Friday, June 24, 2005

Green on the Inside?

I love how these things land back in one's brain some several weeks apres event. Maybe it's a natural neural defence against death by humiliation?

Idina Menzel just sang on my stereo and the brief Tony's exchange that we shared came back to me. The news isn't good...

Our paths crossed at the entrance to the main banquet hall. The evening was well underway and I was one Veuve beyond behaving myself. We had been whooping a storm to a superb funk band and were all over-excited.

As I tried to keep up with the little posse that had formed, the remarkably tiny Ms Menzel emerged from the crush.

Me: [stupidly surprised] Idina!
Idina: Hi!
Me: You're not really green?
Idina: [silent sigh creeps across face] No... exit, stage left.

I think that she might just be over the green thing.


Taylor, The Latte Boy
by Kristin Chenoweth

There's a boy who works at Starbucks
Who is very inspirational.
He is very inspirational because of many things.
I walk in at 8:11, and he smiles and says, "How are you?"
When he smiles and says, "How are you?"
I could swear my heart grows wings!

So today at 8:11
I decided I should meet him
I decided I should meet him
In a proper formal way.
So today at 8:11 when he smiled and said "How are you?"
I said "Fine, and my name’s Kristen,"
And he softly answered, "Hey."
And I said "My name’s Kristen, and thank you for the extra foam…"
And he said his name was Taylor,
Which provides the inspiration for this poem:

Taylor the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!
Taylor the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him…
So I’d like to get my nerve up
To recite my poem musical.
He would like the fact it’s musical
Because he plays guitar.

And today at 8:11, Taylor told me he was playing
With a band down in the village in the basement of a bar.
As he smoothly flipped the lever to prepare my double latte,
But for me he made it triple! (And he didn’t think I knew)
But I saw him flip the lever, and for me he made it triple,
And I knew that triple latte meant that Taylor loved me too!
I said, "What time are you playing? And thank you for the extra skim…"
He said, "Keep the $3.55," because this triple latte was on him.

Taylor the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!
Taylor the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him…

I used to be the kind of girl
Who’d run when love rushed toward her.
Till finally a voice whispered, "Love can be yours,
If you step up to the counter and order.
Taylor the latte boy,
Bring me java, bring me joy!

Taylor the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him…
So many years my heart has waited,
Who’d have thought that love could be so caffeinated?
Taylor, the latte boy,
I love him, I love him, I love him.
I love him, I love him, I love him.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Memories of Amnesia.

This is fun, I found it digging around the laptop today. It's an attempt at writing a blog entry on the Syd-SF flight. I'll reproduce it in it's unedited entirety and assume it to be self explanatory even if it does become a little less than coherent toward the end.


If you're reading this it means that I didn't crash the plane by turning my laptop on.

When the pre-flight announcement listed wi-fi connections as *bad* I kinda panicked, but it's disabled and we seem to still be aloft.

I really hate long-hauls. I had a cramped neck by the time we had completed taxi-ing at Mascot. No idea how long thus flight takes or,indeed, what time it is or how long I've been floating in this tin can. I sort of miss the personalised video-screen that Qantas offer but not enough to ever fly with the nazis again.

United has been OK. One long haul in cattle class is much like another but at least the staff are courteous and attentive. lunch was surprisingly good, dven if microwaved sreak is a bit of a challenge to newly refitted dentures. Salad served with the single most uninspiring layer of smoked salmon on it. Yecch. I knoced back a single-serve bottle of cardonay- that has done me good. I've taken enough valium to make Liza blush but sllep seems evasive.

Cardonay number two is well underway. I like the littl single srebe bottles.

Are we there yet?

Way to think im mad is watching episodes of sex nad city completely hiding under my flight blanket. i had right up over head like som king of mad monk woth a laptop.

The fucker in fromt of me has his chair in 'recline'osirion, meaning I'm lookinmg at this from an angle that isn't so great.

Just chaos at Mascot today. I arrived in plenty of time but after all the check-n and security rigmarole I had time to change some money and grab a litre of gin before boarding. Now I need plastic Martini glasses for my Hotel Chelse luxury abode. How very sad to have to power-mince past a duty free MAC shop but sailor v.

I half watched a terrinle Kevin Spacey biopic about Bobby Darin. The scenes with Sandra Dee were good, every single frame of the film was totally derivative.
And nnow I'm starting to feel bit sleepy. Will turn this off and see if I can sleep until SFo. I totally don't believe what my windows clock is alleging I have another ten hours up here. That simply can't be right. I feel like I've been locked in here for months already.

Kevin saey must be a homo? pleez xplain? id eat his shoes.

Damn, Hotel Monaco better have inhouse massage services. My neck is agony

Good Intentions

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, it seems all too clear where I'm heading. I would like that there was more published here. I'm still finding a voice again. I am yet to distill everything that happened on my trip into articulate observations.

I am much changed, all of it for the better.

Some of the personal legal matters that called me home have resolved in my favour this week. The bigger victory is finding that I no longer have the requisite negative energy to continue hating the person who is the source of my legal troubles. One of us just had a fabulous trip to NY, the other is in gaol. Perhaps the universe does distribute some form of justice?

Being free of hatred is something for which I most joyfully thank God. Hate is a horrible place to live.

I hope that you will choose to be tolerant of my apparent lethargy and persist with this 'travelblog'. Whatever else it is, this is an experiment in progress.

I'm thinking very broadly about the future. I try very hard not to be too limited by conventional wisdom or the appearance that things may be impossible. One conclusion is that I should like to act. I don't know much of what that means. I've been acting all my life. Self-awareness makes acting a natural state of being, one of the causes of the great angst that plagues our time. Blame Freud. The sex fixated, Viennese, cocaine addict apparently knew a lot about it all.

Perhaps an acting school is my next step? The stage interests me the most. A solo performance piece to stage in NY isn't an unreasonable ambition.

Stick around, the Hotel Chelsea effect is manifesting in me, I think.

If I write On the Road shoot me and make sure it's never published, OK viewers?

p.s. yes, i owe you email. i am, in the australian vernacular, a slack arsed moll. mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. catching up will be easier with the legal games off my plate for now.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Black cat

A spark of creativity? I daren't be too excited lest I jinx myself. I wrote this 'vanished moment' a few days ago and have been stewing on whether to publish it.

We are walking home through the Village. The sun is beginning to rise and the pumpkin hour is nearly upon us. The only sound to be heard is the clicking of our dress shoes as they hit the cobbled streets. The rarest of moments has occurred, quiet in Manhattan.

Nobody dares to curse the moment with speech. We see her simultaneously, nothing needs to be said to acknowledge her presence. A black cat, her breast heavy with the responsibility of feeding her young, is making her way home from a night‘s hunt. An all but dead mouse convulses in her mouth. Tonight, her kittens will taste warm blood.

The cat looks at us briefly and assesses us not to be a threat. She continues on her way, always low to the ground and alert to danger. With a tail-flick, she darts into the shadows, crawls under some industrial waste and is gone.

In New York everyone is a hunter and everyone is prey. The trick is to work out which you are at any given moment.

This shot of Carngie Hall is taken from about where I was seated for South Pacific.

Melting Wax

It is unsettling reimmersing myself in Australian media after the trip through New York. The distance between me and the people I’m looking at has shrunk. The mythical New York of all the DVDs in my drawer, of Sex and the City, the city where I expected I might see Carrie Bradshaw at any moment is now a real place.

I watched Sara Jessica Parker interviewed on television today. She seemed much less hyper-real now that I have seen her eating cannolli [chocolate] on Bleecker Street. Mention of her husband, Matthew Broderick, also landed with a changed context. I saw him at the Tonys Ball and chose not to launch an attack as he was obviously overwhelmed by admirers. I noticed two things, he’s even prettier in person and his hair collapses when he sweats.

Proven human.

I always thought that if I was as fabulous as Matthew Broderick my tendency to sweat would cease to be a problem.

Colon Powell showed up on the news last night and that was strange. Here I am looking at one of the people implicated in the degenerate state of liberal democracy thinking ‘I saw you tape a TV Show,‘. I then had to scrutinise myself a little. I willingly sat in the studio and applauded on command like a lobotomized seal for Colon Powell? Did I engage the kind of blindness in the face of evil that I claim to despise? I really just went to see the Daily Show taped. In agreeing to an interview Colon earns the right to a respectful hearing.

I doubt that one could survive in New York 2005 if these quibbles were to become an over-riding concern. The end of civilisation is, however you dress it up, the end of civilisation.

My entire collection of Broadway recordings has had a context realignment. My Broadway recordings are finally the stuff of reality, I’ve been there. I’ve seen the theatres, walked the streets and breathed the air. I can’t listen to my cherished Barbara Cook without feeling a new kind of engagement. Ms Cook has become totally real, so very much more than a disembodied voice and a biography. She sounds smaller now that we have shared a moment of genuine human connection.

Any location shot of Manhattan is an all new challenge. If it’s somewhere recognizable, I’ll recognize it. Worse still, if they’re trying to fake it I’ll spot it! I am ethically and aesthetically opposed to the idea of shooting ‘NY’ in LA. LA is, quite evidently, the most successful outreach program that hell has going.

There is another level in having an injection of reality into my NY-centric pop universe. Favoured screen actors have morphed to being ‘wow, I was that close’ people. For spoiled New Yorkers it’s probably a challenge to comprehend. For an Australian hickette to be in the same room as Kathleen Turner, Jessica Lange, Tim Curry and nameless other admired actors is a magnificent thrill. To collect autographs from one or two is, I think, acceptable while I’m this side of 40.

My staple connection back to America is NBC Today Show which we get here, on delay, in the early hours of the morning. While ever Katie is in Rockefeller Plaza forcing a smile and enthusing about fluff I know that NY continues to revolve on her axis.

And now that I know that even Matthew Broderick sweats, I think it might be time to stop expecting super-perfection from myself.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Burning up on re-entry

Oh yes, being back here is a most nasty shock. I'd all but forgotten that life in Sydney had run down to nothing. All that determined cleaning up and out last year leaves me living like a hermit. I could pick up the phone and call someone but there is nobody left to call. I'm committed to absolutely nothing, inspired by less and terrified by what the future might hold. Since I got home, I have been out once, a trip to see my Dr. I have a semi-phobic aversion to facing Sydney. The memories have worn me out.

Very little has happened here, I've been doing the classic depressive hide in bed thing. I feel quite lost. I am not who I was when I left. I don't have the usual points of reference like a job, family, friends to re-orientate myself. I know a lot about what I don't want life to be. The problem of a total absence of ideas as to what I do want is the wellspring of my despair.

I'm going to brighten up next week and hope that the Fickle Finger of Fate has more surprises in store.

BeBe Bearwithme displays his wardrobe.

Finally home and settled, BeBe was allowed to unpack the clothes he brought back from NY. First, he put on his Yankees clobber...

Miss Hope Meets BeBe. A tense start to relations.

BeBe showing of his chest hair

BeBe Ramone!
BeBe in his Ramones style leather jacket.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Bali H'ai

New York, I miss you.

Being back here is a nasty shock. I loathe this city as bitterly as one might a treacherous ex-lover.

I feel changed, grown and much emboldened by my US adventures. I regret nothing.

I can finally say that I like who I am, that the world can take me as I am or go fuck itself real hard. I saw worth in myself for the first time. I proved myself to the audience that really matters, myself.

I've got a lot to think about now. The processes of change that began before I left must continue. The last few things that I need to do to bring my life back from the chaos that it had become are clear. None of them are easy. All of them are scary.

I have no argument to say that I’m not strong enough to manage them left.
There is a lonely time ahead, I have to keep a wall against the toxic people or I might go under again.

If any ex-neighbors from Hotel Chelsea are reading, I need e-contacts. I left way too quickly to do things like sort six weeks worth of obsessively gathered bits of paper!

My email, with added x-s to confuse bots:

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Babs is armless

I just realised that Ms Cooks arm is visible in this shot, it's missing in the other. [Anybody seen Bab's missing arm, then?] Cook isn't a big woman, explains why I'm leaning. Nothing at all to do with the chapagne flowing like tap water in a non droughted area.

Ciao! Manhattan

this was written Friday 10th about 14:00 hours US time at Kennedy airport. I didn't have any Wi-Fi happening so you've waited until now for...

keep on checking in, i might have time to write up my adventures now!

Surprise! I’ve left New York. Always keep them guessing and all that.

Circumstance conspired against me that it became the only decision to make a rapid transit back to Sydney. Amongst the various circumstances to conspire is [im?]pure, unadulterated, exhiliration induced exhaustion.

I don’t think that New York could have been more perfect. All my hopes and dreams [except the dirty ones about Chris Meloni] were, is some way, brought to reality. I did what I hoped, I immersed myself in the Manhattans of Hotel Chelsea and Broadway. I’ve had a flake sized taste of living large in Manhattan and I like it. I think that the five weeks I had was enough to get a real sense of the city. I didn’t see everything, yet, in some strange way, I did. I did my New York, from the gutters to the stars and back again, all but literally.

I have visited the high point of western civilisation and I have drunk at the well. Nobody should doubt that I’ll be back for more.

I’m sad to be leaving, a bit of me will stay in NY forever. I am part NYer, the style of life suits me too well. The streets of Sydney feel less like home than the streets of NY.

Thankyou beautiful city and all you remarkable people who crossed my path. You’ll be in my memory for a very long time.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

One for NYC

Lou Reed - There is No Time Lyrics

This is no time for celebration
This is no time for shaking heads
This is no time for backslapping
This is no time for marching bands

This is no time for optimism
This is no time for endless thought
This is no time for my country right or wrong
Remember what that brought

There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time

This is no time for congratulations
This is no time to turn your back
This is no time for circumlocution
This is no time for learned speech

This is no time to count your blessings
This is no time for private gain
This is no time to put up or shut up
Theres no time to come back this way again

There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time

This is no time to swallow anger
This is no time to ignore hate
This is no time to be acting frivolous
Because the time is getting late

This is no time for private vendettas
This is no time to not know who you are
Self knowledge is a dangerous thing
The freedom of who you are

This is no time to ignore warnings
This is no time to clear the plate
Let's not be sorry after the fact
And let the past become out fate

There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time

This is no time to turn away and drink
Or smoke some vials of crack
This is a time to gather force
And take dead aim and attack

This is no time for celebration
This is no time for saluting flags
This is no time for inner searchings
The future is at hand

This is no time for phony rhetoric
This is no time for political speech
This is a time for action
Because the future is within reach

This is the time
This is the time
This is the time
Because there is no time

There is no time
There is no time
There is no time
There is no time

NY Classique

The Empire Diner.

Scene of a tragic breakfast at dawn, after the night out that was Tonys night. A night that will live in infamy. Eventually, I'll tell the story.

The perfect place to push eggs around on a plate and watch the other creatures of the night scattering homewards.

Give my regards to Broadway

New York is nearly over. Nobody is surprised to know that I don't want to leave. Is there life after New York? I fear not.

I'm writing up Tonys and the after Ball in a way that means it might not be seen for a while yet. It will be worth it, the names dropping like over-ripe fruit in an orchard. In typical style, the night began with cocktails at the Rainbow Room and finished up digging through dumpsters in a gas station. In between I met several tragic drunks from New Jersey and took breakfast at the Empire Diner. Anybody who can tell me what movie the Empire is featured in wins a big prize.

At this stage in my travels I am very tired. This week has been some low-key site seeing and NO ALCOHOL. The Barbara Cook picture below is testament to what happens when I drink too much.

Today I went to a taping of the Daily Show [a very left wing, anti-Bush news and current affairs show]. The guest was Colon Powell. That made for interesting viewing. They used my face for the credit zoom for the international version that goes out weekly. I can be sure of that, one of the producers told me. I got to interact with Jon Stewart for a while and held my own. I was getting a hard time for my accent which many Americans assume to be English.

Afterwards I wandered home via the Theatre district to see the traditional dimming of lights that happens when a 'great' dies, in this case Anne Bancroft. New York doesn't stop for anyone and dimming lights before sunset isn't really that dramatic!

Poor Anne, should have died in winter. At very least, before the Tonys would have been much more career enhancing time to shuffle off.

With Barbara Cook at the Tonys Ball. Ms Cook is every bit the gracious Diva.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Pre-Tonys. Chelsea Lobby

Ball Night

Tonys Blacktie

Sunday, June 05, 2005

23rd and 6th

Rhino 02


usa today


The Elevators are being renovated. Inevitably, somebody has made an intervention.

The Fat Lady [Chelsea Lobby]

Free Teenage Lobotomy

Dee Dee

Check out this article about living next door to Dee Dee. It makes me seem like a pretty dull neighbour. I may yet have to turn up at the author's door in my underwear and tattoos flashing.

Actually, I think that I did when I locked my key in the bathroom while 2/3 asleep. Ah, Hotel Chelsea...

Bring on the Fat Lady

I'm back from my final Saturday night at Times Square. The theatre lights are all off and now we wait to see how wrong the Tonys voters got it this year. My last contending show was Puttnam Spelling Bee this evening. I wasn't especially taken by it at all. After a second slice of Spamalot last night, Puttnam seemed absolutely lame. I could find neither a trajectory nor any sort of denouement to it at all. The actors over-played their roles and a lot of the humour seemed plain unfunny. The whole thing resounded with the hollow echo of trying way too hard. The importance of being earnest, indeed.

With Puttnam seen my final call on Tonys remain unchanged. I've edited one entry from a no response to my answer.

Tomorrow night the awards and the ball. I'm excited.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Not Dead, Just Quietly Psychotic.

I'm a poor blogger, aren't I? I've been so busy doing life that I haven't had time to write about it.

There may yet be some catch-up, I plan to cannibalise sent emails from the past few days. Stories that I want to tell, secrets begging to be shared, can be added when I get home.

I hope that I can say something about NY that qualifies as cogent.

The Tonys climax approaches and I'm still living on catgut strings waiting to see if I have seats.

My Tonys prediction post is nearly ready to go, it should appear here soon.

Anyone with a plan to get me twelve months living here with an income is welcome to suggest away.

Tonys Paranoia.

2004-2005 Tony Awards Nominations
Predictions and wishlist.
n.b. I haven't seen all of these but certainly enough to be reasonably informed. Particularly absent is 25th Puttnam which I see on Saturday night
Best Play
Gem of the Ocean
The Pillowman

My Choice: Doubt
My Guess: Doubt

Uninformed comment as I haven't seen any of the others. Doubt can't help but win, I know genius drama when I hear it.

Best Musical
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
The Light in the Piazza
Monty Python's Spamalot
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

My Choice: Light in the Piazza with a nod to Spamalot.
My Guess: Spamalot with high potential for an upset to Light in the Piazza.
I don't believe the experts on Puttnam. It would be a repeat of last years win for AveQ.

Best Revival of a Play

Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Glengarry Glen Ross
On Golden Pond
Twelve Angry Men

My Choice: Virginia Woolf
My Guess: Virginia Woolf

Best Revival of a Musical
La Cage aux Folles
Pacific Overtures
Sweet Charity

My Choice: La Cage aux Folles [with apologies to Sweet Charity]
My Guess: La Cage aux Folles

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Play
Philip Bosco, Twelve Angry Men
Billy Crudup, The Pillowman
Bill Irwin, Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
James Earl Jones, On Golden Pond
Brían F. O'Byrne, Doubt

My Choice: Bill Irwin
My Guess: James Earl Jones

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play
Cherry Jones, Doubt
Laura Linney, Sight Unseen
Mary-Louise Parker, Reckless
Phylicia Rashad, Gem of the Ocean
Kathleen Turner, Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

My Choice: Kathleen Turner. If she doesn't win, I'll sulk. Cherry Jones is good but nothing compared to Ms Turner.
My Guess: Turner and Cherry Jones are so close it's a coin flip but I think Cherry Jones will take it.

Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical
Hank Azaria, Monty Python's Spamalot
Gary Beach, La Cage aux Folles
Norbert Leo Butz, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Tim Curry, Monty Python's Spamalot
John Lithgow, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

My Choice: Tim Curry
My Guess: Norbert Leo Butz

Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Musical
Christina Applegate, Sweet Charity
Victoria Clark, The Light in the Piazza
Erin Dilly, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Sutton Foster, Little Women
Sherie Rene Scott, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

My choice: Victoria Clark fully deserves this one. Applegate would be nice but the performances are not comparable
My Guess: I think Victoria Clark will take it.

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Play
Alan Alda, Glengarry Glen Ross
Gordon Clapp, Glengarry Glen Ross
David Harbour, Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Liev Schreiber, Glengarry Glen Ross
Michael Stuhlbarg, The Pillowman

My Choice: David Harbour
My Guess: Alan Alda is due for a Tony

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Play
Mireille Enos, Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Heather Goldenhersh, Doubt
Dana Ivey, The Rivals
Adriane Lenox, Doubt
Amy Ryan, A Streetcar Named Desire

My Choice: Mireille Enos by a full lap.
My Guess: Not sure. Probably one of the Doubt Women.

Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical
Dan Fogler, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
Marc Kudisch, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Michael McGrath, Monty Python's Spamalot
Matthew Morrison, The Light in the Piazza
Christopher Sieber, Monty Python's Spamalot

My choice: Matthew Morrison or Christopher Sieber.
My Guess: Dan Fogler

Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical
Joanna Gleason, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Celia Keenan-Bolger, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
Jan Maxwell, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Kelli O'Hara, The Light in the Piazza
Sara Ramirez, Monty Python's Spamalot

My Choice: Kelli O'Hara
My Guess: Sara Ramirez

n.b. the freedom to revise opinions will be fully embraced