There's No Place Like Home

When you choose to move to a new neighbourhood, whether it be in the same city or another part of the world, there is a standard set of questions that needs to be addressed. Of course these probing thoughts will vary depending on your life status but they are likely to include: "Where's the nearest school?"; "How long will it take me to get to work?"; or "Where is the nearest boat ramp?". These days, choosing a house in the suburbs is not only an investment in bricks and mortar, it's an investment in lifestyle. It's about driving your car into the garage and letting the roller door close behind you, shutting out the rest of the world. The chaos, the neighbours, the noise, everything. Unless you live in New York City.

Manhattan is a cultural melting pot of people from all around the world. One thing we residents of the island have in common though is we have all sacrificed the stereotypical quiet suburban life for one of the most unique living experiences ever imaginable. Sacrifice? Did I say SACRIFICE?

When I visited my home town in Australia recently, one of the things I did first was inspect the townhouse I have been renting to tenants for the past two years. What struck me when I walked in the door was the size of the place. I bought this compact, 3-bedroom, 2.5 bathroom, two-storey abode in my post-divorce months and remember thinking at the time of purchase how tiny it was. In the seven years prior 'the townhouse year', my living space (including backyard) was around 550 square metres (5,920 sq ft). Not huge, but a whole lot bigger than the townhouse. So how does that compare with my apartment in New York? The townhouse is HUGE. Having now lived the New York life for almost two years I have become so accustomed to small spaces I couldn't believe how lucky I am to own this little piece of paradise in Australia. My Manhattan apartment in Hell's Kitchen is 50 square metres (550 sq ft), including the walk-in closet.

I know, you are probably wondering what the trade-off is for living in a dog box. Well, for me, life in New York City is simple. I go to work, drink cocktails, eat out, order in, pay a few bills and that's it. No mowing the lawn, no driving, no cooking, no doing the laundry ($1 a pound to have it done). In fact, life is so simple that when I last moved apartments, the only question I needed to ask about my new neighbourhood was, "Can I get to a Broadway theatre in less than a minute?".

Sometimes 'home' is not where you grew up. Instead, it's that one place in the world that makes you feel like you belong. Where, no matter how lonely you get or how uncertain the future may seem, just being there makes your heart sing.

It's true, New York City is not for everyone. But it is for me.

Life as a New Yorker

There is a well-known saying that, at any given time, every New Yorker is looking for either a job, an apartment or a partner. The lesser-known fact though is that the perfect version of each is as challenging to find as the other.

Three months ago I checked the first item off that list when I secured a marketing job with The Economist Group - a prestigious and popular world-wide brand that attracts a lot of attention when name-dropped in a room full of single men. But that's another story.

If getting the job wasn't surprise enough, the real eye-opener came on my first day when I was told that the hours are 9 to 5. Yes, you read right: Monday to Friday, 9am to 5pm. I came to New York City with a promise to myself that I would work 100 hours a week if that's what it took to keep a great job in this city. That said, for the first time in a decade, I have mastered the art of work:life balance. It's a rewarding challenge. I dare you to try it some time.

Job in place, my attention shifted recently to searching for an apartment. My current sublet arrangement - a furnished, too-good-to-be-true apartment in the Upper West Side - concludes at the end of May. The choices?

1) Rent an empty apartment and purchase furniture to fill it. Long term.
2) Sublet a furnished apartment. Short term.
3) Find a fabulous room-mate to rent with and hope they don't eventually reveal themselves as an axe-wielding, homicidal maniac. Short term or long term, depending on their state of mind.

It is a fact that the rental-vacancy rate in Manhattan is less than 1%, compared with a national average of around 9.7%. Compounded with the also interesting fact that two thirds of New York City residents are renters, this experience was stacking up to be more difficult than getting a visa to work in the USA. I put the word out to brokers, friends and colleagues to keep an eye out and an ear to the ground. And like most New Yorkers do, I got online and trawled through the endless postings on craigslist.com. I was determined to wrap up this little exercise in record time.

So I guess you're wondering what $2,000 a month will get you in Manhattan? Well, imagine cramming a combined bedroom/living space, kitchen and bathroom into your standard Australian master bedroom (sans ensuite) and THAT is your fabulous studio apartment. You might also have the priviledge of hearing a colourful story from the doorman when you inspect the building for the first time. Like this little corker: "I saw that construction guy fall from Trump's building and you know what? When he hit the ground, I'm not kidding, his head just popped off." The apartment didn't leave a good impression either.

My fortune came in the form of an email from one of my theatre friends. Word was out that a 32 year old composer/actor was looking for the perfect roomie to share his two-bedroom apartment in the theatre district of Midtown. Enter, me. We immediately hit it off and resolved to have the most wonderfully fun co-existence in history. I move in this weekend.

Which brings me to the third item on the list. True to my last blog about dating, I have accumulated a lot of male friends and have been spoilt on numerous occasions by doctors, lawyers, professors, finance guys... the usual repertoire of New York City men. Any sparks you ask? Well, checking that item off the list would mean defying that ol' New York saying. And we couldn't have that now, could we?

Until next time,

Kaylie

Dating: New York style

If you believe everything you see in the movies, you'll be expecting a flurry of excitement this Thursday night as hopeless romantics ascend to the top of New York City's Empire State Building. Not just because the views are spectacular. Oh no. It wlll be because in 1993, Tom Hanks as 'Sam' and Meg Ryan as 'Annie' brought us one helluva happy Valentine's Day ending to "Sleepless in Seattle". The movie single-handedly instigated a growing trend to get hitched at this most iconic of building icons, on the most love-saturated day of the year.

It would be fair for one to assume however, that these nubile lovebirds are tourists. From overseas. Now why would I make such a harsh accusation?

I recently discovered that marriages are on the decline in the USA. There are 97 million unmarried single people living in the USA. And a not-surprising 50% of adults living in New York fall into this singles category, the highest rate of any state in the US.

When I first learned this, I thought New York must be teaming with sad, lonely people, desperately searching for 'the one'. That was before I discovered the New York City phenomenon of DATING.

Now in case you missed every episode of Sex and The City, the general rule of dating in NYC is that you date many, and date often. The idea being that you hang out with a whole bunch of different individuals and get to know each one. Then, like a well-fed blowfly hovering over a plate of sizzling gourmet sausages at a summer barbeque, you eventually land on the one that is most to your liking (obviously hoping not to get shooed away before you do). What follows, apparently, is a discussion about "being exclusive". If you both agree that you are made for each other, then no other sausages gets a look in from that point on. Simple really.

Rules noted and confidence in tact, I decided to fast-track the waiting game and a couple of weeks ago I joined both a dating agency and an online dating site. I was determined to discover for myself how simple this concept really is so I lined up a week's worth of blind dates.

My first date came through the agency - brunch with James, shipping company owner. I was a little annoyed that he was 15 minutes late and that he had not called with an apology, but I reassured myself that an open mind is the key to any successful date. His excuse? His friend was in town for the weekend to attend the funeral of said friend's brother-in-law who, one day earlier that week had become a first-time father, then the next day fell out of a window and died. The remainder of the date mostly centred on exchanges of funeral stories. Only the funny ones of course.

Date number two was an online pick - Jonathan, owner of a commercial property company. We met for a cocktail followed by dinner. As usual, I offered to pay half the bill and placed cash on the table. That's when I discovered another American dating phenomenon: "American girls never offer to pay," Jonathan said. "And even if they offer, they certainly would never put money on the table." You mean I could eat out FREE every night of the week?(!)

My next online date was with Justin, a 31 year old personal trainer and property something-or-other. Note, he picked me. I'm not cradle-snatching. We met for a couple of drinks and quickly discovered that we are both fans of Elvis. I didn't think this was particularly unusual as he is Italian and every Italian guy I know dreams of pulling chicks like The King did.

Date number four was Andy, another set up from the agency. On paper, this guy would have looked like a great match. He writes music for television commercials. Advertising AND music? Yee haaah!! Sadly, it took me about 30 seconds to realise that Andy spends waaaay too much alone time in the studio and as a consequence, has a limited set of social skills. We agreed to wish one another well in our dating endeavors. (The upshot of the night was that I saw Chris Noth - 'Big' - from Sex and the City!)

My verdict on the concept of dating New York style? I have to admit, it was an exhausting but rewarding challenge. Having been out of the dating game for nine years, I had forgotten that first encounters are not like they are in the movies. Sparks don't necessarily ignite flames of passion within seconds of meeting, and it's unlikely you'll fall in love at first sight. But I did discover the answer as to why there are so many single people in New York City. Heck, they're just having a good time!

So what am I doing for Valentine's Day? You guessed it. The agency has organised a lunch date with a guy whom they described as: "oh my god Kaylie, he is GORGEOUS". Dinner will be spent with my newest, most fabulous friend - a 35-year-old single gal from Adelaide, Australia. Miss Adelaide moved to New York only a few weeks ago and together, we have already painted the town several devilish shades of red. It seems only appropriate to continue the tradition on Valentine's Day.

Until next time, if you're single, I know why you're smiling!

Kaylie

It's a small world, afterall.

If you have ever braved the flight from Perth, Australia, to New York City, USA, you'll know that the 18,700km journey keeps you in the air for about 24 hours. Plus stop over. And if you've spent even the shortest amount of time in both cities, you will have observed the many ways in wihch they contrast. Vastly.

Perth is a sunny, sprawling, coastal city with a population of 1.5 million people and is reputed nationwide as being "a great place to bring up kids". It also happens to be the most isolated metropolis in the world.

New York City, more specifically the island of Manhattan, also boasts a population of approximately 1.5 million people, only they're crammed into a land area of about 60km square. According to Wikipedia, Manhattan is the "commercial, financial and cultural center of the USA and, to varying extents, to the world." Yep. No kidding.

The two cities couldn't be further apart in distance, nor in daily culture. Yet, over the past week the two cities reached out to one another like nextdoor neighbours, to mourn a favourite resident - Heath Ledger. The media in both capitals continues to be consumed with inspiring stories about a talented actor who, at age 16, left his home in Perth to pursue his belief in himself and in his extraordinary abilities as a performer. It takes guts to leave your friends and family to follow a dream. It takes the guts of your friends and family to continue fueling your belief in the dream, even though at times, they'd probably rather you pack it in and head home. Ledger held a shining light for those with great asipirations of becoming better than they ever have been.

Of course, this sensational event occured during the week of Australia Day celebrations in New York City. The three functions that I attended were tinged with sentimental pride because in some way, the young actor was like the kid we all knew from next door.

I arrived back in NYC two weeks ago with a single resolution: "to get a job and to HAVE FUN". In my first week, I distributed my rewritten resume to every online job board across the USA. I contacted recruiters and potential employers. And I signed up for three Australia Day events the following week. (New York is all about the networking).

So here's some of what I've been up to over the past seven days:

• Lunch at a restaurant in Grand Central Station with a group called Australian Women in New York. Made a couple of great new friends.
• Lunch with an Aussie performer who is now working in NYC theatre administration. Another great new friend.
• Drinks with fellow Australians at the New York Magpies Footy Club event. Yeh, I can't believe I went either, but they said they'd be selling pies.
• Helped out on the Commercial Theater Institute stand at the Entertainment Industry Expo. Not an Aussie event, but what the hey.

The piece de resistance was attending the Australia Day Ball at the famous Waldorf Astoria. I tagged along with a friend who works at the New York Post and felt extremely priviledged to sit at one of the two NewsCorp tables. The night's guest list included Jessica Alba, Julian McMahon, Jack Thompson, Eskimo Joe, Shannon Noll and several Australian Federal politicians (your tax money was well spent). I even managed to snap a couple of shots of me with Eskimo Joe and Jack Thompson! Couldn't resist.

It gets better...

On Wednesday of last week, I emailed my resume to a recruiter at one of the major agencies in Manhattan. I had spoken with this guy in late December and he asked whether I had authorisation to work in the USA. I told him that I don't, but that I meet the criteria for the E3 visa (which, incidentally, no one here knows anything about). He said that there would be no way that an employer would even consider me if they had to go through the visa application process unless I had something amazing to offer them. Point taken.

While I was away over the holiday season, I engaged a professional resume writer to rewrite my CV to American standards. You see, I decided that life is too short and that I should take a much wider approach to my job search. And although it cost a bit, I figured it would be worth the investment. It was this document that I emailed to said recruiter last week.

The recruiter returned an email almost immediately with details of a job he thought may interest me. I asked him to put my name forward and the next day he phoned me with an appointment time for Friday with the prospective employer. He also told me that the position had been open for "a while" and that they hadn't yet met the person whom they felt had the right skill set and personality to fit with the company.

The interview was two hours long. I met with four different people over that time and had a strong sense that they had decided to combine both the first and second interviews - on the hop. I was so frazzled at the end of it, I took a cab across town to Bloomingdales for a bit of retail therapy. I paid the taxi driver and as I crossed the street I thought I heard someone yelling my name. It turns out it wasn't "Kaylie" this guy was yelling, it was "lady!". I had left my folio of work in the cab and the next passenger waved me down. Phew.

First thing this morning (Monday), I got a call from the recruiter to tell me that I was "at the top of the list" and that "the company has one more person to meet with before they make a decision at the end of this week". At lunchtime today, he called again to congratulate me for landing my first job in New York City! I am pleased to tell you that once my E3 visa is approved, I will be working with the team at The Economist Group, marketing their conferences throughout the USA as part of Economist Intelligence Unit.

You see kids, never take "no" for an answer. Just keep searching for a way to hear "yes". I admit, landing this job was good timing all round, but I would never had found it if I had have believed for one second that I shouldn't send my resume to this particular recruiter.

So I've had a pretty amazing week making things happen. I've made some fabulous new friends and I am about to start my career in my favourite city and only because I had the guts to move half way around the world to realise a dream. And because you had the guts to stick it out with me.

It will take another couple of weeks to process the visa application and poor me, I'll have to fly to the Bahamas to get it. Needless to say, there are more stories to come. I promise.

Oh! Before I forget. When I arrived at the Entertainment Industry Expo on Sunday, a guy tapped me on the shoulder and said: "Excuse me. On Friday afternoon, at approximately 4.30pm, on the corner of 59th and Lexington, you got out of a cab...". Can you believe it? On an island of 1.5 million people, I again met the guy who, two days earlier, had rescued my folio from the taxi. Sadly, he wasn't a hottie. But I did manage to squeeze in three dates last week with three different guys who were kinda OK. But more on that next week.

Until then, remember, the world is a small place. The people in one city are no different to the people in the next. We all have dreams. We all have talents. The only thing that stops us from achieving the things in life that we want most, is ourselves.

Kaylie

It's official. Elvis Loves Me.

Happy New Year, from New York City. Yes, I'm back in the city I love most with tales from a colourful three-week interlude at places elsewhere, while I accommodated the expiry of my first 90-day visa.

The holiday season was spent with my 'little' sister Natasha at her home in Glasgow, Scotland. Tash has lived there for about seven years and in that time I have visited her twice. From the moment I arrived this third time though, I started planning my 'escape'. Oh don't get me wrong, the little sis' is lovely. It's just gloomy Glasgow that gets to me. Having said that though, we did have a fun time during an afternoon trip to what I regard as Scotland's prettiest city, Edinburgh. We visited my favourite t-shirt shop, Fabrick, to stock up on personalised slogan numbers. That's right, you think of it and they'll print it. Last time I was there, I had a tee printed with "Elvis Loves Me". It has always gotten a great reaction, so I was keen to outdo myself this time with these three new additions to my wardrobe:

• IT'S NOT ME. IT'S YOU.


• I ROCK


• TODAY IS CASUAL SEX DAY

Not sure when I'll wear the third one, but it did seem like a great idea after a couple of drinks over lunch.

Continuing in the Scottish tradition of drinking for any or no reason, Christmas day was spent with dear friends of Natasha's playing board games, eating turkey and consuming copious amounts of wine. I had New Year's Eve to myself for the first time ever, which was a real treat . Typcially, NYE for me is spent performing somewhere. Or during my married years, it was also spent celebrating my wedding anniversary. So with a glass of wine in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other, I toasted my achievements of 2007, acknowledged the day nine years ago that I became a 'Stansfield', and continued working on my escape plan.

My craving for Vitamin D had finally climaxed and I spent my days in Glasgow fantasizing about sunnier shores. Literally. 'Plan A' was to try and get a direct flight to the Cayman Islands in the Caribbean, followed by a direct flight to New York City. 'Plan B' was to book a direct flight to Miami, Florida. Flight availabilites and finances overruled my first choice, so on Sunday January 6, I arrived back in the USA on a nine-hour direct flight from London to Miami.

I had flown into London the night before and managed to get about five hours sleep at an airport hotel before heading back to catch my next flight. By the time I arrived in Miami and waited more than an hour in line at immigration, I was exhausted. I knew I'd be relying on divine intervention to convince the customs guys that my request for a 90-day visa was for vacation purposes only.

Before leaving New York in December, I spoke with a lot of Australian travellers who had visited the USA on back-to-back 90-day visa waivers. The short version of this very long story is that if the folks at immigration suspect that you're trying to live and work in the USA illegally, they can and may refuse entry. I had given this a lot of thought and was convinced I had all bases covered. Even down to the clothes I would wear upon my re-entry.

When I finally made it to the front of the queue, I noticed there were just three officers processing the visas from our flight. The closest to me was about five metres away and he was attending to a young couple. It didn't take long for him to notice me in the line. Not because I look fabulous on no-sleep and after a long flight, but because he liked my t-shirt. We then had a conversation across the five metre stretch of the room that went something like this (remember, he's still serving the young couple):

Him: "Oh wow, I love your t-shirt."

Me: "Gee thanks."

Him: "That's so funny. Elvis Loves Me. That's so cool because usually it's: I Love Elvis."

Me: "Yeh. The sad thing is, I had this made."

Him: "Oh, you're fan?"

Me: "Yes. It's his birthday in two days so this is my tribute."

"NEXT!" It was my turn to step up to the immigration desk. Fortunately it was to the guy sitting next to my newly acquired t-shirt fan.

Him again: "Hey man, look at her t-shirt. It's so cool."

Me: (Stick my boobs out. Say nothing).

The second immigration guy was lovely, but wasn't so charmed by my slogan. (thank god I didn't wear the "today is casual sex day" t-shirt). Guy number one however said he'd like to go to Graceland with me. Guy number two gave me a grilling but, well, here I am. You see, there is a God. His name is Elvis. And like the t-shirt says, he really does love me.

I stayed in South Beach Miami for almost a week, lapping up the sunshine and taking private scuba diving lessons with a super-hot Cuban. I consumed almost a full box of sea sick pills to cope with the 3ft to 4ft swells and churning currents and can now proudly say that I am a certified PADI Open Water Diver. It was just the achievement I needed to get the adrenaline pumping for my next series of exciting adventures in the USA. Whatever they might be.

Until next week friends, may The King be with you.

Kaylie

Week 11 - The greatest challenges yet

In 2004, former Sex and the City writers Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo took the dating world by storm with the release of their book, He's Just Not That Into You. This tell-all book exposed what really goes through a guy's mind when he is dating a woman that, well, quite frankly, he is just not that into.

We've all heard those tell-tale excuses like, "sorry I haven't called but I have been really busy at work", and "I'd love to but I've got something else on", yet we women listen with absolute faith that what we are being told is in fact, the truth. The truth is that 100% of men surveyed for this book said that they have NEVER been too busy to call a girl that they are into. See that? One hundred percent. When it comes to successfully hooking a man in the 21st century, women are still expected to put down the phone and wait for the man to chase.

But what are the rules when a woman is trying to hook a job? When I first arrived in New York City 11 weeks ago, I picked up the phone and organised to meet with several potential employers in the very specialised and surprisingly small industry of Broadway theatre marketing and advertising. Those who did not have work available or who thought that my skills would be better suited elsewhere were honest about their situation when we met. "Good", I thought. Afterall, let's not waste each other's time. Then there were to two potential employers with whom, I decided, I would most like work.

With just over two weeks remaining on my current vistor's visa, it was time to again pick up the phone this week and pleed my case. As you will have gleened from previous blogs, I have been phoning them on a very regular basis since our first meeting. I've heard every excuse imaginable but managed to convince them that my time for excuses was up. Here's what happened:

Potential employer No.1: "We love you, we think you're excellent and we would love to have you on the team. We just don't have anything at a senior level at the moment." Unfortunately they don't have any mid-level jobs either for me to 'get a foot in the door'. The upshot though is that they are part of a world-wide group of advertising and marketing agencies and at my suggestion, agreed for the human resources department to add me to the database for other New York offices to reference. And the good news is, I've been invited to "keep in touch".

Potential employer No.2: This is a job I applied for from Australia in July this year. I interviewed over the phone from Perth, then met in-person in early October. Another difficult chap to catch by phone, I finally got through this week to say, "What do I have to do to convince you to hire me?". I have another meeting scheduled for this Tuesday.

It's a strange time of year to be unemployed. Usually this is a very, very busy time for me attending corporate Christmas parties as a guest, or even better, as a corporate entertainer. If it weren't for the stunning decorations lining 5th Avenue and the real Christmas trees for sale along Broadway, I wouldn't even know the festive season was upon us. Yes, this year will go down as the year I was invited to one and only one corporate Christmas party.

Last Thursday I took a cab outside my apartment and had great pleasure in saying, "Trump Tower please driver, on 5th Avenue". My friend Sandra had finally come up with a Trump card - an invitation to the Trump Models Christmas party. There couldn't have been more than 60 people crammed into the tiny bar space, but the buzz of beauty filled the room. A great night of cocktails and light conversation ensued and even after a couple of drinks, I refrained from asking Mr Trump's lawyer to introduce me to the entrepreneur, who was flitting through the crowd.

So what next? I wish I had a crystal ball because for the first time in my life, I don't know. What I do know is that I have to leave the country by December 23. I don't know where I'll spend Christmas and New Year and I have no idea with whom I'll spend it. If you're reading this and you're spending that time out of Australia/USA and you'd love the company of a fun blonde Aussie chick, then drop me a line! I'm open to offers, especially if it involves fine weather. Feel free to spread the word.

And what of The Canadian? Well, I guess he's just not that into me.

Sophia Loren once said: "Getting ahead in a difficult profession requires avid faith in yourself. That is why some people with mediocre talent but with great inner drive, go so much further than people with vastly superior talent."

Rest assured, I still have the avid faith.

Until next week,

Kaylie

Week 10 (the other half) - Two Surprises

I'm 38. I'm Australian. And I've lived my entire life in a mediterranean climate. Last week's escapade in sunny LA was just like hooning around Perth on a vitamin D-rich winter's day, but on a much larger and more exciting scale. The gorgeous weather and laid-back culture in the two cities are so similar, it's uncanny.

Forward one week to today when I woke to see the ground outside my New York City apartment covered in snow. What a surprise! Half an hour later, I witnessed my first ever snow fall. Light, crisp, white flakes, descending from the gods. It was so beautiful I cried. Incessantly. But I've now put that down to PMT.

My other pleasant surprise this week was hearing from The Canadian (think back a couple of weeks). We went out again on Friday night and he confirmed my suspicion that he is as innately incorrigible as me. So what exactly does that mean? My kinda FUN! The devil-dressed-as-angel, cheeky kind. Guess it's the performer in me.

I'm off to conquer the snow and to meet with someone who has a room to rent. My sublet is up on December 21 so I'm on the hunt for a cheaper place to share. Whoa. A roomy. At my age.

Until next week,

Kaylie

Week 9 (and a bit) - La La Land

When I think 'Los Angeles', I think: wild parties, Harley Davidsons, Playboy Bunnies, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll - all meticulously pardonned under the banner of 'Hollywood'. Drink-driving is the norm, veganism is the staple and the paparazzi are like contageous festering sores on the sidewalks of the hotter-than-hot hotspots. This vast, celebrity playground of almost 10 million people is home to screen legends, television stars, actor wannabees, and has beens who never really were.

It's a city where anything goes (which is just as well for the magazine moguls who'd be begging on the streets if it weren't the case).

I flew in to San Diego on Tuesday to meet up with my new Scottish friend (my sister's best mate) who recently moved to the USA after marrying an American. Like me, she is finding it a little challenging to make friends because she is not working and cannot do so before her visa is processed. Also like me, she LOVES a good time. It was obvious from the outset that our Thelma and Louse style trip to LA was going to be one to remember. But first, the Turducken.

The Scott and I were very excited to be spending Thanksgiving in the home of an American family. We baked a cheesecake for the occasion and spent four and a half hours breathing in the exciting aroma of Cajun spices as our chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey roasted in the oven.

Our American family of about 20 people welcomed us to their feast which, to me, looked a lot like Christmas dinner but without the plum pudding. And like Christmas dinner, we all became victims of a turkey-induced coma, having to force down rich desserts to kick-start our systems with a sugar rush. The Turducken verdict? You MUST try.

Apart from not having a work visa, The Scott hasn't yet been issued with a license to drive her gorgeous new black sports car - a wedding gift from her husband. I was only too happy to help out by playing driver for the weekend, while she navigated. I was also pretty damned excited to rip up the LA freeways at 80 MILES per hour. Woo hoo!

We arrived in LA with a crazy idea to commit all of the Seven Deadly Sins during our three-night stay. But after we covered two of them within 30 seconds, we knew we needed a greater challenge. Breaking the Ten Commandments were quickly struck off the agenda because neither of us was up for "thou shalt not kill". So we decided to stick with "anything goes".

I should mention at this point that The Scott is a model. She's gorgeous. Her Kate Moss looks turn a lot of heads and she likes to step outside the boundaries. Perfect.

Dinner on the first night was with a couple of friends at a swanky, over-priced restaurant called Sona. Morsels were the feature of our degustation menu and after the first serve, we knew the night would end with burgers at a nearby diner. We said goodbye to our friends at about midnight then walked up La Cienega Boulevard to find a bar that had been recommended to us. We stopped at a club along the way to ask a very helpful doorman for directions who concluded his instructions with, "be careful ladies". Should we be worried? I mean, "ladies" makes us sound so old! The bar was not up to our Hollywood standard so we cabbed it to a very cool bar at The Standard where we met a couple of French guys who were in town buying classic Porches to on-sell in Europe. We invited them to join us at what was possibly THE best bar I have ever been to, Chateaux Marmont. We arrived at the Chateaux at 1.35am to be told that the bar had stopped serving and that the joint closed at 2am. Huh? 2am? There must be some mistake! There's NO WAY that Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan could have been arrested at 2am! Sadly folks, it's true. Unlike the highly addictive 24-hour buzz city of New York, Los Angeles sleeps from 2am. After some gentle persuasion, we were allowed in for the final call. The night ended, of course, at a retro diner called Fred's 62, on Vermont Avenue.

Fortunately, there are plenty more things to do in Los Angeles than hang out in bars waiting for them to close. The Scott and I did the homework for you and can highly recommend these for your next visit:

• The Gun Club - here we shot off a round of 50 with a 9mm pistol. Can't wait to do it again!
• Brunch at 101 Coffee Shop on Franklin Avenue - kinda makes you feel like you're on the set of the opening scene of Pulp Fiction, but no one gets shot.
• Dinner at Cafe Stella on West Sunset Boulevard - very cosy and cool French restaurant. Met an Aussie actor/waiter who has just moved to LA from New York who said that LA is far more competitve than NY for actors. Go figure!
• Visit the Millenium Biltmore Hotel - this is where the Oscars was first held. Check out the stunningly ornate foyers and ballrooms, and make time for a cocktail at the bar.
• Stop by The Pleasure Chest on Santa Monica Boulevard - as the name implies, it's a sex shop! Two floors of toys, toys, toys and DEFINITELY 'XXX' rated. Leave the kids at Disneyland.
• Grab a Thai Massage - anywhere that looks dodgy is likely to be authentic. Worth the investment after a weekend of indulgence.
• Drive up to the Griffith Observatory - remember James Dean in the knife scene from Rebel Without A Cause? Stunning view of the sprawling city.

If you do go to the Observatory, note it is closed on Mondays, something we only discovered when we arrived. Lucky for us though, we stumbled on a movie set! We watched Jim Carey for a while as they shot scenes for his new film "Yes Man". On that note, we left LA for San Diego, then home for me to New York.

To quote Madonna:

"...Los Angeles is for people who sleep, Paris and London baby you can keep...I love New York"

Until next week,

Kaylie

Week 8 - Tomaytoes, Tomahtoes...

Like most Australians of the television generation, I grew up on a healthy diet of English and Aussie shows: Bill and Ben; Noddy; The Wombles; Playschool, Skippy; Cop Shop; A Country Practice; The Sullivans; and the early days of Neighbours. It was an era when on-screen Aussie language and humour was experimenting with its own identity, but still genuflected deeply to its UK ancestory.

Then something interesting happened. A strange new language and way of life was beamed into our lounge rooms. It was... American. Suddenly, boys in my neighbourhood rode their bicycles like they were 'the Fonz' from Happy Days. My entire Year 5 class was hooked on Welcome Back Kotter. And for a short while, I tried speaking with a lisp because I thought Cindy from The Brady Bunch was cute. Which she was. But I wasn't.

With such a strong educational background in American culture, you can understand why I felt so well prepared to take on the streets and peeps of New York. Heck, I've heard it all. I know my rubbish now goes in the 'trash'. I know that when I dine in restaurants, an 'entree' is like an Australian 'main'. And I know that when my fringe starts to dangle into my eyes, I just head on down to the hairdresser for a 'bang trim'. Yep. There isn't a single Americanism that could stump me. Except, maybe, for 'Turducken'.

This week is huge in the USA, with Thanksgiving to be celebrated on Thursday in every home from coast to coast. Family members travel from everywhere to spend the day together gorging on festive food and sharing in the spirit of togetherness. Me? I'll be spending the day with a friend in San Diego where we'll be joining her friends for some fun and Turducken.

Now, I have to be honest, when this word was first mentioned to me, I got a bit excited because I thought it was a new swear word that I could add to my trash vocabulary. Instead, I'm told, it's a chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey, with lots of stuffing! How about that. We'll be dining on a bird orgy. And just in case that's not quite enough indulgence, my San Diego gal pal and I will head to LA for a weekend of fun and celebrity spotting.

Speaking of which, I know you may be curious as to why I haven't spilled any stories about celebrity spots in NYC. Truth is, there haven't been any that I didn't pay to see! But I did have a couple of little showgirl treats this weekend that are worth sharing.

On Friday night I frocked up and took myself to see Broadway legend Chita Rivera in cabaret at Feinstein's. I was smart enough to bat my eyelids at the concierge when I arrived and as a result, scored myself a table that licked the stage. I felt so honoured to be literally two metres away from the energetic 76-year-old belter who sang and moved like a 20-year-old Broadway hopeful. The highlight? Hearing the best cabaret arrangement I have ever heard of "All The Jazz".

Saturday night was destined to be one to remember, and it was.

PART ONE. A dear friend of mine in Australia put me in touch with a New York film-maker, Rick McKay. I am pleased to say that one of Rick's documentaries is one of my all-time favourites - "Broadway: The Golden Age" - a film about the rise of Broadway theatre, as told by the performers and composers of the day. Rick invited me to a 'friends and family only' rehearsal performance by recent octogenarian and longtime Broadway legend, Barbara Cook. So on Saturday evening, I met Rick for the first time (in a cab!) and we headed downtown to a tiny black-box studio space. Rick introduced me to Barbara before we joined the other 30 or so guests. For Barbara, this was just a run through with a trio of piano, bass and drums in preparation for her two performances this week with the New York Philharmonic. For everyone else in the room, it was a privilege.

PART TWO. From this once-in-a-lifetime experience, I headed back to 21st century reality in Soho for a night of cocktails with a Canadian friend of a friend whom I also met for the first time that night. We spent the night at a couple of bars, desperately trying to outdo one another with tales of the most ludicrous life experiences we have ever had. My 'part two' night of debauchery couldn't have contrasted more with the first part of the evening if I tried. So if you're wondering why this week's blog is a little later than usual, blame the coctails.

The Canadian reckon's there's no such thing as a Turducken, which either means that Canadians speak a whole other language again, or someone is having me on. Either way, I am so happy to be spending this week's Thanksgiving holiday with an American family in the USA.

Until next week's California correspondence, Happy Thanksgiving!

Kaylie

Week 7 - Opportunity for adventure

Have you ever pondered the question, "If you could be anyone in the world, who would you be?"?

There are so many rich and famous people that seem to have it all. Money and everything it buys, success, exciting lives, famous friends, endless opportunities... and to top it all off, happiness! Who wouldn't want that?

I mean, imagine being able to live a life where every day presents an opportunity for a new adventure. A life which, at the end of every day, you feel like you've done something new. Or you've opened your eyes wider than ever before to the great things this world has to offer.

My nearest and dearest friends know that I love my life experiences to be colourful and spontaneous. A classic example was nine years ago when, after dating for a few weeks, I announced that I was getting married:

• Me: "I'm getting married - next month!"
• Friend: "You're seeing someone???!!!"

OK, so that little adventure didn't last as long as I originally thought it would, but it complied with my motto, that: "every girl should have a story". I could list several other far more eccentric illustrations of what I mean by that, but mum and dad are reading this blog. (insert smiley face here!)

This week I was reminded that opportunities to engage in new experiences surround us everyday. Sometimes we miss them because they knock softly. Sometimes we'll cautiously take a peek before slowly revealing the full picture. And at other times, we open the window with great excitement only to shut it as quickly as possible.

A few days ago I had lunch with a friend, a married male friend. Within five minutes of being seated, he told me that he and his wife of about 10 years enjoy an open marriage. I suspected that this was his invitation to me to try something new, but I played dumb for a bit longer (re blog: Week 3 - Blonde, the new legal tender?). I asked "does your wife know you have an open marriage?"!!!!! Well, apparently yes. I was, of course, curious to know how it works. He explained that they're married, but they have agreed that each can engage in extra-marital activities, whenever and however they choose. I also asked whether this lifestyle is common in New York City as I have met several guys who only reveal to me that they have a partner, AFTER I have told them that they don't have a 'future' with me! Fear not my single gal pals. According to my friend, this is not a sweeping phenomenon. Phew. There is hope.

After lunch I headed back to my apartment and again phoned the CEO of the company for which I am most keen to work. I was told by her assistant that she would get back to me after Thanksgiving. Now THIS IS a sweeping phenomenon. No one in New York City is committing to ANYTHING before Thanksgiving in two weeks.

How could this situation possibly present an opportunity for a job seeker with less than six weeks remaining on her visitor's visa? I am going to book myself a little getaway. New Orleans? Miami? Jamaica? Haven't quite decided. But you know I'll have a story to tell when I get back!

So, who in all the world would I most like to be? I mean, whose charmed life most closely matches the life that I want to live? The answers are and will always be a resounding "me" and "mine" .

Until next time, when you're walking down the street remember to look up at the sky. It has far more potential than the pavement.


Kaylie
Oh yeh, you want to know what happened to that little adultry window of opportunity? Shut. Quickly. Locked. Threw away the key. Not my thing, but it was nice to have been considered!

Halloween, Hairdressers and Hobos

I knew before I moved to New York City that October 2007 was going to be a scary month for two reasons: one, I would celebrate my first Halloween; and two, I would have to find a new hairdresser.

HALLOWEEN
For those of certain religions, Halloween celebrates the eve of All Saints Day, which was formerly known as All Hallows Day. For those of other religions or of no religion at all, Halloween is a great excuse to dress up, trick-or-treat and if you're old enough, get pissed and party.

The celebrations in my neighbourhood started early in the day with folks of all ages dressing in costume and rather entrepreneurial teenagers trick-or-treating in the shops along Broadway (bakeries seemed to be pretty popular). Jack-o-lanterns (hollowed pumpkins), cobwebs, witches brooms and other ghoulish items decorated building stoops. And in my secure doorman building, a note was stuck to the inside of the elevator letting everyone know which apartment residents were going to be home to greet the kids and fill their plastic pumpkin buckets with candy.

I had been told that 'the' place to be on the night of Halloween was in Greenwich Village for the 34th Annual Halloween Parade. I didn't have a costume but I figured if I was asked, I could fudge it as "an Australian tourist". I took the subway downtown and was an instant spectator to the few floats and many costumed party-goers parading up 6th Avenue. To me it was like gay Mardi Gras, but for straight people. Quite a disappointment, but I was happy to be able to tick it off my "list of things to do before I die".

The evening's highlight was stopping by the very famous Gray's Papaya on 72nd Street for a takeaway hotdog. I enjoyed my dog so much, I almost walked five blocks back to get another one! But I refrained, at least for the next two nights when I returned for another fix. Mmmm... how can sodium taste so good?

HAIRDRESSERS
Every girl's impossible dream is to find a hairdresser that consistently does a great job and stays with you for life. Leaving my Perth stylist Sarah was slightly traumatic, but I figured that if I was going to find a good hairdresser anywhere in the world, I'd have a good chance in New York City.

I also knew that my NY friend and former Perth girl, Sandra, would be a sure bet for referrals. And she was. Sandra has worked in the modelling industry here for more that 10 years so knows a thing or two about the best places to go. Also the most expensive places.

Having Googled her list of suggestions, I chose a hip looking salon on 57th between Lexington and Park Avenue. With my colour codes in hand, I headed there a week ago on a reconnaissance tour. You know, to make sure they met my standards. Satisfied with my consultation, I scheduled my appointment and psyched myself for my new look. The result? HOT. I did freak out when 'Dina Scissorhands' sliced 3 inch pieces out of my crowning glory, but you know I love a good balance between rock chick and diva glam. The weird thing was tipping! Unlike restaurants where you add your tip to the bill, tipping a hairdresser is done via cash in an envelope. Kinda like Chinese New Year, but yellow envelopes instead of red.

HOBOS
This week was one of the first in ages when I gave myself reason to question my morals. On my way to the yuppy Meatpacking District for dinner with the doctor before he left for California, I was approached by a drunken hobo. "Sshhllll...scuse me m'am, hhaave you got some money I caannn have to git shlome food?" Without hesitation, and in a broad Australian accent that would have made Kath and Kim sound like the Queen of England, I said, "Nah, sorry mate. I'm unemployed." I couldn't believe what I had just said! I mean, it was absolutely true, but c'mon, I'm going to dinner in one of New York's trendiest districts! What was I thinking by making a comment like that? I felt a lot better about it when the doctor paid for dinner. Oh, and for the cab home. It's nice to be treated occasionally when you're , ah hem, out of work.

I am officially half way through my 3-month job search stint. I did make slight progress this week, but nothing major to report at this stage. There is a reasonable amount of work around but I am being very specific about the type of work I want and about the companies I am targetting. THAT'S the challenge! So keep those fingers crossed and I promise I will have good news soon.

Until next time remember, the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

Kaylie

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

Broadway Baby - Week 1

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...
Shakespeare

Imagine every American cliche you have ever been exposed to in Hollywood films, and you'll find the whole collection living and breathing around you in the streets of New York City. The ubiquitous Halloween pumpkin, with more street profile than an all-night hooker. The bored faces of subway commuters, on their way to reclaim their personalities. And the shopping-mad fashionitas, who are like, so like, you know like, speaking a whole other language that only they understand!

Cliches aside, I love New York City so much I almost want to buy the t-shirt. The place is brimming with excitement and energy 24 hours a day. The people are very friendly and if there is one place in the world that I want to call home, it's here.

So what's been happening in my first week?

• Moved into my gorgeous little furninshed sublet apartment in the Upper West Side which is walking distance to EVERYTHING I want to be near - Central Park, Lincoln Centre, Broadway, Times Square, Riverside Park, shops galore... And yes, we have a doorman.
• Saw the award-winning "Spring Awakening" - probably a little premature as I wasn't quite over the jet lag yet and spent much of the first act deeply entrenched in the second word of the show's title.
• Spent a day at Woodbury Common which, for those of you in Perth, is like HarbourTown but only designer labels. Small amount of damage there.
• Made a new friend! (well, she's actually on loan from my sister). Lovely Scottish fashion designer called Hannah.
• Discovered they don't have A4 sized paper here! Spent a few dollars on photocopying before I worked that one out.

Next week is when the fun really starts. Thanks to referrals from my friend Jed, I am meeting with the top three Broadway ad agencies: Serino Coyne, SpotCo and Eliran Murphy Group. I also have a meeting scheduled with Jujamcyn Theaters, so I am hoping that someone will know something about available theatre marketing jobs!

Until next time, keep filling your cup of life.