Week 5 - When is too much, too much?

I love entertainment. I love entertaining and I love being entertained. Give me a ticket to a musical, cabaret, play, concert, movie, WHATEVER and I'm like a five-year-old in Willy Wonka's Factory. The colours, the sound, the energy, I just want to plunge into every experience like it's a pool of rich, dark chocolate.

But at what point does that rich, dark chocolate become too much? Is it possible to indulge in so much entertainment that I literally feel sick?

This week's challenge was to pack in as much as I could over a three-night period, starting with Eartha Kitt's cabaret at Cafe Carlyle. (For those of you who are too young to know, Eartha Kitt was Catwoman in the original Batman). Ms Kitt's entrance into this cosy, traditional style cabaret venue, was met with a gasp of excitement from the audience as she squeezed her way between the tables and chairs to reach the stage. Dressed in a tight fitting, red, sparkly velvet gown with a split to the thigh, this sassy creature exclaimed, "I may be 80 but I'm still burning!" And that she did, for about 75 minutes. Having gone to the cabaret by myself, I watched the show from the bar. Fortunately for me, there was a guy there who was also watching by himself so we joined forces and held the bar up together. He even offered to pay my bill at the end of the night, which I declined (then regretted slightly when I saw it. How could I have spent $200?).

My new friend, a 51 year old retired doctor from California who from this point on shall be referred to as "the doctor", told me he is visiting New York for a few days and was planning to see more shows. Now, before y'all get excited, we have absolutely NOTHING in common, apart from the fact that we both love shows. He asked me whether I would be interested in joining him for a jazz concert the next night. As my diary is pretty free until at least 2015, I agreed.

So what hot jazz gig does one go to on a rainy Friday night in New York City? One at the Time Warner Center featuring three-time Grammy winner and stuff of legends, sax player Branford Marsalis. I don't know much about jazz, but I know what I like and this concert was exceptional. The stage was set in front of a 20 metre high glass wall that overlooked the hustle and bustle of Columbus Circle. The view was absolutely spectacular and was the perfect Manhattan backdrop for an evening that was quintessentially, New York.

Now the theatre marketer in me is trying very hard to stop the audience member in me from writing this next line: if you want to see a great show in New York, you can almost always purchase tickets at the last minute. And that's what the doctor and I did for the matinee performance of Mary Poppins on Saturday. In the lavish style of Disney musicals, this show is a feast for those who love the magic of theatre. Fabulous songs, great choreography, incredible sets and set changes. The highlights for me were the upside down dance on the ceiling (proscenium arch) by the chimney sweeper, and Mary Poppins' exit - 'flying' into the auditorium for every audience member to get an almost close-enough-to-touch view of the show's star.

Being Saturday, we weren't going to stop with a matinee. The doctor had been invited to a Halloween party around the corner from my place on the Upper West Side. When I met him later that night, after he had made his appearance at the soiree, he told me about the house and that he estimated the host would have spend $100K on the party. WHAT??? I had to see this for myself, so I convinced him to take me through the place. Well... when we walked in, the owner of this gorgeous 6-storey brownstone townhouse was banging out showtunes on a grand piano and those who wanted to indulge were enjoying a singalong. Everyone was in costume and clearly having a great time at the expense of the host. The decorations were apparently installed by two of the "staff", a couple of Brazillian guys who, if I were judge, would have won 'best costume' for their Mardi Gras style pink and white cupcake creations.

Having satisfied my voyeuristic urge, we headed downtown to Don't Tell Mamas in the Hell's Kitchen area. We arrived at 11pm. It took 30 minutes to get in and almost four hours to get out! I had been wanting to check this place out for a long time and I'm glad I finally did. The concept is, a guy sitting at a piano ALL NIGHT, playing and singing, drunken audience joining in with whatever words they know, and anyone who wants to get up and belt out a tune can. And I did. My blues version of Hound Dog. I don't usually like to sing when I've had a few drinks, but with a couple of cosmopolitans under the belt and complete strangers in the crowd, do you think I gave a toss? I was so thrilled to have found yet another fun place in New York City to frequent as a single female.

I got to bed at about 6am and am now thinking I should head around the corner for some apple pancakes before my 3pm breakfast becomes dinner.

So have I reached the point of diminishing return with this weekend's smorgasbord of entertainment? Did I literally feel sick from my overindulgence? Nope. Any sick feelings are alcohol-related and could also have something to do with the 5am pizza. What these past few nights brought was an even greater view of the endless possibilities that this fabulous city has to offer. Brain food and soul food in abundance my dear friends and fellow lovers of all things artsy. And who knows, they could even be big on sports!

I wish I had more news to tell you on the job front, but alas, this is not the blog. It might be time for you to reacquaint yourself with the god of your choice, because I'd like to tell you some good news in my next blog and probably just need a bit of help from my friends.

Until next week, dive into life, embrace the unknown and dare to live.

Kaylie

Week 4 - The cost of living... it up!

When I made the committment to plant myself in New York City for three months to look for work, during which time I would most likely be unwaged, I knew there would be significant costs associated with the move: pack the house; cover mortgage repayments while I secure tenants; sell the car; refinance; buy an air ticket; drink my wine collection and give away the few remaining bottles; sublet an apartment in Manhattan and pay three months rent upfront ($3000 US per month - I knew you'd ask). Believe it or not, one of the most difficult challenges was deciding what, of my worldly possessions, to pack into my two compact suitcases!

It wasn't until I got to the greatest city in the world that I really began to understand the true cost of living in this heaving metropolis. At face value, food and clothing is similar or even cheaper than in Australia. A movie will cost you $11, a Broadway show can cost anywhere from $45 to $110, a museum tour will be around $15 and unlimited rides on the subway is $80 a month. The real fun in shopping is finding the in-the-know discount places where you can purchase just about anything you need, if you don't mind last season's stock.

I have to admit though that I am well and truly shopped out and have exceeded my optimum tolerance level for the usual sightseeing adventures of a short-stay tourist, so this week I started looking at other ways to fill my time.

I read in Time Out magazine that Donald Trump was launching his new book at Trump Tower on Thursday. (I was one of the few Australians that kept The Apprentice ratings high enough for the television show to air at ridiculously late Monday timeslots, so I am quite a fan of his.) At a guess I'd say that around 200 people showed up to hear Mr Trump's 30-minute interview about his successes, with reference to the book "Think Big and Kick Ass in business and in life". Having just thought big and kicked ass in my own life, I was very inspired by what he had to say.

But what about the hair? What would it cost me to get a close up of that tousle of foliage that has been the focus of so media attention for the past couple of years? I bought a copy of the book for $25 and stood in the slow-moving line to have it signed by the author. As I waited, I got talking to a young guy who works in finance at an office nearby. He looked around the foyer of Trump Tower and said "Could you imagine owning a building like this in New York City?", to which I replied "Yes, that's why I'm standing in this line".

Mr Trump was surrounded by flunkies, each of whom had their own little job to do to progress the queue. One person to cruise the crowd to ensure we all had the book open to the correct page; one person to take the book from us when we got close enough to the Don; another person to say when we could move forward to greet the man; and a whole bunch of others that, well, I don't know what they did, but they looked good.

Then, at last. My $25 investment was about to pay off. I couldn't wait to get a close-up of the hair and write back home about it! I shuffled along to stand in front of the seated MrTrump and for a second was so excited and overwhelmed that I just beamed a smile. He looked up and... wait a minute... did he just double-take? I have to say, it was no wonder given that males outnumbered females by about 4:1. He said "Where are you from?". In hindsight, he would probably have been more impressed with a more Nordic response than "Ustraylia". Eyes down and signing my book, he replied with "home of Rupert Murdoch". For fear of exposing anything other than my serious business reasons for being there, I kept any mention of Jennifer Hawkins at bay.

After 30 seconds or so, I walked away blissfully happy with my autographed purchase. Oh crikey!!! THE HAIR!!! I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot to look. But hey, it just cost me less than $1 a second to meet the man and I got a free book. I guess the hair will have to wait until my next encounter. Anyway, to be honest, the solarium tan is far more distracting.

So what other extreme pleasures did I discover this week about living in Manhattan? The romance and beauty of the outdoor skating rinks at Rockefeller Center and Central Park. I have only ever seen these spectacles in the movies so to see them up close is a dream come true. And one more item that I can add to my list of budget outings.

I hope that this week coming will take me one big step closer to employment in NYC. I have my eyes firmly set on one job in particular, so keep your fingers crossed and your good thoughts coming.

Until next time, think big and kick ass.

Kaylie
P.S. For my fellow performers, my singing lessons here are $100 an hour! But I do get a Steinway in an off-Broadway studio, and a former Broadway performer for a teacher. Sweet.

Week 3 - Blonde, the new legal tender?

As much as I enjoyed the Legally Blonde movies (1 & 2), until this week I had resisted the commedations of friends to see the Broadway production of Legally Blonde The Musical. Did I really want to spend $100+ on froth and bubble that I have already seen on the big screen?



Much to my pleasant surprise, I was hooked from the overture and I knew I was in for a fabulously fun ride from the first song, "Omigod You Guys". Nuff said.





The theme of a seemingly ditzy blonde female (who eventually reveals that she is actually quite smart and can therefore get what she wants regardless of how she looks) is not a new one. Afterall, Marilyn Monroe did it for years! But it did get me thinking. In a city of what appears to be predominantly brown and black-haired people, is blonde hair legal tender? I mean, what can being blonde 'buy' me?



I should mention at this point that over the years, a few very brave colleagues of mine have suggested that I do "get away with stuff" just because I am "tall and blonde", a notion I have always resisted. To this day I still don't know what exactly they mean, but I will admit to having seen the advantages of being able to play it dumb or smart, depending on the situation.



So with my accelerated levels of heightened awareness, I set out to observe what being blonde bought me over the next four days.

• Sat next to a very grey-coloured elderly lady on a train whose first words to me were, "you're pretty". Cute, but clearly, she doesn't get out much.


• Was stopped in the street on a rainy day by a tall young woman who asked whether she could take a photo of my shoes. I obliged. And to be honest, if I were a bloke, I would have asked her out - she was stunning. Maybe she thought I was a bloke?


• Got asked out for a drink by a waiter while I dined at a local restaurant. This is not ususual and I have a theory that they do this to increase their tips. i.e. you say "no" and then feel bad about rejecting them so tip them a bit extra. Works every time.


• Was sold an anti-wrinkle cream at SAKS Fifth Avenue by a hot Puerto Rican guy who asked me out for a drink. What? You've just told me I have wrinkles and you're asking me out? OK, ENOUGH ALREADY!

So maybe, just maybe, being blonde has its quirky advantages in the social arena. But I doubt it will be the sole reason for getting me a job in this fabulous city. I guess time will tell... This week's meetings went very well and I am on several shortlists, so fingers crossed and hair flicked.


Until next time,


Kaylie

Week 2 - Pounding the Pavement

Like most women around my age, I have been a big fan of Sex and the City since it first consumed our television screens on Monday nights nine years ago. And, like those same 'most women', I admit to having fantasised about what it would be like to strap on a glam pair of 3 inch heels, an uber-hot designer suit and strut my choice of street or avenue in Manhattan - whichever would take me to the next meeting or soiree.




Benchmark in tact, this week I set off to chat with New York's top theatre advertising and marketing people about potential employment. My recently acquired Allanah Hill pin-stripe suit went down a treat with my first meeting at one of the advertising agencies. No job available, but being so confident that I had made a good impression, I wore the same suit the next day for my meeting with Jujamcyn Theatres.




It's fair to say that, generally, the standard of dress in advertising agencies is smart casual with a touch of the creative. A suit is not something that I would wear if I worked there everyday, but it's an appropriate choice for a meeting. Things are usually more relaxed in theatre, as I was about to be reminded.

I arrived at the Jujamcyn office on 44th Street to be greeted at street level by a guy who seemed to have the job of 'driving' the rickety old elevator. On this day, he had a guest - a gorgeous little fluffy white dog belonging to one of one of the theatre's employees. Apparently this cute canine visits every Wednesday and likes to spend his time riding up and down all day. It wasn't too surprising then to see another dog roaming the corridors while I was waiting for my appointment. Slightly unusual I thought, but c'mon, I work in theatre. I've seen and heard it all before.

The real shock came when I was greeted by Rocco Landesman, owner of the theatres and friend of mine: "MY GOD! You look so conservative!" The meeting went very well, despite my bruised glam-ego and obvious 'over-dressing' for the occasion.




My meetings with the top two theatre advertising agencies later in the week also went well. No promise of jobs available in the near future, but the contacts are in place. And my pin-stripe Morrisey pants suit with hot red tie got an airing for each occasion! Perfect.




PLAY TIME
I am still getting used to the notion that living in a 24 hour city literally means that I can do anything I want to, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.. Eat, drink, shop, get a facial, go to the gym (but let's be reasonable). So it was great to have a mate from home to hang out with this week while we explored just some of what New York City has to offer.




Vanessa Raspa is a 3rd year student from the Western Australian Academy of Performing Arts (WAAPA). She and her class were here performing in the New York Music Theatre Festival and all were all due to return to Perth a week ago. Vanessa, however, lost her passport and was forced to stay on an extra week. Oh yeh, such a shame. (You might remember Vanessa playing the role as my daughter in Aladdin at the Regal about four years ago. Someone here acutally asked whether she is my daughter! Another ego bashing for me.)




On Monday night Vanessa blew the roof off at Birdland Jazz Club's open mic night when she sang a swing version of Summertime. People came from everywhere to compliment her, including a guy called Robert Cole who played Tony in West Side Story for two years in Australia in the early 1960s. Robert is still performing and, as of last week when I asked him if he would, is soon to be my singing teacher.




Vanessa and I also scoped a few restaurants: in Hell's Kitchen, East Village, Little Italy and Soho. And on recommendation of an in-the-know local, we saw the most amazing jazz combo we have ever seen in a secret little room at the back of The Telephone Bar on 2nd Avenue.





SHOW TIME!
I caught one show this week: A Brox Tale. A one-hander starring Chazz Palminteri, who you'll know from mafia-style films. What line did I take away with me? "The saddest thing in this world is wasted talent." (oh, and "he was so big that it's said his shadow once killed a dog")




WHAT NEXT?
Two meetings scheduled for next week and ... who knows!



Until next time, keep filling that cup of life.

Kaylie