at a pancake house and walked through the Bloemenmarkt flower market before heading out for an unforgettable night at The Paradiso, a huge club converted from an old church.

In one room, we caught a show called The New Young Ones, which featured six hot new Dutch rock bands. In another room, the sold out Willy DeVille, bluesy rock that was around back when my mom saw him in Buffalo in the 70s under the band name Mink DeVille. A new crowd filed in for a techno dance hall and DJs till 5am, complete with an acrobat woman who dangled freely from a set of curtains over the crowd performing tricks. After a stop at the glorious Chipsy King at some hour of the morning, it was bed and then breakfast before our last full day on Saturday.

What better to do Saturday morning than visit the infamous Amsterdam sex museum? From the intimate to the absurd, we laughed and gasped through the halls of exhibitions which were far from your typical ‘boring’ museum. I even got a picture sitting on a giant penis. Classy, I know.

That afternoon, we went to more coffeeshops: The Bulldog, Het Derwoud and Hill Street Blues before heading off for the best night. We didn’t think it was possible to top Friday night, but we did, thanks to some stage diving and crowd surfing to a German punk band called Beatsteaks and some newfound Dutch friends who spent the night dancing with us in the Indie room. Then it was one last stop off at Chipsy King before a few hours of sleep.

It was almost like falling in love with London the first time. Maybe it was the canals, the coffeeshops and relaxed atmosphere, the charm of bicycle bells, the seduction of the sex shops and red light district, the music, the clubs, the people... I’m not sure exactly. But, something made me want to stay there, to live there for a while. It was the first time I wasn’t the most excited person in the world when arriving at Heathrow again.

Sometimes it Rains like Glitter

Rain is coming down in streams, the wind whistling and howling through slats in the wooden fence around our back garden. I’m sitting on the floor next to my door that leads outside and I can feel the chill in the air coming in against my bare feet. Occasionally, a gust slams against the bushes and leaves dance like green snowflakes in the air before settling on the grass. It looks greener than usual, dotted with beads of fresh water, radiant against the gray sky. Roses are already blooming down the road on a twisting stem of thorns that snakes along the top of a fence. Pink roses. Pale pink like cotton candy, petals with graceful curves.

In New York, it is snowing and I remember this last year as well, the way London welcomes Spring more quickly, the crocuses springing quietly up from the dirt, the naked branches of trees sprouting the first buds.

Spring is for new beginnings and that is exactly what this month is all about. I’m starting a new job on Monday at The London College. It means I can walk to work through Portobello Market every morning, passing the vendors with colourful vegetables and vintage coats and shoes. It means new horizons, new opportunities, new contacts and a new environment.

On top of that, I’m focusing more on freelance writing this year, putting time into developing a business plan, sending queries, promoting, nitpicking at my image and carving out my niche. I have a few projects in the works already.

Beyond that, I’ll soon be putting some sub-editing hours into Seven Magazine as they get ready to launch a brand new website.

I’m working with the Haute staff as Arts & Culture Editor planning the second issue of the quarterly magazine, interviewing people and writing articles, recruiting writers and photographers.

I’m also revamping The Traveling Mag Project to minimise shipping costs and loss of books, bringing it closer to the participants by expanding on the online version, The Homebody Mag, and posting regular scans of the books while they’re in circulation.

Sitting here thinking of all I have to look forward to this year, I have every reason to be excited. S and I celebrate one year together this Sunday, my brother comes to visit in about a week and we’re heading off to Amsterdam. In March, S and I are spending a weekend in Budapest. My parents and a few friends are visiting in May. In September, a big group of us are planning a trip to America – New York and California.

I think the rain is beautiful, the way it’s clinging now to colourful clothespins hanging from the washing line. It’s slowed to a mist, with a barely-visible steam-like quality. It reminds me of Niagara Falls. When I touch the glass of the windows in front of me, they are like ice, as if they would crack under a tap of my fingertips. Heat radiates behind me and I’m grateful for this house because I’ve fallen for it and it finally feels just like home now. Just right.

I love to keep myself busy, working toward my dreams even if it’s work experience or my own unpaid projects. It’s something like the rain, seeing the beauty in something that other people may find miserable. It’s streaming down the windows and clouding my vision, but it shimmers and shines if you train your eyes on the right spots. Eventually it sinks into the ground and from it sprouts life, beautiful blossoms that take time and a bit of nature’s love to create. The rain comes when the blossoms are alive and it comes when they die. It never stops being raining; there are only lulls.