Gilbert Gottfried and I

You might recognise him from The Aristocrats.

Or from Kindergarden Cop.

Or not at all.

But the point is, I:

- saw his show;

- met him afterwards; and, more to the point

- got the photograph to prove it!

He struck me as much younger, friendlier and un-obnoxious off-stage, but then again, aren't we all...

A little over-stimulated

Training continues well, (Daena sat me down today and went through TONS of practical skills for solo improv, which was amazingly informative and inspiring - I've got it on video too, so for those of you who are interested in being part of the workshop when I return you'll get to share the excitement!) yet I'm rather overstimulated.

Every sight, every sound, every smell, taste and feeling is so different from what I've experienced and is such great fodder for comedy material - the travel experience alone would be bordering on overload but combine this with intensive one-on-one comedy coaching, fleshing out my full-length show and seeing comedy...

I have serious sensory indigestion.

Excuse me while I go pop an enzyme.

A slice of New York for y'all

I'm not sure if the dude is yelling "Sale! Sale! Sale! Sale!" or "Salsa! Salsa!" but I thought you might enjoy it regardless. Ciao.

Private Coaching with Daena Giardella

I spend most of the morning kicking myself for two reasons:

1) Staying up so late last night to go to the comedy show (which, as it turns out, was okay but not fabulous enough to warrant the sleeping time); and

2) Setting my alarm for 4am to try to ring home to finally speak to my kids, (something I am aching for) and then spending the next two and a half hours trying to get the phone card to work.

I am cheered up a little by two enormous cups of coffee and for breakfast...fruit toast, blueberries and cherries. This, coupled with Nancy actually making me a packed lunch to take with me for training (complete with a home-baked American brownie, might I add) ensures that I am so damn spoiled and mothered here I may well never leave.

I try to shake off my sleep-deprived haze and pep myself up for the day ahead - my first day of private coaching with Daena Giardella.

I first read about Daena in an article in Tempo magazine almost two years ago - as soon as I read about her one-woman improvised musical comedy shows, it was like someone had hit me over the head with a lit sparkler. Though less painful and my hair didn't catch on fire. The point is, I was immediately struck by the thought: "that's EXACTLY what I want to do."

As I walk up the stairs to the studio where we'll be spending the next week workshopping my full-length show, I'm struck by the notion of how completely mind-blowing it is, to now be not only meeting this woman I read about all that while back in person, but to actually be working with her and learning how to do "EXACTLY what I want to do."

We bump into each other and straight away I like her. We've spoken on the phone, of course, but until you bump fleshy bits (again, something not to be taken out of context) you just never know. The day pans out much like this:

- chatting through ideas of the show, nutting out what I want to say and how.

- looking through my DVD footage together (I had previously sent her a copy, but it had failed to do its job, obtuse little DVD that it is - don't worry, it's sitting in a naughty corner as I type) which turns out to be a great thing to actually do together because:
a) we can talk through ideas as the footage progresses;
b) it's all fresh in both our minds as a point to start from; and
c) her laughter affirms to me that she thinks I'm funny. Something which I would say at this early stage, seems almost imperative to having a successful performer/coach relationship!

- a debrief on the footage and ideas thus far.

- a solid but challenging warm-up, highlighting already the issues of solo improvisation. We talk about this later, in that it is quite different from the typical group improv - you don't have anybody up there to fall back on but yourself, you have to find a way to overcome the inner critic (as you don't have the support of another player to affirm what you're doing), and you need to find the confidence within yourself to trust that what you're doing is right and fully commit to it. But more on commitment later.

- series of improvised monologues, which included starting points such as:

a) a starting line of dialogue fed to me by Daena;
b) a rant on how I was feeling at any particular point in time;
c) a theme/word (e.g. 'rage', 'guilt') to come back to as both serious and comic monologues respectively;
d) a point reached in a particular monologue which Daena would then coach me to explore deeper in a completely different monologue (again, with direction as to whether to take it into a comic or serious direction).

- interspersed with times of chatting about what came up, the struggles I felt during particular monologues and why these might be issues. I was surprised how many connections we found between issues I have as a performer can link back to personal stuff. And, in the words of Forrest Gump, "that's all I have to say about that."

- revisiting the raw material and ideas that came up during the monologue improvs (improv junkies or not, I am already convinced this is an AWESOME way of coming up with fresh material) and looking at which ones might be workshopped further.

- identifying some common themes that come up in my material and that I want to pursue in my full-length show, to give it some sort of structural basis and journey, rather than just being 'bits of gags thrown together'.

- setting my homework - to write all my ideas (both the ones I came in with and those we came up with today) onto separate colour-coded index cards (one colour for each theme) to work with for the rest of the week.

PHEW! There's so much to digest, I only wish I'd had the foresight to record what we did today. But tomorrow I'm videoing the lot! Well, maybe not the lot, but a lot. There you go. I'm so inspired, invigorated and impressed by Daena. She is so switched onto it, asks all the right questions, totally "gets" me and what I'm about, I feel myself trusting her more and more by the minute. I can honestly say that if I had to head back to Australia this second, I'd feel confident that I could go on to develop a really cool show purely on the basis of what we did today. But...there's still 6 days to go, baby!

Bring it on!

***

As a happy epilogue to this story, I FINALLY managed to speak to my kids tonight. At first I couldn't stop crying, but then the tears dissolved to rib-aching laughter once Ella's comic conversation started kicking in.

Me: "So what have you been doing?"

Ella: "I did a burp!"

Me: "A burp? Really?"

Ella: "Yeah! A big one!"

Me: "Wow."

Ella: (faking) "BUUUURRRP!"

Me: "And what are you doing today?"

Ella: "BUUUUURRRP!"

And so it continued, with both her and I giggling our hearts away across opposite sides of the globe. Hearing her so happy made me feel like a million bucks.

I then tried to chat with Caleb but he was mid-2-year-old-tantrum - and for that moment, I was quite happy to be on the other side of the globe. In fact, there's been many Caleb tantrums when I've wished for that exact thing: what do you know? Magic does happen.

Day Two...the saga continues

8am and I am woken up by the phone: TIMMY!!! Be still my beating New Yorked up heart. The dulcet tones of his masculinity (hehe, that's for you honey) distract me from the fact that every muscle in my body is aching like crazy. I hang up, feel the pain, soak in the bath-tub and head downstairs for my first New York breakfast.

I choose the New York diner downstairs which finally helps me understand what the lovely Rachel Hills meant when she told me America was scary cos it's "just so American." I am serviced by a cheery middle-aged Latino waiter (now there's a sentence you don't want to take out of context) who calls me "sweetie", though for some reason that doesn't bother me. He's not sleazy, just friendly...and I later, realise, no doubt wanting a good tip! Five minutes later and I'm greeted by an OJ, coffee (which despite being warned was terrible here, I decided to throw caution to the caffeinated wind in the name of experience) and an omelette to end all omelettes.

Which brings me to my next discovery: I am yet to actually finish a meal here. Everything is enormous: the cars, the buildings, the food...at the risk of sounding cheeky, I suspect America may be trying to compensate for something.

After a moment's dilemma of wondering how to pay (do I say 'bill' or 'cheque'? I may be a comedian, but I don't always want to be laughed at), I head up to my room to go through all my comedy material in preparation for my solo coaching session that awaits me in Boston. En route to my room I overhear a very animated conversation between three Latino house-keepers in the cleaning room - I have no idea what they're saying, but it sounds cool, especially when one of them casually drops an English 'that's their problem' into the midst of the Spanish rant.

I decide it's time to hit the streets to break in my new baby: my video camera. I leave my luggage with the bell-man.

Him: "Okay, what you're gonna do is pay one fifty now and one fifty when you come back."

Me: "Oh. Okay."

See? That's the thing here - they don't ask you how it is, they TELL you.

I walk up towards the Empire State Buliding and start filming stuff - the shots are cool, but it strikes me that they're no different to anything anyone else could shoot. Dare I try to shoot myself hosting a little Comic Mummy tour? I feel like a bit of a twat. But the deep-seated knowledge that I'll regret it if I don't do it (and the thought that there may never be another chance) I swallow my pride - which by the way, tastes better than I thought - I start. Inside the Empire State Building, no less. And you know what? Nobody bats an eyelid. That's New York for you baby. Not only is filming part of hte back-drop, but anything goes!

I keep filming just random stuff I come across with bits of commentary I think could be kinda funny (or ramblings of a jet-lagged madwoman); it's great that I've at least tackled the first hurdle of getting started! The rest, I'm sure, will improve as I go on. I pick up my luggage:

Bellguy 2: "Can I call you a taxi, ma'am?"

Me: "No thanks. I'm cool."

Bellguy 2: "That's what I like to hear. 'I'm cool'."

Me: "Which way's Penn State Station?"

Bellguy 2: "Just out the door, right and across the street."

Me: "Wicked. Thanks."

Bellguy 2: (smiling) "Wicked."

Me: "You can take that one with you."

That's me, folks. Spreading the Aussie love around.

I queue up for my ticket, when suddenly a mildly overweight fifty-something police offer calls out to all of us "Does this yellow bag here belong to someone?" No one responds. "Obviously not. Right." He radios someone presumably important, then: "We're gonna have to shut this down."

It's not clear if he's referring to the ticketing window behind said bag, or to the entire check-in area. The Venus Williams look-alike next to me in the queue looks mega cheesed off, huffing and "oh what?" ing, much like I'd imagine Venus might do on a bad ball call. As the drama unfolds, I find myself undecided as to what I'd be more afraid of going off - her or a bomb. As they wait to bring the big guys down to suss out the bag, I think the same thing I'm sure everyone else in the queue does: "Damn I hope that's not really a bomb. But if it is...I just hope they don't close the counter before I get my ticket."

I'll never know how the yellow bag thing ended - I grabbed my ticket, hawled my butt onto the Amtrak train (which is heaps nicer than I expected...until I make it to the bathroom - I'll spare you the details but suffice to say that a rocking train and urination apparently need some serious relationship counselling) and enjoy a gorgeous view of the Manhattan skyline on the way out, followed by cute scenery on the way up to Boston, only made better by the cheery train announcer who felt compelled to introduce particular check-points with things like "It's wild! It's wacky! It's WESTERLEY!!! Westerley Station everybody!!!!"

I am greeted at the station by Nancy and Henry, friends of Liz, my sister-in-law, who I'll be staying with for the next week. Liz has raved to me about how these two are just about her favourite people in the entire world - and after three minutes in the car with them, I can see why. They are ADORABLY hospitable, cheerful and friendly - but wait, it gets better. Their house is SOOO cute it makes me want to cry, they lead me upstairs to my very own attic (not the cobwebs and haunted trunks kind, just the extremely cool pyramid ceiling at the top of the house kind) complete with TV, lounge and my own bathroom. I almost squeal in excitement. Dinner, topped off with that all-American treat - home-made brownies. Can I get an AAAAA-men!

I'm faced with a dilemma - do I get an early night and wake up refreshed in the morning to start my coaching with Daena? Or do I make the effort to hit the ground running and go check out a late-night comedy show I've seen advertised? Those of you who know me will need no guessing which option I took.

It turns out the late show was actually free - a late-night comedy duo called The Walsh Brothers, who basically spend most of their stage-time telling shared stories, just as you'd expect from brothers. Their rapport with each other was good (as one would hope!) - they actually reminded me somewhat of my buddies Styles/Power, not in terms of material, but in terms of the whole duo dynamic. I was struck immediately by:

a) the fact that there is an actual space dedicated to improv running 5 nights a week;
b) the variety of improv-based shows that run there (don't worry, I'm planning on checking at least a couple more out!);
c) how generous the audience was; and
d) how the material was so much more story-oriented, rambling and less punch-liney than what I've been used to of late. Obviously whether that's a Boston thing or a show-specific thing I will only be able to tell upon seeing more shows.

I've noticed Gilbert Gottfried is in town, so I'm thinking of checking out his show tomorrow night. For now: I'm off to shower, dress (if I remember), have a third cup of coffee and then head off for Training Day number 1!

Adios, Amigos!

Start Spreading the News...

I wanna be a part of it...New York, NEW YAAAAWWWWWWWWWKKKKK!!!

That's right. Less than four hours here and I'm officially in love. From the cute little houses on the outskirts (giving me flashbacks of Spiderman) to the dingey old subways (giving me flashbacks of Ghost) to the glitz and glamour of neon-lit 42nd Street (giving me flashbacks of childhood dreams) this is a place that just makes you feel like you're living in a film.

Of course, people had told me that. But seeing it in person is just completely surreal - in fact, I keep wondering if I'm going to wake up in a sweat only to find it's actually eight weeks ago and there is no grant, no letter from Brisbane City Council saying that they've agreed to support this opportunity of such grand scope it's impossible to even fathom.

Oh boy...I've got so much to write here, but little time on this expensive net computer and I'm a little paranoid that if I write all I want to, I'm going to bore the crap out of y'all (hehe: see how I'm integrating myself already) So the main points thus far:

- Had a rather stressful time at LA airport as my plane was late arriving, leaving me a mere 20 minutes to go through US immigration, collect my luggage, go through US customs, check in my luggage, go through US security and board my plane. AAGH! To cut a long story short, got very flustered, made it to the departure lounge only to find it empty, my heart sank, then lifted again when I discovered the airplane I thought had left was late getting in too so I hadn't missed it after all, then my strses was all smoothed over by the very courteous flight attendant who checked my boarding pass and cheerily smiled: "Why, good morning Miss Jen Wynter!"

- Thus following on from the previous point, am realising how much I actually like Americans in their own country.

- Enjoyed the subway ride next to a drop-dead gorgeous African American woman and her cuter than cute 3-year-old daughter (yes, it tugged my heartstrings) who kindly helped me with pointers on which stop to get out at. Next thing you know a guy steps into our carriage and starts beating on his bongo-drum in time with the subway rhythms. For the way I was feeling, it could have been my heart-beat, boom boom chitty booming away. What a joyful encounter! Then the money hat came out, slightly de-fluffing the vision of loveliness but it was still mega cool.

- Sympathising with Russell Crowe when I realised my hotel phone wouldn't work so couldn't call my family back in Oz. Got a little homesick (this after spending the previous two hours thinking how NY rocked so much I wasn't even missing home at all) and trudged on a mission: to phone home and to discover Broadway!

- Spent the past hour and a half walking the streets up and down Broadway and Times Square, soaking in the sights and trying to be cool. Took some photos too, so will upload them as soon as I have a chance!

Phwe. Okay, credit's running out.

Tomorrow, catching a train to Boston and the following day will be starting one-on-one coaching with impro coach Daena Giardella. Stay tuned!

The Final Pre-USA Entry: THE SEQUEL

Wow, bet you didn't see that coming, huh?!

I'm at the airport, about to board the plane (in thirteen minutes, to be precise). At this point the few things going through my head include:

- what a bummer I was too busy feeling teary and tormented to ask for a complimentary upgrade to business class;

- then again, at least I've gotten the crying bit of saying goodbye to the kids (including Ella queuing up with me at the counter and saying every five seconds 'I wanna come to America with you!') out of the way so I can avoid further embarrassment on the plane;

- I'm so pleased getting through customs was easier than changing a nappy;

- is it normal to be terrified that your plane is going to crash? And furthermore, is it normal to think that if it does, this blog entry will possibly be read at your funeral? And further still, is it normal to look on the bright side in that if I do crash, at least it's the first time in my life I've actually had decent insurance so my family would get a good pay-out?*;

*Note: the 'is it normal' question is purely rhetorical. In case you were panicking.

- I hope I get to watch tons of movies;

- I hope I get to catch tons of sleep;

- I hope I don't walk off the plane, catch glimpse of New York and have my brains burst out my nostrils with excitement, thus ending the trip of a lifetime in one over-eager gesture. Please, your best wishes for this not happening would be truly appreciated;

- I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!;

and finally...

- Gee Jen, your internet credit is running pretty low, you'd better post this before it runs out and you've spent your last Aussie moments typing for nothing.

The Final Pre-USA Entry

Hopefully not the final entry full-stop i.e. hopefully the plane doesn't crash and/or America doesn't get nuked while I'm there. Though, as someone very wise pointed out to me this week, if America gets nuked then Australia's not going to be far behind. Call me morbid, but I found that strangely comforting.

So...I'm all packed and rearing to go! Frankie came round tonight with a platter of strawberries, chocolates and cherries in tow, and was there for the crucial decision-making of what to pack in what compartment in between stuffing our faces. What a woman.

We both mulled over the flight ahead and agreed that despite the warnings from well-meaning parties about the perils of long bouts in the skies, compared to child-rearing, it will be absolute bliss.

Frankie: "All you have to do is sit there. And do nothing."

Me: "And just be transported. How wonderfull passive."

Frankie: "And they bring you stuff. In packets! Sure, it's kinda rubbery, but it's stuff!"

***

So comrades, seeing as tomorrow is my last day in this fine country of ours for a while, I doubt I shall have the time or inclination to blog. So, this is adieu from me and I shall meet you on the other side of the journey! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye!

My favourite farewell thus far has come from my gorgeous cousin Karen, who voluntarily printed out all my paperwork, photocopied gazillions of promo bits AND burnt me extra copies of my promo DVDs to take with me! After handing me the fruits of her labour, she hugged me and left me with this:

"Come back funnier, honey-er!"

I'll try, Kag. I'll try.

***

PS Sorry to those of you who've been trying the myspace link for my comedy snippet - apparently the server's been down all day. If you're really keen you can click below. Toodles!

Okay, time to strut my stuff

To those of you who haven't seen me perform live yet, the time has arrived to put my money where my damn mouth is.

I've just uploaded my first performance snippet onto myspace. Check it out, if you dare. Or if I dare. Whichever makes more sense.

www.myspace.com/jennywynter

(I believe you just have to scroll down to get to the vid)

The Melodramatic Monkey

I don't know where she gets it from. Really.

Spammers Suck Buttocks

Seeing as my inbox has been lately bombarded with anonymous comments telling me how great my blog is and 'by the way, have you heard about these wonderful links to real estate sales?' I'm doing what I thought I'd never have to and turning on Comments Moderation.

So, commenters, all billion of you...consider yourself moderated.

Dig it.

And by the way, have you heard about these wonderful links to real estate sales?

From my kiddies...

Ella: "You can't go to America by yourself. I need to come with you otherwise you're going to get into trouble!"

Me: "What do you mean? What's in America?"

Ella: "A big giant!"

Me: "A giant? Wow! What would you do to the giant."

Ella: "I'd kick him for you! So I have to come! Can I have chocolate?"

***

Oh, and Caleb has taken to patting my boobs lovingly and saying "Mmm. Donuts."

***

From the Mouth of Willy Shakespeare

So...less than one week to go til I leave for a trip so mindblowingly exciting that every time I think about it I have to resist the urge to hurl.

My friend and fellow actor Alex lent me a book called 'Acting is Everything' by Judy Kerr, specifically so I could copy notes from the 'best things to do in a short trip to LA' section As she handed it to me, she said but three words: "Best. Book. Ever."

It's thick, so I will by no means be able to get through it before I go, but in skimming it, I've already come across a pearler to take with me. Who knows, given enough fun wackiness in Vegas, perhaps I'll return with it tattooed across my left buttock. Not that it would/should fit. Ehem.

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."- William Shakespeare.

I'm not going to comment on that, as I think it says it all perfectly. See? See how I'm not commenting?

And finally, this one from James Gandolfini (Sopranos), who said, upon receiving his Best Actor Statuette at the SAG:

"To all the actors who are working hard and struggling, things can change very quickly. Hang in there. Enjoy what's happening to you now 'cause things get pretty weird later on if it works."

Excuse me while I go puke. (In an excited way, naturally).

Cross posted at www.vibewire.net

Okay, it's getting exciting now.

I just had my last stand-up gig before I head to the US of A. It was good. Especially cos this place really looks after their comics - pats on the back and free beer. What more could you want?

Plus...a kind benefactor who shall remain anonymous (from herein said benefactor shall be referred to as "Sugar Daddy" though that title is extremely deceiving on every count) has offered to pay for proper accommodation - i.e. not crashing on people's couches but actual real hotel accommodation just a block away from where I'll be training - in New York.

And I managed to track down a dear old mate of mine from uni days who's going to actually fly into Las Vegas the same weekend I'm there...rest assured by the time we're done with it the Boulevard will be scarlett.

At the risk of sounding like a spoilt little brat...damn life's good.

Dear Sadly Neglected Little Blog

I'm sorry.

I do still love you.

I'm just overwhelmed with life right now.

But rest assured that in a little over seven days (seven days twelve hours and thirty-eight minutes to be exact) I will be stepping on board the longest flight of my life en route to the greatest adventure of my life and the only time my fingers will be leaving the key-board will be to go out and embark on even greater adventures in order that I might write about them.

Rest assured, I blog, therefore I am. Don't let my recent lack of attention lead you to believe otherwise.

In the mean-time, calm yourself, have a cup of chamomile and let's be friends.

You Tarzan, Me Stressed

So I had to get my drivers licence replaced today. A pain in the butt at the best of times, let alone when you've delayed it for months and are only now squeezing it into your overpacked list of things to do because you've just found out that in the USA, they'll often ask you for TWO forms of ID to let you onto your flight.

Hmph.

So I lined up. For ages. Until getting to the counter, only to find that I had not brought sufficient ID with me.

Hmph.

Three hours later, I returned. And lined up. For ages. Until getting to the service counter, only to find that apparently my phone bill didn't count as sufficient proof of address, seeing as it had my married name on it.

Me: "But see here? My Medicare card shows me, my hubby, his last name and our kids, look, they have both of our names!"

Her: "It makes no difference. I need the marriage certificate."

Me: "But, but...that's his name, and it's just that they put his surname on my bill!"

Her: "As far as we're concerned, this person (pointing to my name on the phone bill) doesn't exist."

Me: "Well gees, if I'd known that I didn't exist, I wouldn't have bothered paying the bill."

Okay, so I just thought that last bit in my head.

The reality is that I started crying. Yes, in public. Not that it was even that upsetting in itself, it was more just the straw that broke the camel's back. I've been so mega stressed trying to organise the entire trip, while completing work on several other projects I'm doing for other people, while still spending some semblance of good time with the family and as it goes in Shrek: "I'm a donkey on the edge!!!"

Without, you know the donkey bit.

As it turned out, I went back to my car and realised that miracle of miracles, I actually HAD my tax statement sitting in my glovebox, complete with my full real address and my full real name in full real ink and everything. I returned, triumphant, to claim my rightful licence, trying to ignore the fact that in my new ID photo I now have puffy post-cry eyes.

Hmph.

But as my great fellow impro-junkie Marc said to me the other day "Oh yeah, poor Jenny, let's just all feel sorry for Jenny, she's gotta go to New York and spend all that money on comedy. Ooh, your life really sucks."

Touche.

No more fooling around

I mean it. Come to the show.

Or we'll all follow you around looking like this and introducing ourselves to everybody you know as your long lost cousins from Roma.

Don't test me on this.

B-Grade Sci Fi with an Improvised Twist

Dudes,

Come see this show.

I'm in it.

It's cool.

When: This Friday 21st to Sunday 23rd July

Friday: 8.15pm
Saturday: 2.15pm and 8.15pm
Sunday: 6.15pm

Where: Metro Arts, Edward Street, City

How much moola: $15 tix at the door.

(At this rate anyone'd think I was writing a pay-per-word classifieds).

The Opposite of Grief

You know how when people are in the throes of grief, they experience a sort of numbness - a defence mechanism known as shock, as a way of stopping themselves from fully comprehending the gravity of the situation in case they might implode?

Well, I think the way I'm feeling at the moment is the opposite of that.

That is to say, the unbelievably overwhelming excitement of what lies ahead in just over a week and a half, is just so that - unbelievable, overwhelming and exciting - that I can't even allow myself to really feel it. I'm walking around in this constant state of denial, a protective cocoon of numbness for fear that if I actually let it sink in my guts will explode out my nostrils (insert-your-equally-undignified-action-of-choice), I will subsequently die and thus would end the entire trip of a lifetime.

Or something.

Just look at this itinerary: I mean, seriously.

26th July:
I fly into New York. I am under strict instructions from my sister-in-law (a traveller so seasoned she should come with her own beverage) to RESIST the temptation to go out on the town that night, but instead go directly to bed, do not pass go, do not collect $200, just bed, bed, bed! Uh....I'll do my best....

27th July:
I catch a train to Boston - I deliberately went the train option so I could soak up some landscape along the way.

28th July - 4th August:
I'll be working on my full-length show with Daena Giardella, this uber guru who does solo, improvised musical comedy shows. Days I'll be working with her, nights I'll be madly writing more material to workshop the following day. And checking out some comedy of course, as well as doing the odd gig. Okay, as I'm typing this I'm starting to get excited...

4th - 6th August: I'm catching the train back to NY via New London, where I'll be joining my brother and sister-in-law Andrew and Liz for Liz's family reunion! My ONE and ONLY weekend of the entire trip where I won't be working!

7th - 11th August: New York, baby, for the first of two intensives with the one, the only, the legendary Second City. Holy hell. And to think not that long ago I was reading about this place in The Entire History of Saturday Night Live... I'll be doing improv in the mornings, comedy writing in the afternoons plus the odd gig, a radio interview with Fluff in Brooklyn, seeing some shows (it just so happens that the New York Fringe Festival is on at the same time) and trying to squeeze in some sight-seeing.

11th - 14th August: Viva Las Vegas! Doing a musical improv intensive with meistro Michael Pollock in the days, and walking the strip at night, trying to let the muse run wild in all its sequined glory while avoiding stares from the Russian Mafia.

14th - 19th August: Back to New York for the Level 2 Intensive with Second City.

19th - 20th August: Just in case it wasn't mind-blowing enough, I've somehow managed to score some private coaching with this amazing guy: Steve Kaplan. Aside from starting the HBO New Writers Project, he's worked with some amazing people, from Jack Black to Kathy Griffin to Oliver Platt. Plus my dear mate Paul Osuch has put me in touch with the woman who runs the LA Sketch Comedy Festival so we can hopefully meet up for a chat while I'm there.

Oh yeah, and I'm also going to film some samples for a mockumentary while I'm in all of these cities: I'm thinking of taking my character from my other short film "It's Time To Go" and doing a TV special: i.e. "Katie Lou takes on the USA!" where we follow her in her shameless quest for celebrity. Or maybe I'll even put Mrs Sorenson on the case.

21st August: I collapse in a crumpled comedy overdosed heap and don't open my eyes until my plane touches the ground back in Oz.

Oh boy. No wonder I'm numb.

Friday in a Nutshell

How's this for efficiency?

1. The awards ceremony went well, complete with good strong coffee and nice little rectangle sandwiches with nice things stuffed inside. Here I rubbed shoulders with some of the other Fellowship winners (what a damn inspiring bunch!) and the speech - though I muddled up the order of what I was going to say completely - actually went down pretty well. On my last sentence, the Lord Mayor actually called out 'Bravo!' Either that or in my adrenalised delerium I misheard him actually saying 'Get off!'

2. Took my beautiful auntie and uber-publicist Viv out for lunch in the Valley, where she got me even more psyched for my trip, including recommendations to:

- take copies of my Courier Mail interview to flaunt shamelessly at every given opportunity;
- get a recording of a radio interview I've set up in New York;
- visit the Tetenem(??? I'm having problems even recalling the name, let alone the spelling) Museum to witness a slice of 1920's New York.

3. Am shortly to venture up to ZZZ studios for what will be my last Frog and Peach show til late August. *sniff* I feel we should do something incredibly land-markish, though what that would be, I have no idea. Still, I have twenty-four minutes to work it out.

4. Then home tonight for what has become our ritual...Friday night pizza!!!

Dig it. Yeah.

Luck wanted: apply within

So the presentation ceremony for the Lord Mayor's Fellowship is on tomorrow morning and - being the stand-up comedian of the group and thus presumably the most comfortable with public speaking - I have been asked to give a five-minute speech on behalf of all the recipients.

In front of a room comprising mainly fellowship people, Brisbane City Council staff, media reps and...the Lord Mayor.

I'm not extraordinarily nervous, I mean it's just a speech - it's not like I even need to make them laugh or anything - but I also don't want to stutter, slur or slip up. In short, I don't want to look like a complete nork-tube from hell. Thus it's gotten me contemplating...

The 5 Worst Things to Say at a Presentation Ceremony where the Media and/or Lord Mayor of Your City is Present

1. "When I found out I'd been awarded money to travel abroad, my first thought was "Wohoo! Finally, I can get the hell out of this hell-hole!"

2. "I was planning on doing some training in the States, but I've since realised that if I used the money to move to Mongolia I could survive on yak's milk for around four decades. So thanks City Council...I'll send you a post-card in 2034."

3. "I'm not even a real emerging artist: I just thought I'd give this grant thing a shot! Cheers!"

4. "My grant money went for a little walky and somehow ended up at The Casino...um....any chance of a top-up?"

5. "Meeeekin murrgin blllllugh tequila bluuuuuurrsh..."

Wish me luck!

Who Rocks?

Frankie does!

Flash back with me, won't you, to this very morning...

Bring, bring! Bring, bring!

(That's my best phone impersation - stop paying me out about it, accept it for what it is and let's move on. I'm doing my best here, okay?)

Me: "Hello?"

Her: "HELLO!"

Me: "Frankie!"

(Insert typical mindless drivel between us here)

Her: "So what are you doing this morning?"

Me: "Oh I've got a billion things I've gotta get on top of..."

Her: "Oh. Cos I was going to take you shopping and buy you some new outfits for New York!"

Cue the sound of a phone being slammed down, feet
storming down the stairs and a car speeding away to the nearest shop.

A LITTLE WHILE LATER...

Frankie, I and my sister-in-law Lizzie rock up at Stones Corner to hit the discount shops with enthusiasm that makes the Crocodile Hunter look like a limp cucumber.

Before I go forth and conquer, Frankie hands me my shopping budget enveloped in this:

HOURS LATER...

I now feel funky, loved and hot.

No wonder Frankie's my best friend.

Cue cheesy "best buddies walking off into the sunset" sound-track of choice.

4 things I liked hearing today

1. "Yeah, so we're going to go ahead on the Stateline thing." (Guy from ABC TV - meaning that they're going to shoot my gig this Sunday at the Powerhouse, then do an interview with me once I get back from the US, thus putting together a Jen-oriented-segment on an upcoming episode of Stateline.

Can I get a 'woo-woo!'???

2. "I'm so excited. We're all excited. Everybody's talking about it!" the very lovely and talented Adam Styles, whom I had the pleasure of running into tonight, talking about the trip.

3. "I love you!" A random woman after my first Dockside gig tonight.

4. "Mama, you're pretty." Ella.

What a lovely day of notable quotables.

Teenage angst

So I'm giving my first one-hour inspirational rev-up session to a bunch of year elevens and twelves tomorrow. Talk about angst!

I'm talking on "Leadership" - I've even got OHPs and video excerpts and talking points and everything. How cool am I?

Damn I hope someone heckles, just so I can see what comes out of my mouth in response.

"Am I going to be on your blog?"

That's what this guy asked me the other night, a guy I'd only just met at my sister's party.

After announcing to me within moments that he made a point of 'scaring people' in conversation, he spent the next twenty minutes or proving himself right.

He was a philosophy student you see, into his fourth degree on the subject and obviously a huge fan of intellectual banter. A little too much of a fan, if you know what I mean. We bantered. I left. We bantered some more. I left again. A little more banter later and I suddenly realised I was being sucked into his duel of minds against my will. Within moments, our conversation was turning from intellectual wankery into a sort of uncomfortable abuse that was bordering on intellectual harrassment. Sounds weird? Well...it was.

I left again: for good.

But as it wrapped up, I do remember him saying to me: "Hang on a minute. Am I going to be on your blog?"

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Hell no."

The Verdict (or 'Not Guilty!')

I'll confess something I've wanted to write about for days now - we had a pregnancy scare this week. I can actually write 'scare' now which in itself invokes a great deal of another emotion: that being 'relief'.

Not that I wouldn't have been happy about having another baby. You know how clucky I've been lately. Why, I'm practically sprouting feathers and hurtling my face towards the floor in an attempt to locate grain. But the relief of being able to savour my US comedy adventure free of the shackles of morning sickness and all-consuming fatigue...well, it's damn near palpible.

In fact, excuse me a moment while I just....

...okay I'm back now. Sorry bout that, just felt like celebrating for a moment by doing a little Irish jig.

So the main reason for the 'scare' was that I've spent the past week or so feeling rather nauseous. In fact, constantly nauseous. Only now we've established the reason is NOT family member number five, I seem to have pieced it together: I think I might be a little anxious.

Groundbreaking stuff, I know.

I have to calm myself and remind myself that this entire trip is going to be wonderful. Amazing. Potentially life-changing. I mean, I know it is all that and more - yet I can't help feeling angsty at the prospect of leaving my children for that long. While I know they'll be unbelievably well looked after (my sister is under strict instructions that while she's to look after my children and love them with all she's got, she is under no circumstances, permitted to be better than me at it - you know, not too many outings or extravagant crafty stuff) I still can't help but feel nervous about it. And guilty....oh boy, I've got oodles I could write about the guilt associated with this entire undertaking, and perhaps I shall another time. But for now, I'm just trying to build a bridge and get over it. Because:

a) the last thing I want to do is ruin this amazing opportunity with something as unproductive as guilt; and

b) I'm sure that one day Ella will say to me with great sincerity: "Mum, I think it's awesome that you did that. You rock."

"And thanks for the Las Vegas snow dome."

Movies I hope they don't show on my plane trip

The longest I've ever been on a plane is two and a half hours and even THAT freaked me out. So the thought of a long-distance haul, while mega-mega-exciting in terms of the destination, is a one-way ticket (if you'll pardon the pun) to panic.

The one thing that I'm counting on to distract me from my phobia is movies on tap. So long as they're not:

Superman Returns...
...which I saw today, hence triggering this entry. Now if Superman were real, I could calm myself in the knowledge that even if something did happen during my flight, he'd at least consider saving me. Especially if he dug my bling-bling.

Alive...
...cos I don't care how good my co-passenger's biceps look, I ain't eating that.

United 93...
...sing it with me people: Freak Out!

Lost...
...unless of course, Matthew Fox is actually on-board my flight.

Air-Force One...
...cos in-air action aside, anything with Harrison Ford these days scares the living daylights out of me.

Cross your fingers for me, won't you?

7 Things About My Childhood You Probably Didn't Need to Know

1. I wanted to be Shirley Temple and/or Princess Leia. Either way, I still have a penchant for cute hair-styles that involve the side of the head.

2. I loved Ewoks - I had an Ewok lunch-box once and even indulged in the odd Ewok ice-block (they had green jelly stuff inside...mmmmm). And after seeing "Caravan of Courage" (i.e. Star Wars spin-off made-for-television-movie, the monster villain of which absolutely freaked the hell out of me) I loved them even more. I wanted one so badly...then I gave up and just had kids instead.

3. When I was five I fell into my grandma's freezing cold swimming pool in the middle of winter (Toowoomba winter no less...makes ice-blocks look like hot water bottles). I had no idea how to swim, and after thrashing about helplessly for thirty seconds, managed to clutch at the pool brush handle she held out to me. In typical melodramatic Jenny form, I climbed up next to her, coughed up a lung, and spluttered: "You're my hero."

4. In grade four, inspired by an episode of Neighbours, I took the liberty of organising a surprise birthday party for my grandma. It was easy: I just waited til she'd gone out shopping, rang everybody in her address book, told them the date and time and asked them to bring something. Then I got our neighbour to invite her over for afternoon tea while all the guests arrived. The house was packed and I still remember the shock on her face when she walked in. That's one thing in my life I will always be proud of.

5. I used to spend an unhealthy amount of time willing Mary Poppins to come floating down to my house. That film still just kills me, especially the "Feed the Birds" song. To this day (I've been watching it a bit with Ella lately) that number brings a tear or two to my eye. I mean, no it doesn't...ehem, that's just...allergies...

6. I made my own version of a 'radio show' by recording myself on cassette tape for an hour and a half. I had grand visions of making copies of it and being able to sell it around the globe. It featured such classics as 'Jenny singing a crappy Christmas song!' and 'Jenny imitating her grade one classmates!' and 'Jenny getting her little sister to sing the alphabet, complete with patronising words of encouragement!' It's still around somewhere.

7. I was completely self-absorbed. Thankfully, I'm so over that...

My Britney-style poetry

So if Britney can write some schmaltzy poetry on her website, then so can I!

I like to call this one: "Kids...mummy's gotta go and paint the town red."

3 1/2 weeks without hearing a scream,
3 1/2 weeks without poo,
3 1/2 weeks without tantrums or tears,
3 1/2 weeks without you.

3 1/2 weeks without fighting or fits,
3 1/2 weeks without spew,
3 1/2 weeks without broken sleep,
3 1/2 weeks without you.

3 1/2 weeks without one of your cuddles,
3 1/2 weeks without a 'boo!'
3 1/2 weeks without kissing your cheeks,
3 1/2 weeks without you.

***
Britney...eat your heart out baby. Comic Mummy is in da house.

Latest review excerpt

FYI and FMOI (that's "For My Own Indulgence") here's my section of a lovely review of Jody Ekert's recent show at Metro Arts.

The show started with MC Jenny Wynter. Jenny is a genuinely funny lady, very warm and a natural improviser, she connects well with her audience. As she explores motherhood in all it's agonizing and bizarre comic glory and she does it with a cheeky smile and a guitar. Making up songs about babies, audience members and drunks. Not so much Jenny from the block, as Jenny off her block and the sing a long will never be the same now the Cats in the Cradle have been to the dole office!

Reviewed by Lisa Lamb.

I'm not even sure what that last sentence means, but I'm taking it as a compliment.

Rat Poison for the Insecure Soul

Mum: (whispering to my sister) "I thought she'd lost more weight than that."

Me: "Uh, I can HEAR you! And THANKS!"

***

Mum: "I don't like your shirt."

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry...do you like my pants?"
(A beat)
Me: "Sorry Mum. That was just me turning the other cheek."

***

Grandpa of sister's boyfriend (to whom I'd just been introduced): "Wow, you're much bigger than Angie, aren't you?"

(Note: my sister is an absolute waif, the pudding-like proof being that her personal trainer has told her it is impossible
for her to get any skinnier. That and she's tiny, while I am rather tall.)

Angie: (trying to be sublty comforting) "Yeah, we are quite different."

Others in the room: "Mmmm, mmmmm, you don't look much alike, no, mmmmm..."

Angie: "And I am sitting on a chair!"

(Note: I was standing up.)

Me: "Yeah...and I am exhaling."

***

Honestly, it's enough to make you want to:

a) stick your fingers down your throat while singing "The Candyman Can";
b) gate-crash an aerobics class, take over the microphone and spend the entire session visibly bingeing on turkish delight; or
c) dwell on those beautiful words of rainbow fizziness, uttered this very afternoon by grandma's downstairs neighbour (complete with a thick German accent): "My dear look at you...you finally got your figure back!"

Wunderbar.

I'm a 'Comic of the Week'

Apparently. Check it out: www.comedygreenroom.com

Johnny Depp, Henri Szeps & I

The only thing better than having my first ever major profile in The Courier Mail, is having the front page of the lift-out covered in Johnny Depp's face.

You see, I have a bit of a thing for Johnny Depp. That is, if by 'bit', you mean 'completely out-of-control, undying and certainly completely mutual-if-we-ever-met'.

Okay, I lurrrrvee him. So to be only four pages apart from each other in the Arts lift-out...(even if the photo you can see makes me look like Hannibal Lector's long lost daughter) well, that is what it's all about.

This has been such a wicked weekend.

On Friday I got to interview Henri Szeps on the Frog and Peach on 4ZZZ - for the benefit of my overseas pals, let me tell you he is something of an Aussie icon, most famous for his turn in a very funny eighties series Mother in Son amongst a gazillion other productions for stage and screen: he's worked with pretty much anybody who's anybody in our industry.

In the flesh, he is a man of such immense presence and power that while he is very friendly, you actually feel awe-struck, welcomed and intimidated at the same time. At the risk of repeating myself, I was so inspired.

Off-air he told me how much he'd loved Walk the Line: "There is such a clear and fabulous turning point in that film, it's perfect. When he's down on the tractor and she says to her father 'I'm not going down there,' and he says 'honey, you're already down there.' It just turns it in this entire other direction, it's an extraordinary film." Brilliant observations, yet I was too busy thinking oh my heavens, Henri Szeps is talking to me. Jenny, snap out of it and nod.

I nodded.

I mentioned I did stand-up comedy and asked how he incorporated stand-up into his show "Why Kids?". He said "stand-up is fantastic, but the thing is with a stand-up comedian, no matter how good they are, they won't make an audience cry. I want to make an audience feel happiness and tragedy. It's stand up drama."

Did you hear that? That was my mind ticking over.

Okay, ticking's stopped.

I later had the good fortune of catching his solo show (which I'm reviewing for Vibewire, so will let you know when that's up) that night and afterwards caught up with him briefly to tell him how inspired I'd been. "Bless you," he said. "Do you want a book?" I had to run, but he said "Okay, nick off, nick off, I'll send you one!" So cool, yet I was too busy thinking oh my heavens, Henri Szeps is talking to me. Jenny, snap out of it and nod.

I nodded.

Then went out to the in-laws' place for a mini family reunion of sorts (my hubby's brother and wife are visiting from overseas - the same brother and sister-in-law who are going to be in the States at the same time as me so will be joining me at various intervals to assist my mission to paint USA red, redder and redder still) then to top it all off, had an absolutely wonderful gig tonight at The Powerhouse.

So, I apologise for the lack of blogging action this weekend, but as you can see, it's all for good reason. The only thing that can knock me off my happy happy little bubble of insert-nice-word-here, is the realisation that it's only three weeks to go til I leave for New York. Not that that isn't absolutely brilliant, but I've got a million things to do before then, not the least of which include:

- making a video for Ella and Cay to watch while I'm away;
- writing a book for Ella, that Tim can read her at a rate of one page per day;
- planning Ella's birthday party (did I mention I'm going to be missing her fourth birthday? That just wrenches my guts out to the point where I can no longer even stomach chocolate. I know: dramatic, huh?)

I'm sooo scared about leaving them (did you see how many 'o's I put in the 'sooo'? Wow, I hear you think, she must REALLY mean that!), but have resolved to stock up on as many cool American presents as possible so that upon my return I am fully equipped to buy their love back. Genius.

Ciao for now...rest assured I feel fully debriefed and will be back with short and sharp entries henceforth.

Jen. x