bizgirl

Well, I finally got a job offer! I logged into my gmail a few days ago, and there was an email confirming one of the jobs I had interviewed for shortly before leaving for Austin was mine for the taking if I wanted it.

It wasn't the dream Te Papa job, but was something that paid twice as much for half as many hours work, and had me working at the heart of the New Zealand Government. I was going to be dealing directly with the Prime Minister and her Cabinet, helping, no doubt, to guide the very course of the New Zealand's future. Or something.

It also meant an end to blogging, as the interviewers had made it clear that while they appreciated my written skills, they didn't want them used for anything other than keeping the Cabinet fully informed on current issues. This point was reaffirmed in the emailed offer of employment.

So, as I lay there in bed, my laptop propped up on my lap (of all places), my leg brushing the smooth and warm skin of Bertel, my recently made Scandanavian friend, I contemplated my options.

On the one hand, I've got an excellent job lined up, my career is potentially back on track, and I might be able to start making some inroads into the insane credit card debt I've racked up over the last couple of months. I'd also be back in New Zealand to witness the inaugural live performance of Bizgirl: the Play, at Artemis's school.

On the other hand, there's the lovely Bertel, a bass-player I met at a gig last week, and who has just offered to take me on a road trip down the 'Blues Highway', through the American Bible Belt, then up to Chicago (or New York, plans are vague at this point), where his band are potentially recording their first major label album. Bertel was playing at SXSW, but isn't required by the band until rehearsals and pre-production starts in April (or May), so he's spending his generous stipend by hiring a big American convertible, and is driving out of town this weekend in time to make the Easter Sunday service at Al Green's Church in Memphis. Like I say, we've struck it off quite well, so he's invited me along for the trip.

Life, eh? Any guesses on what I've decided to do?

As the dearly departed Selwyn Toogood might well have asked...

"What's it to be, Geraldine? The money or the bag?"

<allaboutgeorge>THE NEXT CATEGORY IS: BEST AUSTRALIAN OR NEW ZEALAND WEBLOG
<andrewjthomas>i want a bumper sticker that says "my metafilter account can kick your slashdot account's ass"
<handcoding>Crickey!
<stynxno>yea!
<allaboutgeorge>Olsen is trying on an Aussie accent
<leia>whoa whoa whoa
<stynxno>MAKE THAT A PRO FEATURE MATT
<allaboutgeorge>It's trying, all right.
<steve_at>stynxno: lol
<allaboutgeorge>AND THE WINNER IS:
What's New, Pussycat?
<leia>chuck sings the winner
<leia>no one present to accept...

...actually, I'm sure either of the other finalists present - Daniel Boud or myself - would have accepted on shauny's behalf, given half a chance. But no, the Bloggies were over in a flash: the above internet relay chat was broadcast in real-time on a big screen over to the right of the stage and, depressingly, was the only real entertainment during the rushed mid-day ceremony.

At least I lost with a smidgen of style. The yellow satin ruffles of my World dress cast a luminous golden glow onto the jeans and workaday shirts of all the guys there. I fidgeted nervously with my shoestring straps, and had to walk extremely carefully in my very glittery but extremely precarious blue high heels I had found at a second-hand clothes store in SoCo in the day before. My self-conscious fidgeting was partly due to the fact I had worn my best glad-rags when a lot of other people hadn't bothered to dress up for the event at all, but mostly because I had a two-person documentary team in tow. Jenny was safe and sound behind her camera, and Bruce - one of the American Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe production team who had volunteered to drive us all there and do sound. Bruce, a boy I have discovered who has a mischevious sense of humour, made sure the long furry microphone-sock was constantly on the edge of my peripheral vision.

Anyway, many congratulations to Shauny over at What's New, Pussycat? Her writing of late has been great stuff, with the icing on the cake being her most recent post about her marriage in Las Vegas. Classic.

With the big event behind me, I've been trying to take in as much of the SXSW Festival as I can. The Music Festival has hit town now, with hordes of black-shirted rock and roll boys mostly, but not entirely, displacing the bearded, tie and hat-wearing film and interactive geeks.

Which makes for much better star-spotting. They're everywhere. I was having breakfast at Las Manitas in a booth at the front of the cafe, when I saw Wayne Coyne, of The Flaming Lips, looking around for somewhere to sit. I had a whole booth to myself, so, without really thinking, I waved him over. He spotted me, raised his eyebrows in an 'are-you-sure?' sort of way, and I nodded assent. He sat down. I sat there, dumbstruck.

"Hi, thanks," he said.
"Hi, um, no worries, I umm."
"My name's Wayne."
"Oh. Oh, I know. I'm Natalie."
"Hi Natalie. Are you from Australia?"
"No, New Zealand."

At which we lauched into the usual Lord of the Rings, beautiful country, cute accent conversation. I told him I'd seen the Lips play at Big Day Out at the start of 2004, and he recalled the gig vividly...

"That was the strangest gig," he said, "I thought everyone hated us. The crowd were really muted, and no-one really moved or danced."
"Ahh, that's just the New Zealand way," I explained.
"So people told me," he went on, "I just couldn't believe it. I was dying up there trying to get you guys to enjoy it, and it turns out everyone was!"
"I loved it," I said. "It was one of the best gigs I've ever seen."

He laughed, and asked what I was in town for. I gave him quick story of the blog and the Bloggies, which he seemed to find fascinating. I made special note to not retell the Cliff Curtis breakfast-stealing incident, which I had, in a moment of stupendous brainlessness, told to an obviously appalled radio journalist and her listening audience of several million people while being interviewed for a Texan radio station after the Bloggies.

Having listened intently to my story, Wayne asked for a copy of Artemis's script, which I gladly handed over (I've had to make more copies, in fact, so popular have they proven). He asked if there were any of the New Zealand acts he should make an effort to get along and see, and I recommended the Mint Chicks, who were playing at the Blender Balcony later that week.

Thankfully, I didn't see Wayne there, as the Mint Chicks got into an onstage fight with a local muso whose borrowed gear they'd started mistreating about five minutes into the set. Mayhem and the spilling of blood ensued. We slipped away, to another random gig, of which there has been no short supply of over the last few days, and happened to bump into NME editor Conor McNicholas and his wife. Amazingly, without even seeing my nametag, Conor remembered who I was, and we had a nice chat about our respective times over the last couple of weeks since our meeting in Wellington.

And so on. There was brunch with Lyle Lovett. And tequila shots with the Wilson Brothers after the premiere of their new film (they got Artemis's script too). And a nice chat with the very polite and extremely attractive Stephen Malkmus at another gig. And, honestly, even with those stories told, I'd be just a tenth of the way through my SXSW story.

But, as 2005 Best Australasian Blogger Shauny of What's New Pussycat wrote recently...
To be continued! When my brain works!

So, here I am in lovely Austin, Texas!

I had big plans for writing up my last few (eventful) days in New Zealand on the plane on the epic trip over, but there seems to be some sort of inverse physiological relationship for me between height-above-sea-level and motivation, whereby if the former ascends, the latter plummets. As soon as the plane took off from Auckland the desire to write was completely replaced by the need to play Galaxian, to watch all three dire Hollywood films shown, and to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to complete just one cryptic crossword on the 12 hour flight. I had a few hours at LAX to burn before my connecting flight to Austin, but at that point jet-lag, culture-shock, and the pure fascination of people-watching in a foreign country again put paid to thoughts of blogging.

In fact, it wasn't until today, the day before the Bloggies, that I've really had a chance to fire up my laptop. It's been non-stop sleeping, socialising and sight-seeing since I arrived.

Jenny picked me up from the airport in a pick-up driven by Alan, a local boy who has friends working on the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe production back in New Zealand, several of whom have taken time off to come back to the States for the SXSW festival. Quite a few kiwis working on the Wardrobe production have decided to head over as well, so, along with Jenny's documentary team, and all the various NZ bands playing at the music festival, there's actually a decent sized group of people to call upon for help.

Not that it appears I'll need any. All the locals are so friendly. After enduring a mind-splitting jet-lag headache on my second day in town (I slept it off), I struck out on my own to do some sight-seeing over the weekend. And everyone I asked for directions when I was lost not only pointed me in the right direction, but offered hints on good places to stop and eat, notable local attractions, and the best place to buy some decent boots. Three different people, with no urging on my behalf at all, told me about Allen's Boots, so I made it my mission to find the shop, and purchase myself some bona fide top-notch Texan cowboy boots. And maybe a hat.

On the way, I made the classic mistake of not looking the right way when I strode out onto the street, and nearly got cleaned out by a pick-up truck. (Not a 'ute', as I have since discovered.) Despite the fact the truck was 100m (320ft) past me by the time I had even realised I had nearly become another number in the USA's impressive road-deaths statistics, I skipped backwards to the footpath (sidewalk!) letting out a belated cry. Instantly, I was surrounded by locals concerned for my welfare. Having ascertained that I was a New Zealand girl wandering the streets of Austin alone, there was no shortage of sympathy. We happened to be outside a place called Jo's Coffee, and a coffee and bagel arrived from somewhere to help allay my shock. And then two lovely older gentlemen escorted me the rest of the way up the hill to Allen's Boots, ensuring I understood the mechanics of the pedestrian crossings on the way. Arriving at the much-hyped store, I found that, indeed, there were a spectacular range of not only boots and hats on offer, but jeans and cowboy apparel in general. I was in heaven.

While perusing the boots, I noticed a good-looking cowboy stride purposefully into the store, walk up to the counter, and start talking to the staff. There were appreciative nods and gesticulations at his fairly battered cowboy hat, and he handed it over to them, before heading my way.

"Given up the ghost has it?" I asked.
"Pardon me, ma'am?"
"Um, your hat. Is it worn out?"
"Oh no, ma'am. Just needs a steam. Then she'll be as fine as cream gravy."

And indeed, a few minutes later his hat was returned to him by one of the very nice staff, looking as good as new. While we had waited, I had cajoled my new cowboy friend into assisting me with my own hat and boots purchasing decision, which eventually led to an invitation by him to a barbecue later that week, which, if time permits, I might just take up. My credit card didn't complain when I went to make the purchases, and the cowboy gave me a lift to the University of Texas, where I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the Harry Ransom Centre, a library which has, amongst other things, a great collection of early 20th Century manuscripts and letters from DH Lawrence, James Joyce, and New Zealand's Katherine Mansfield. Bliss.

Then, back to Alan's where yet another posse of freshly arrived kiwis and friendly american's were firing up yet another barbecue and downing a few Shiner Bocks.

So, yes, having a wonderful time. And the Bloggies tomorrow!

Fingers crossed!

Artemis invited me along to another rehearsal of the 'play-of-the-blog'.

I went along all ready to give him a piece of my mind at the outrageous liberties he had taken with the story. The preposterous ending. The outrageous love interest. The completely over-the-top characterisation of my librarian colleagues.

But then, as I watched it all the way through for the first time, it didn't seem too bad. The young Artemis character was now warming to the nasty side of his character, the beautiful version of me had, it seemed, actually managed to find my character, and Artemis, when he appeared in the middle of the third act, was positively, well, charasmatic. I was won over. But still, I had prepared a lengthy speech before arriving, and it seemed a pity to waste it. I cornered him after the rehearsal had finished, and let him have it...

"Artemis, I cannot believe what you've done with the finish!"
"What do you mean?"
"You know perfectly well. You've completely left reality behind."
"Natalie. Hello. Pot. Kettle. Black."

Hmmm, I suppose he had me there.

"Look, Natalie, it just makes for a good finish. I realise some people, like my father, think this whole play is just a ruse just so I can kiss Anna, but that change, it really just draws things to a natural conclusion."
"And you get to kiss Anna."
"Well, that was a pleasant side-effect."
"Artemis, we're not going to end up together. I am not going to kiss you."

At which point Artemis snorted, laughed, and handed me a half a dozen fresh copies of the script.

"Natalie," he said, "take this to America with you. Some light reading on the plane, perhaps. The spares are for anyone else you meet who might be interested in it."
"Um, okay. Thanks."
"Good luck at the Bloggies, by the way, Natalie. I don't think you'll win, but I'm sure you'll have fun."
"Well, gee, thanks Artemis."
"That's all right. And remember, the play is being put on before the Easter break. You'll be back by then?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm looking forward to the blog of the play of the blog."
"Me too."
"Do you want a lift home Natalie? I have the car."
"Um, well, actually, yes, that'd be great."

And he gave me a lift home.

Vaguely continued here...

I checked my email yesterday morning, and found this one from noizyboy.

subject: reminder, film archive mediaplex - resonate, 12:30 today.

Be there.

Very direct lad he can be sometimes. I knew a bit about Resonate - it's a get-together that the British Council and NZ Music Industry Commission (amongst others) have organised over the last couple of years, where a few UK music big-wigs are flown in to impart their wisdom to the local music industry. And which, for the first time this year, has made its way to Wellington. I even posted something about it on noizyland the other day, but the details (as is so often the way when I'm editing someone else's writing) had failed to lodge in my brain. From what I could tell though, it was all going to be a bit of a schmooze-fest, and the likelihood of free wine was high, so with nothing else on, I figured I may as well pop along.

And yes, all the usual local music scene suspects were out: noizy, blink, cubey, mikee, and about two dozen more bodies that make up pretty much the entire Wellington music industry. Satchels overflowing with CDs, demos, 'zines and business cards were slung upon every other shoulder. I dodged my way between them to the bar where I ordered a wine.

"Six dollars please," said the barista.
"Oh, crikey, really? It's not free?"
"Um, no."
"Um, righto. I might have to give it a miss, sorry."
"I'll get that," came an English voice from behind me. "And another for me thanks," said the boy who was now standing next to me at the counter.
"Ohhh, thank you very much!" I said. "I was totally expecting open bar action."
"Fair enough," he said, "and no worries at all. In fact, I suspect a drink or two might make anything I say during the session all the more interesting."
"Oh, you're one of the panel?"
"Yes, hi, I'm Conor."
"Hi Conor, I'm Natalie."
"What do you do Natalie?"
"Um, I'm an unemployed librarian at the moment. I've got some tenuous links with a New Zealand music website, so usually manage to blag my way into these sorts of things. And you?"
"I'm the editor of the NME. Have you heard of it?"

I just about choked on my wine. Have I heard of the NME? It was the bible of my teenage years. I devoured every page of every issue, dreaming of going to all the gigs in London, hobnobbing it with the pasty white boy rockstars that adorned every other page, popping E and heading out to the latest superclub to dance all weekend to the latest uber-cool dance sub-genre.

"Um, yes," I said. "I used to love it."
"Used to?"
"Oh, you know, um, I kinda grew out of it a bit, I suppose. And I'm a bit more into the local scene now."
"Aha. Indeed. What's your website called?"

I gave him the rundown on noizyland. He got the pun on the name straight away, which is more than most people manage. He really did have quite a lovely accent, and wonderful bright blue eyes. And he was editor of the bloody NME! When was I ever going to get another chance like this...?

"So, are you here with your girlfriend? Wife?"
"Wife. She's just over there, actually."

Damn. That was a short lived plan, then. He waved her over - she was, naturally, lovely - and we chatted about their marriage (New Year's Eve before last - it sounded wonderful), and Conor told some stories about The Darkness and Keane that had me dumbstruck with how he seemed to know just about anyone who is anyone in the British music scene. Which, I suppose, he almost certainly does.

Eventually everyone traipsed into the mediaplex's auditorium, where the four British music bigwigs regaled the assembled locals with more stories of working with the big bands in the multi-million dollar UK music biz. They rattled off numbers that had jaws dropping around the room. They talked about photo shoot costs that would dwarf the entire budget of most indie releases here in New Zealand. And it seemed that there were specialised jobs for just about everything in the UK - TV publicist, radio publicist, international publicist, manager, and more seemingly impossible job descriptions that now fail to spring to mind. Jobs that here in NZ, would all be done by members of the band itself. It just seemed ... surreal. I suspect half the room was considering upping and leaving for the UK on the next available plane.

Then it was open question time. During a lull, I found myself piping up to ask a question...

"How hard is it to break it big if you're an ugly band?" I asked, for no really good reason, except that most big international acts seem to be, to a person, on the right side of the good looking scale.

The two publicists present hummed and hahhed a bit, but came to the conclusion that it can be done. You just need to write really good songs, or have really clever marketing, or, even better, both. They used Keane as an example. And then Conor told the story about Keane and the Darkness he had just told me in the foyer, which made me feel a bit special, but then I realised he'd probably told the same story to a hundred people already, and would undoubtedly tell it again a hundred more times over the next few days when the Resonate conference moves up to Auckland, which somewhat undermined my 'moment'.

The discussion wound up around 4pm, after which everyone else wandered off to Sandwiches for a showcase gig. Normally I'd have tagged along, but, still low on funds, and with another job interview tomorrow, I thought I should try and get home and not risk getting involved in the sorts of music-related shenanigans that have marred some of my previous nights out.

Before I headed home, I did manage to catch up with Jenny, the producer who's in charge of the SXSW documentary I'm going to be a part of (hopefully), and who, coincidentally, is helping out with Resonate. We had a quick chat about dates and our itinerary. She's got a swodge of tickets to some of the showcase gigs at the SXSW music festival gig that the NZ acts are playing at, so it looks like, on that front at least, that my entertainment bill will be relatively light.

Ohhh, it's less than two weeks before I head away now. And the closer it gets, the harder the waiting becomes.

[ps. some classic comments on my previous post. I seem to have touched a nerve. Thanks to everyone who took the time to have their say.]