Advice from Ferris Bueller

Yesterday, apart from viewing the amazing MoMA (pushing in between annoying French tourists snapping photos of themselves in front of Andy Warhols... I will never understand) I bumped into Matthew 'Ferris Bueller' Broderick coming out of the subway. I did a comical double-take and stared at him for a second thinking he was a friend (weirdly, he seemed to do the same) and then was mortally embarrassed when I realised who he was and kept walking. But it was like some kind of sign - he made me think of that line in Ferris Bueller: 'Life goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.' And you know, after all my soul searching and panicking lately (what am I saying, lately. Always!), I thought - hell Ferris, you're right. So I decided to stop panicking and start living (while endeavouring to keep my bank balance a little healthier than it's current impoverished state).

In this vein, I managed to go and hear Morgan Spurlock speak (for free, at the Apple store, how incredibly enlightened!) about his new film. It was pretty inspiring - especially since he got rejected from film school six times. Although I have to say that as a documentary maker who is supposed to question things, I'm not sure his new film really does, but will refrain from polemic until I've seen it. I reflected with Kat over a beer in a delightfully dodgy little Soho bar that maybe I'm a frustrated filmmaker. 'You've known that since uni!' she said. Hmm.

Then Kat and I had some pasta at a place with possibly the scariest waiter in Little Italy last night (I was too scared to tell him how horrible the wine was, in case I vanished Soprano-style later). Sorry New Yorkers, I have to say the best Italian so far has been right here in Hoboken, a few streets over from Frank Sinatra's house. In fact, Frank Sinatra even graces the laundromat here, as I discovered on Sunday. I washed my stinky jeans with 'Come Fly With Me' written encouragingly over my head. Classy.

Today I met up with a colleague's friend over lunch, which was great. He seems to think it's entirely possible for a frustrated filmmaker Australian to move to New York eventually. Then I trekked over to Brooklyn to check out Williamsburg and do some celebrity spotting (if I can't marry Jake Gyllenhaal, I was hoping to at least see Maggie), but the lack of public toilets drove me back to a Starbucks (tip for New York tourists: Starbucks is your public toilet - and not much else, although Mark swears by their coffee. But remember, Mark thinks Blanche from the Golden Girls is sexy, so you can draw your own conclusions). I comforted myself by swinging by the Ghostbusters firestation. Sadly, the Ghostbusters sign is no longer there, but there is a very artistic interpretation of the FDNY logo on the pavement outside (see pic).

Now I'm waiting for Kat and thanks to the kindness of the lovely JonJon, will be going to see old friend Neil Finn and co tonight. Will refrain from talking about the weather this time. Tomorrow, I'm sacrificing meeting my idol David Lynch (for the bargain price of $100) to go to Texas to see my lovely cousins complete with ranch and cowboys, so hopefully more adventures from there...