"No sleep 'til...Brooklyn!!!"

Day Two of Iona and Dusty's excellent New York adventure is at an end so it's time for a re-cap.

Yesterday's MOMA sojourn was utterly bloody amazing. All those Klees, Picassos, Mondrians and Kandinskys (not to mention the Munchs, Van Goghs and Miros) were enough to make even my art-nerd head spin. The special Bill Brandt exhibition was the proverbial icing on the cake. A chickpea salad at the MOMA cafe and a side-trip to the store was the cap-off to an extraordinary experience.

Iona Chef arrived at Pod51 as scheduled, and after a quick laundry drop (shout out to Symphony 59, the best value drop off/pick up service in Midtown), we wandered down to the Theatre District for a Shake Shack burger and frozen custard followed by a stroll back via the Rockefeller Centre - basically, a re-hash of my first night on the town with Red K. Not a bad way to experience Midtown on one's first night in NY.

Today was an altogether different experience of New York. A subway ride to West Village took us to Buvette's, a chic little cafe recommended by Torn Karpitz, that does amazing food in small, but beautifully served packages. Steam-scrambled eggs, delicious coffee and pastries are just some of the scrumptious morsels on offer. The OJ is real, freshly squeezed (with pips) and served in tiny beakers. The service is attentive, the patrons so very very stylish, and the mood warm and cosy. Iona went with oats and I had the scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. Two coffees each. Yummy.

We walked to the Highline, a public park-come-walking trail-urban garden built on the old raised freight train line that once serviced the Meatpacking district. The Highline is lined with ornamental grasses, holly bushes and shrubs, dotted with the odd bit of urban 'street art'. It's a long, but easy walk, and there are ample Village/Chelsea/Hudson River photo opportunities because of the elevation.

We then wandered to Chelsea Market, which was a delight. Books, spices, veggies, flowers, artisanal bread, outrageous cupcakes, homewares and take-away food outlets - White People Heaven basically.

There was even an Anthropologie store...

After an hour mooching around buying books (books here are CHEAP, people!) and soaking up the atmosphere, we caught the subway to Little Italy and Chinatown.

Iona got her music history fix by snapping the Bowery Ballroom after which we sauntered through Little Italy (Mulberry and Mott Streets is pretty much it - I suspect the real Italian Noo Yawk experience  is likely to be found somewhere in Jersey or Long Island) and Chinatown (AKA Abbotsford in NY) before heading back to Pod51.

The night ended with a trip on the Staten Island Ferry (yes, the Statue of Liberty looks fabulous lit up at night), an ice-cold Blue Moon blonde beer, followed by some dude food in Williamsburg (Brooklyn). Next trip to Brooklyn will have to be in daylight though...    

Tomorrow, The Met, dinner at Les Halles and an off-Broadway show.

Nighty Night.

New York, New York

Loved ones, last post before I vacate my single room with ensuite and move into my double-bunk deal ahead of Iona Chef's arrival.

Yesterday I officially landed my first US shopping bargain, having picked up five sweet Spring items from Loft on Madison Avenue for $117. Noice. Clothes in stores are mostly Spring and early Summer items so I have been advised to hit Century 21 (NYC's DFO) for Winter gear and accessories. Until then, I will bask in my bargain glow...

Afternoon tea at the Russian Tea Room was nice, but not great. Yes, it was fabulous to sit in the banquette where Dustin Hoffmann's Dorothy Michaels taunts and teases his hapless agent in Tootsie and F Murray Abraham's eccentric Hungarian interrogates the gormless Louie CK in Season Three's Louie.

Yes, it was fabulous to sit under Erte and Tamara De Lempicka prints and soak up the Faberge Egg-like decor of the place, but frankly, folks, we do better high teas at home. The food was plentiful and nice - savouries followed by sweets - and a doggie-bag was offered for items uneaten, but tea bag tea? And I shouldn't have to ask for milk twice. I know Russians drink their tea black and love to suck it through a sugar cube poised between their lips, but that's why I ordered English Breakfast tea. Besides, I don't take sugar.

Couple of other observations before I sign off: Central park is HUGE, and I mean HUGE - will need a good day to see it properly; first and thus far only take-away latte was disgusting - Barista lessons for the girl in TreeHaus please; the eye-candy around the place is distracting - hotness galore - or maybe I'm just missing Muddy K too much, or maybe statistically, it was bound to happen given the number of warm bodies squashed on this tiny island.

Spending all day today at MOMA, then taking Iona Chef out for dinner and a subway ride. Tomorrow, Highline and brunch/lunch at Buvette's in the Village.

Signing out.

"I want to be a part of it"...

Greetings thrillseekers!

Morning Two of Dusty's excellent NY adventure has started well. Despite last night's prodigious eating and drinking and late-night finish, I'm feeling remarkably fresh and alert. Something about the vibe here doesn't let you wallow in a post-binge stupor for too long...

Anyhoo, it's 8am, Sunday 31 March and I'm sitting in my funky single Pod bed, ready to tap out my next update.

Day One (yesterday) started with a late breakfast of muesli (or 'granola' as they like to call it in the US) in Pod51's courtyard, admiring all the Beautiful People staying here. If you ever decide to stay at Pod51 (and I recommend it highly), be warned. This place, and its inhabitants, are so painfully hip they need an anti-inflammatory. I'm not sure I fit in, even with my stylish French gumboots 'n all...

Next stop, Top of the Rock, the observation deck of the Rockefeller Centre. The day was sunny, bright and crystal clear - perfect for the 360 degree views of the city. Even with my iPhone, I managed to take some great snaps. Not sure I feel like doing the same thing at the Empire State Building now...

Wandered through Saks, Fifth Avenue and got a taste of what a proper department store should look and feel like. Beautiful stock and attentive staff. The anti-Myer/David Jones...

Mooched around the city with Red K for a bit, then wandered up to the Guggenheim Museum for the Saturday evening special entry deal. Wow. It's smaller than I realised but the architecture still packs a punch - a great introduction to Frank Lloyd Wright's work ahead of the visit to Fallingwater next weekend. An exhibition of modern Japanese art (the Gutai movement) failed to light my fire, but the Picassos and Cezannes of the Thannhauser Collection were extraordinary.

After a quick hotel stop to freshen up and change out of my stylish French gumboots for something a little more formal, I met Red at Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle for a cocktail. Madeline's creator, Ludwig Bemelmans, painted the sweet mural that adorns the room. I would have loved to check it out more closely and take photos but the bar was full of nice rich people having a good time in their martinis and didn't need a tourist crawling over them to get a better look at the walls.

The Carlyle is a beautiful old-style, old-world luxury hotel (built in the 1930s) but the guests are shiny, newly minted coins... I got out of the cab and let a small Russian man with two strapping 'ladies' in hooker pumps, who might have been twins get in. Ewww... I'm not exaggerating when I say he came up to their waists. Think Tyrion Lannister proportions but with none of Peter D's charm, good looks or wit. Again, ewww.

Late dinner at Aquavit, a modern Scandinavian place in Midtown topped off an excellent day. Four courses of beautifully prepared and plated morsels (including a stunning rabbit) accompanied by Swedish pear cider. Fabbo. Not cheap, but an exquisite dining experience.

The plan to join Red in the Australian Bar to watch my beloved Maggies smack down the 'Roos live was scotched fairly quickly. I was exhausted and too full of good food and booze to stay up any longer.  By the time I got back to my Pod it was officially - Time For Be-e-e-e-d.

Thanks to those of you who posted comments and replied off-line to my first update from NYC. More soon.

Go Pies!!!!!!!!!!!!

"I am leaving today"...

Greetings family, friends and loved ones from Pod51 Manhattan, New York, New York, the hip hotel with the smallest, chicest, cutest, teensy-weensyest rooms in THE WORLD!!!! How small is it? Remember the near-final scene in Chopper? Eric Bana's charismatic nut-job watching himself on TV in his cell? The room in which I am sitting and writing and which the charming Eastern European housekeeper is attempting to clean while I sit at my desk and tap this out is SMALLER THAN THAT CELL!!!

But I don't complain. And you know why - 'cos I'm in NEW YORK!!!!!

"How was the flight in Dusty?" I hear you all ask. All I can say is Alan Joyce will never make his way to my Christmas card list. Why? Well, the flight out (QF93) was delayed by first 90 minutes, then two hours, then three hours, which meant there was no theoretical or real chance of catching the connecting flight (QF107) to New York. What would I do? What were my options?

Red Karpitz, my man on the ground in New York advised me of my options via email. Red's email advice, in combination with Muddy Karpitz's loving and soothing words and the assurances of the only nice Qantas ground attendant at Tulla that the next flight would be held back for those of us travelling on to New York calmed me down marginally. We boarded QF93 three and a bit hours later than scheduled and were informed during the flight that QF107 would be delayed for us. I would not miss my connection. Phew. I would, however, land in New York almost five hours later than expected, after endless queuing and waiting.

It's been 9 years since I've travelled abroad and now I know why. There is so much waiting and queuing and my reserves of patience are limited.

All this would have been easier if Qantas was a half-decent service. Folks, it ain't even an eighth-decent one. It is RUBBISH! Perfunctory service, shit food, no decent or generous booze offerings and brittle, insincere flight attendants. "I really am sorry I'm so dumb I can't get the entertainment to work but I thought Touch Screen meant I should actually touch the screen, arsehole". Compare with those national airways from those unapologetically undemocratic stinkingly rich oil countries and there is no contest. I'm flying Oil Air next time. Anywhere.

Alan Joyce, if I should see you in the street I will most definitely smack you upside the head with these vagabond shoes. Really. Fucking. Hard.

But enough bitching about Qantas. I'm in NY remember?

Red K met me at the airport and in keeping with his natural tight-fistedness, made us take the AirTrain into Midtown. Cheap and efficient >$10. I now have a Metro card that can be topped up for use on the Subway. Awse.

Took us an hour all up to get to the Pod. Chucked my luggage in the tiny room (I was upgraded to a single with ensuite. This is until Iona Chef gets here on Monday, after which she and I get the double bunks with shared facilities. For now, I can fart with impunity. Did I mention I'm on the twelfth floor and the windows actually OPEN!??) and we made our way to the Shake Shack in the Theatre District for some much-needed sustenance. This place has an amazing reputation. Duly justified. The double Shackburger was delicious and the Peanut Butter Shake sublime. I almost wept.

Briefly chatted with some lovely Kiwi and English girls who shared our table, then wandered back to the Pod, walking through Times Square, taking in the Rockefeller Centre, St Patrick's Cathedral and assorted other familiar spots and getting familiar with the lay of the place before the serious sightseeing begins. There are so many people about at 1am on Good Friday, it's astonishing. Accents, colours, shapes and sizes all jockeying for space and attention in this amazing metropolis.

It's about 10:30am on Saturday 30 March. I need to shower, dress, hit the streets and forage for breakfast. Plan is to do Top of the Rock (see NY from the top of the Rockefeller centre), and the Guggenheim Museum today. Tonight, cocktails at Bemelman's Bar at The Carlyle.

Love to all. Signing out. Look out for further updates soon.

"Start spreading the news..."

Heads up, people - in less than two weeks  I'm on my way to New York NY, the city that never sleeps and I suspect never brushes its teeth or changes its nether-garments too frequently either.

For around 12-14 days, I will be glam-packing my way around Manhattan, New Jersey and Brooklyn, with a two-day side-trip to Pittsburgh/Bear Run PA for my Frank Lloyd Wright pilgrimage/nostalgia/childhood-obsession fix.

I will be variously accompanied by my 23-year old niece Iona Chef, my adopted son/baby bro Red Karpitz, his good friend Tiffany Lamp and assorted Aussie expatriates whose timing couldn't be better. It's like they knew I was coming.

Be prepared for pithy observations and pissy tirades. Stay tuned for some witty missives and dismissive wit. There may even be a photo or three.

Next dispatch - Pod 51, Midtown East end March.

DV Bucks the Trend - Part 2

Thanks to those of you who responded off-line to my recent post on alternative bucks' party ideas. Glad the suggestions flicked your proverbial switch. Before I sign off on the topic completely however, there's one last brainwave I'd like to share.

If a bucks' night is a sort of  'last hurrah'  for the groom to-be, a rite of mourning for his loss of freedom / privacy /autonomy (Code: stare at on-line porn and work through a box of kleenex without interruption), then what could be better than the groom's best man, his best mates and the groom himself getting together over a weekend and indulging in a spot of DIY? In short:

7. Build / create a man-cave for the groom.

Whether you erect a bungalow or shed in the backyard, reclaim a corner of the garage or take over a spare room in the house (with the bride-to-be's permission), getting together over a week or weekend to create a special blokes-only space for the soon-to-be hubby is surely the ultimate pre-wedding manly bonding session, yes? Think about it. It's got everything:

• Making an early-morning trek to Bunnings to buy materials and inhale a BBQ sausage / soggy bread /onion combo to soak up the breakfast beers to come - check
• Handling of power tools and drinking of beer - check
• Sanding and painting - doors, walls and floors - check
• Sourcing that perfect moosehead, marine fossil, 19th century phrenology skull-subject or stuffed Arctic bear online - check
• Decking the walls with ancient whaling nets and harpoons and drinking a beer - check
• Filling the drinks cart with every distilled concoction you can come up with - single and blended malt whiskies, Polish vodkas, home-brew etc - check
• Positioning and testing the recliner's full range of movement - check
• Rigging up a home entertainment system without causing a power outage in your neighborhood - check
• Plumbing and installing a urinal (you'll need it after all that beer)- check
• Kicking back and enjoying your handiwork with a beer when it's finished - check

For a full range of ideas and suggestions, visit http://www.mancavesite.org/ and http://www.houzz.com/. For that perfectly useless yet curiously manly curiosity to give the room some intellectual credibility go to http://www.wunderkammer.com.au

Save Our Cinema-going Experience

Veteran essayist Thomson’s thoughtful new book  is not just the story of traditional cinema; …he draws a fascinating parallel between the viewing experience of Edison’s nickelodeon, a single person watching a short film loop through a viewfinder, to the way we now watch YouTube-length clips on our computer screens, whether tablet- or smartphone-size… (Extract of Booklist review of David Thomson’s The Big Screen: the Story of the Movies).

Muddy K bought me a copy of the above-mentioned book a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t even run a cursory glance through it yet as I’m working through a list of other books acquired over the Summer break, but I know as confidently as I know that burgers are the new black, it’ll be a ripper read.

However, I wonder if Thommo  will examine the way the download /burn /steal /YouTube /smartphone generation  somehow invariably manages to ruin the shared cinema-going experience for the rest of us who actually know what constitutes appropriate conduct whilst in the company of others in a darkened movie-theatre.

Last night, Muddy and I tootled along to the Kino Cinemas  to watch Zero Dark Thirty. An otherwise excellent venue with a well-behaved crowd (even on Cheap-Arse Monday), we had the misfortune to sit next to a young man who kept removing his mobile phone from his pocket, tapping something into the keypad and shoving it back in his pocket every 10 minutes or so. The light from the phone’s display was bright, the clicks on the keypad just loud enough to notice and the elaborate removal and replacement of the phone from his pocket all combined to create a massive distraction. Nay, a fucking annoyance.

My glares in his direction had no effect. It wasn’t until Muddy leaned over me and said in his quietest and calmest voice “please stop doing that. It’s distracting”. To which the young man replied “what? I’m just checking the time”, to which I replied, “nope. You’re texting. This is not your lounge-room.” Luckily, he got the message and didn’t do it again for the rest of the film.

At the film’s close (and yes, Muddy and I are the sort of people who stick around until the very end of the credits) the young man turned to us and said rather petulantly “You didn’t have to shout at me. If you’d asked nicely I’d have stopped doing it. I was just checking the time.” To which I had no choice but to say, “clearly, the film wasn’t compelling enough for you.” His response: “It was shite”.

What this young man didn’t understand was:

1. Muddy was asking you nicely. That wasn’t ‘shouting’ my young friend, he just has an authoritative voice. Evidently, it works.
2. We shouldn’t have to ask you to stop fart-arsing around with your phone – texting is just like talking. This is a shared experience, so stop being inconsiderate.
3. If you’re not enjoying the film, absent yourself from it. Get up and wait for your friends outside. Don’t ruin it for the rest of us.

It’s impossible not to sound ‘generationist’ but I’m fast growing impatient with this younger cohort of cinema watchers. Please, please, please, please, please stay home and simultaneously watch your illegal downloads on your laptop in your PJs, wank, tweet, text, make an organic coffee and enjoy a cone or two and save the cinema for those of us who understand what the experience is all about.