Burn the Floor and Wicked restored my faith in Broadway. Wicked was on par with the exemplary performance I witnessed in Melbourne, but with some different interpretations which kept it nice and fresh for me. Glinda here stole the show a little, but Elphaba's voice absolutely soared. And the seats! 4 rows from the front, close enough to see the spittle fly out of the lead's mouths when they hit those fricative consonants! That's a birthday I won't forget in a while.
I'm back at the hotel early, no partying here for me. A flight tomorrow to LA, another world to explore. New York City is actually just like the movies. It's a living, breathing, cliche of a city. There are that many taxis here that you can run out onto the street and flag one down almost instantly. The gangstas do walk with a funny limp and talk as if an alliterative filter has been put through all the slang of the past 50 years and then given a twist of lemon. Steam does pour out of some vents on the street and the subway does take you anywhere. It's very cinematic, but it's got no soul. I've enjoyed it, I can't lie, it's been fabulous. But I'd only ever want to be here as long as it takes to tell a story - the equivalent real-world time of a 2 hour movie.
Roll the credits, NYC, let's go to Hollywood.
Well, this is a little 2007.
For those of you who aren't Icelandic, that means this hotel is extravagant to the point of ridiculousness. As I arrived from the airport at 11:20 or so, the lobby was pumping out some music, people were chilling with some drinks in front of the fire-wall, and the sparkling marble lead me up to the bow-tied concierge.
Yeah, welcome to LA.
I'm having a little cash crisis atm. I'll need to investigate... I'll report back shortly.