It’s been a whirlwind of work here and at least four new clients for me to promote and a hilarious new show to produce. In the midst of all that, I just accepted a kick arse PR gig that means I might need to hire a part time junior publicist to handle my Ballyhoo clients. How cool is that? My baby PR company is the little engine that could! Even if the job doesn’t work out, I will have a major notch added to the bedpost that is my resume.

In an extension of that blog post about the right path being easier and obstacles getting in one’s way when one is on the wrong path, Christian and I had a long conversation where we reflected on my last two and a half years.

When Tex in the City was formed in 2002, I pretty much devoted every waking minute to it. The problem was that it never paid me a salary and there was always some angst or obstacle surrounding any meeting or project. So in December ’03, Greg and I started tossing around ideas of how to start another company that focused on the work he and I were doing: PR and marketing with some event planning and production. We worked harder than anyone we knew and we complemented each other well on every project. Alas, he had a hot iron in the fire and wasn’t ready to commit to anything new until he got word. I couldn’t wait.

Tex in the City was officially relegated to hobby status, but I was determined that I would move forward with my experience in some form or fashion and Greg (and Scott, too!) was very supportive of this. Christian, bless his heart, listened to me brainstorm and reflect on every thought I had and helped guide and shape my ideas. In February 2004, Ballyhoo Promotions was born, just two months after Greg & I first discussed branching out.

In June of 2004, Greg’s iron paid off and he announced his move to DC so it seemed things really did work out in the end. Greg is wildly successful, Scott is now a full time actor landing yet another role and Ballyhoo Promotions never encountered any obstacles and quickly grew into my work from home, full time job.

The best part is that I still own Tex in the City and the website so can still have all of its best parts: a fantastic networking resource and promotional tool for me, Scott, Greg and my other Texan friends. Just yesterday I got a lovely email from someone in Texas who found me while searching for images of Gov. Ann Richards. He saw this picture and recognized me from when I was volunteering in animal rescue & recovery in NoLA after Katrina. Turns out he does lots of high profile work in NYC. Weird, small world.

Tex in the City was great fun and taught me a lot about working in entertainment in NYC and really showed me where my best talents lie. So all those hours invested for no monetary return really proved useful. There’s really no point to this post, just that I have been reflecting a lot over the last year that I have been working from home. I am really thankful for those early years of trying to run a production company and honoring the obstacles that crept in because those obstacles are what made me go in a different direction more suited to me.

Interestingly, in the first days of Tex in the City, the path was very clear –many serendipitous events happened– and I knew it was something good. So when the roadblocks did happen later, they were glaringly obvious. I was determined to keep working on something. I needed to. I had to. I was lucky to be dating a comic around the time I saw that business not living up to its potential. It showed me an opportunity with a focus on comedy. And though I’m still on this path and don’t know where it will lead, it seems like I’m headed in the right direction. Knock on wood.
–Kambri
Lemons into lemonade, as they say.

After a Tex in the City staged reading, I left the room for a bathroom break and returned to discover the conversation was about how serious Will & Grace has become as of late. Greg insisted, “It’s a sitcom!” I don’t watch the show, but I empathized with the angst by chiming in, “It’s like when little Arnold Drummond was molested, you knew things were downhill from there.”

Indeed, midway through the 5th season, the writers of Different Strokes decided this might be funny:
The Bicycle Man (Part 1) (02/05/83 – #516)
Unaware that he’s being lured into the carefully crafted trap of a child molester, Arnold eagerly agrees to perform a simple task in return for an overly generous reward from a “friendly” neighborhood merchant.

The Bicycle Man (Part 2) (02/12/83 – #517)
Arnold and Dudley’s “friendship” with a local merchant reaches a dangerous turning point when, unbeknownst to the boys, the man, who is actually a child molester, is about to make his move.What we have here, is a failure to communicate!

Before the reading I was talking about Texans and Texan musicians living in NY with “Lisa”. This is a brief outline of our exchange:

Lisa: Do you know Charlie? He’s a singer.
Me: Does he have a Texas tattoo?
Lisa: Hmmm no, don’t think so…Charlie Smith?
Me: Dunno his last name, but he’s a singer named Charlie, has Texas tattoo and is married to a pretty blonde girl.
Lisa: Is his name Bruce?
Me: Uhhh…No. Charlie?

Then a few moments later the conversation segued into this summarized chat:

Lisa: We got married in Vegas.
Me: Oh, in a chapel or casino?
Lisa: Chapel.
Me: Marc’s best friend lives there.
Lisa: In Texas?
Me: Uhhh…No. Vegas?

I must learn to communicate better.

Saturday was a lovely day and Scott’s birthday. Had it not been for his Lo-Tea gathering at Alphabet Kitchen on the Lower East Side, I would have surely stayed cooped up in my apartment nursing my slightly aching muscles from Friday night’s wipe out on the slick pavement as my flimsy excuse. Thankfully, his *ahem* 28th gave me reason to venture out and enjoy the weather as well as acquaint myself with the most adorable outdoor patio. I highly recommend this restaurant for sangria, tapas and great service, but their patio is just the best. After our meal, we all gathered on the sidewalk where the last of the street fairs was closing down shop. That’s when a gust of wind blew into a tarp and made a sail out of what had been the roof of a vendor’s booth. This giant steel and plastic contraption was aimed right at our impromtu gathering. From this, I learned Ehren shrieks just like a girl and Asians talk and move really, really fast when they’ve almost seriously injured someone and need to remove all evidence.

This trek also meant my inaugural trip on the “L” train. When taking a subway line for the first time, I suddenly feel like a tourist all over again. A really dull, drab, dorky tourist. Granted when going to the L.E.S. I will always seem very white-bred no matter how I’m dressed. I mean come on, that part of the City smells like patchouli 24/7! Try as I might, I will never look cool down there.

On the way to the Tex in the City party last night, I was in a rush and anxious to get to Serena as it was drizzling and humid and I had plenty of pre-party business awaiting my arrival. Umbrella in one hand and cell phone in the other, I was the classic picture of a New York entrepreneur. Then, woosh! Down I went. “SHIT!” I screamed without even thinking. My right hand, still clutching my cell phone, landed in a potted plant filled with damp, fresh soil. It’s what saved me from real disaster. Instantly I hopped up, unfazed, dusted off my phone and resumed talking, “You there? Sorry, just fell. Anyway, I’m on my to Serena…”It wasn’t until I recounted the story later that I thought how ridiculous I must have looked to the dozen or so witnesses to my spill. They all looked quite concerned for my well-being, but I couldn’t be bothered or slowed down in the least. ‘Tis just a flesh wound!Just where was I going in such a hurry? To a party, of course!

Tequila was free flowing from 6:00-7:00, so the crowd came early. These three party guests (left) live in Austin and were here in NYC for a long weekend. They heard about our party and came to check it out. Excellent! Jason promised me some CDs compiled with all Texas music and even taught me how to two-step. For the record: I’m the world’s worst dancer. Oh, I can shake my groove thang alright, but when it comes to having a partner and moving in step with another human, well, that human had better be wearing some steel-toed boots.

Prior to my dance with Jason, I had only one two-stepping experience to reference.
Flashback to 1987 when I was a 15 year old sophomore dating football player and senior, Brad Booth. As my escort to the annual football banquet, Brad gave me the first and only corsage ever which I still possess. Dead, dried, petrified, pressed between two pages of a scrapbook, packed in a box, stuffed in various closets for 15 years, the once pink and pretty thing takes me back.

Richland High School alumn Gary Morris was the surprise guest banquet speaker. At the time, he was Country Music’s Artist of the Year, was set to star in the Broadway version of Les Miserables and had scores of my teenage classmates drooling at his feet that were decked with the gawdiest high top sneakers. Not that I was a trendy fashionista. Oh no. No, no, no.

So, to cap the evening off right, the announcer informed us that Gary was to select a *lucky* girl to dance with him to the sounds of his current #1 hit to which everyone present in that Texas banquet hall knew the lyrics except me. While all the older, beautiful, rich cheerleaders held their breath in anticipation of being picked, I was praying, “Please, please, please, not me, not me, not me.”By now, you know who Gary picked. Ah, yes, he chose me. Headbanging, big haired, Ozzy loving me. And I have never two-stepped since.

(Note the orange streaks in my hair that were painted on with a color stick and Gary’s high tops. Very avant garde. Very chic. Oh, and, umm…yeah that’s my mother’s dress. Lord knows I couldn’t have gotten a new one for my first real high school dance. There’s those wacky mutton sleeves making their zillionth comeback. P.S. This is a photo circa 1987 which is not to be used for press as noted in my August 18th entry. Thank you.)

The dog is wimpering while she’s playing fetch! I kid you not. Things are falling apart. I’ve been coming home late from my day job and working till past midnight every night on who knows what. Time really does fly on this computer thingy.

Tex in the City’s 6th party is tomorrow night and it’s the second time we’ve gotten a tequila sponsor. This time, though, it’s a Friday and the sponsor is interested in future ventures. So, let’s hope it is a smashing success. I also sold my first ad for our cabaret program. You too can advertise with Tex in the City. Just drop me an email. For a few bucks, you can get website exposure, an ad in the program and inclusion in a few emails that are sent to a database that is over 1,000 strong and growing. Yee Haw!

Okay, enough of the sales pitch crapola. That’s all that has been running through this head of mine lately. I panicked yesterday realizing that I am supposed to know about marketing because of the parties I’ve hosted in the Caribbean for Jose Cuervo and my promotional work with Stoli, Winston, Camel, Pepsi and Lipton, blah, blah, oy vey! I do know about crowd pleasing and hosting parties and trademarks and logos and brand imaging and target marketing. I’m great at that. But I panicked nonetheless. With a cabaret production premiering in a month and rough-cut press releases staring back at me, I rushed to Barnes and Noble. Dumb. Rudy Giuliani was there so it was a mob scene, so I grabbed the first book I saw. It was a piece of crap. So, I go back today to return it and Sarah Jessica Parker and Cynthia Nixon were there so it was a mob scene. So, I’m going back tomorrow when Christy Turlington is scheduled to be there and there won’t be a mob scene. What’s with all these damn book signings? Christmas isn’t till December people!

Fantastic seats to a Rangers v. Flyers game at Madison Square Garden, a great fight, an exciting finish, beer, nachos and extra jalepenos. What could be better? Oh yeah, the $130 ticket was free! Thanks, Jack! I take back all the bad things I said about you. I look forward to many years of dutiful service in your command.

Between periods, the “Junior Rangers” entertained the crowd by zipping around and falling down a lot. These boys are so small, I’m surprised any parent would let their youngster play such a rough contact sport. There’s no way I would unless I invested in a very lucrative accidental death policy. “Well, Johnny, I don’t know where your helmet is. Oh, you don’t need one you little wuss, get out there and fight to win! Win dammit, win!” I could wear a team jersey and too-tight jeans, and scream profanities from the bleachers and taunt the other mothers. This hockey mom thing could be fun!!!

On Tuesday while I was busy writing about a 1963 musical, Greg was busy meeting Harriet Harris. She is an excellent actress who happens to be from Texas and seemed interested to learn about Tex in the City. Further, she was pleased to learn that she was even listed on our company’s website. These Texans are everywhere and we have great potential. I just wish we had capital in the form of millions that could set this fast rolling ball down the path of success.Why can’t I be one of those women who marry for money? Why did my parents have to be so poor that they could only give me morals and Chic jeans instead of a sense of entitlement and Gloria Vanderbelts like I wanted? Who wants stupid morals anyway?! Wisecraking earlier today, I threatened to marry a frail and decrepit billionaire a la Anna Nicole Smith but would do it better because I wouldn’t splurge my fortune on painkillers and tacky dresses. Maybe Anna’s not such a dumb bunny after all…..Naaahhh!

Girl #1′s side of the conversation to Girl #2: “I don’t want to be greedy and take the whole kit and caboodle. I’ll settle for just the kit or maybe even the caboodle. Hell, I’m sure I’d be fine with just the caboo. Oh, forget it. Just never mind. I don’t want it. You take it. No, really, I’ll be fine. Are you sure? Really? Gee, thanks!!!!”
Girl #1 seen scampering away with the whole kit and caboodle.

Girl #2 mumbles to herself: “Selfish b*tch.”

What is the lesson of today’s story?

Last night at the fifth successful Tex in the City party, I spoke to a recently converted New Yorker from Houston, Texas. We were having a very lively discussion about Dick Cheney and Haliburton, which segued into Enron. He said, “Enron did a Trade Center, pppfffffttt collapsed, gone.” This clever little ditty even included a hand gesture. In the same vein that “going postal” is used to describe crazy behavior, will “Trade Center” come to mean the end of something? Is an onslaught of tacky jokes soon to follow? Ohhh, I shudder at the thought.

Tattoos. Now what, just what I ask, would possess someone to get a tattoo on their bicep of a kama sutra position? Yes, this monstrosity of a choice was spotted by yours truly on the train the other day. Egads! The horror! Three questions sprang to mind:

(1) Why a sexual position on your arm for all the world to see?
(2) What do you do when visiting grandmama a hot summer day?
(3) When was the last time you attempted that position let alone accomplished it?

Regarding item #3, this man has never pulled off this act. Ever. Impossible. His stomach protruded like he had just swallowed Pluto. There is no way he could persuade a woman to do this with him let alone maneuever her into this tricky position. If he could…well, now that I would pay money to see!

After what I considered to be a pretty manic Monday, I headed towards my business partner and high school friend Greg’s apartment. I had only walked a block when I spotted none other than Trey Anastasio carrying a Banana Republic bag of all things. Trey and I are leading parallel lives. I know what was NOT in that bag — a sleeveless silk, off-white, cowl-necked sweater! He was walking the exact same direction as me (northwest) and I followed close behind him as we passed the premiere screening of Minority Report at the Ziegfeld Theater. It was a bit too early to see Tom Cruise or Steven Spielberg walking the red carpet, but the fans and press were ready and waiting. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I sped up the pace and passed Trey. In doing so, I told him to have a great show tomorrow. He smiled broadly, said his thanks and we parted company. I’m certain I’ll see him again in the very near future. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were at Marina Cay. He frequents the beautiful little island where I happen to live two weeks out of the year. Vive la Cuervo!

It seems difficult to find a starting point to this version of my site. For years I’ve used manual HTML coding and shorthand to keep a log of my goings on. I wish I had started with November 18, 2000 — the day I moved to New York City — so my entries wouldn’t have been lost. Since I can’t turn back time, June 12, 2002 will begin this online diary.

Tonight I will venture to Don’t Tell Mama to watch a cabaret performance of Kevin Farr, et al. It is interesting that I’ve become acquainted with Kevin as I first met him when I was 15 years old and had not seen him since. Kevin played “Blifil” in the play “Tom Jones” for his tiny high school in Boyd, Texas. I played “Miss Western” in the same play for my large high school in N. Richland Hills, Texas. My drama teacher, David Michael Hall, sponsored a workshop in which Kevin’s school performed their play for us and vice versa. It was a fun learning experience and I still remember vividly how different our interpretations were of the same play. I never could have imagined that I would know Kevin all these years later.