Just another day in NYC

Here's a snapshot my last 24 hours:

-- Nearly flashed the entire patio at Maison yesterday as the wind and my wrap-dress decided to conspire against me (and since it was 81 degrees here yesterday, the patio was full)

-- Had my first fight with a NY cab driver -- a definite rite of passage and my co-workers congratulated me on becoming a "true" New Yorker

-- broke the heel clean off my shoe (while walking down the street, thank you very much)

-- purchased krazy glue to fix said shoe

-- broke it AGAIN

-- put my finger through my pantyhose and created a run whose length would rival any marathon

-- feared important client data lost forever due to technical glitch

-- found and recovered important client data (whew!)

Wonder what TOMORROW will bring???

Close Quarters

New York is really about the facade of having your own space, when really, you could be only 15 or 20 feet away from a perfect stranger while you're curled up in the folds of the duvet on your own cozy bed. We live in close quarters here. Here's a sampling of what I'm treated to on a regular basis:

-- overhearing my neighbours' phone conversations (and in-person conversations) from not only the common hallway, but also from MY own front hallway INSIDE my apartment.

-- Can sometimes hear phones ring and alarm clocks sound.

-- Can DEFINITELY hear their music and TV's.... especially from the apartment occupied by the trust fund party girl across the hall.

-- Actually heard a neighbour blow his nose this morning. Ugh. I was just about to leave for work, so I was in my own front hallway, but still very much INSIDE my OWN apartment. That's just annoying.

-- But the cruelest thing yet was two nights ago when the smell of freshly popped popcorn wafted seductively beneath my door, and for a split second, I thought "I really should go meet more of my neighbours!" But of course, I just went to bed, tummy growling discontentedly.

Don't try to pull the wool over my .... fingers??

I love how life is so random. Yesterday afternoon, Mike (subject of a very random encounter about a month after I moved here ... went to university with Mike, hadn't seen him in 10 years, and BAM... there he is, walking down 8th Avenue coming straight towards me) called me to see what I was up to.

He said "Remember Irena?? She's in town and we're hanging out -- are you free?" So after their excursion to see Hairspray, I met up with them for dinner. I hadn't seen Irena in thirteen years, and she looked exactly the same! (In fact, we all figured that none of us had aged a spec since our formative undergrad years.)

Off we went to Mulberry Street in SoHo to an Ethiopian restaurant where we met Irena's cousin. The food was excellent and I'm dying to know exactly how the spongy bread-like material is made.

It was fun to see Irena again after all this time, but she didn't seem too flattered when I told her that she looked exactly the same. (Isn't it a compliment to be told that you look just as good as you did during your college years?) She replied that I looked better, especially considering how "hokey" I was during undergrad. Huh. Um... gee, Irena, it's GREAT to see you after thirteen years, too!!

Heading home that night after dinner, college memories started seeping into my consciousness and I remembered one of the funniest things Irena ever said... Our group of friends was always joking around, teasing each other and trying to put one over on each other. On evening, Irena said "Ok, stop it, you guys! Stop trying to pull the wool over my fingers!!" We were all immediately silent and stole glances at one another around the room.... who's going to tell her? Ultimately, none of us did and "pulling the wool over someone's fingers" became a part of our sub-culture lexicon.... to the point where "pulling the wool over someone's EYES" didn't even remotely sound correct any longer.

Meatloaf is French, non?

Went for dinner last night with the British contingent at Brasserie 52 up on 9th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen. (How did Canada get stiffed on the accent, by the way??? Australia fared well and we are both part of the Commonwealth. I think it is patently unfair that we didn't retain at least a spec of that British charm in either our accent or our vocabulary.)

The restaurant definitely had a brasserie/bistro sort of feel based on the architecture, the ambiance and even the waitress who wasted no time in telling us "zee specials" of the evening. We started getting a little suspicious, however, when Gemma pointed out that there was meatloaf on the menu. Up to that point, the dishes did seem pretty authentically French. Over the course of the evening, the music seemed to get a bit louder and we realized that it was bass-heavy techno/house music. Maybe it was an ever-hip Buddha Bar CD playing, but ultimately, it would have been nice to have a little Josephine Baker or one of her 1920's jazz contemporaries coloring the airwaves.

The food was pretty good, but Gemma joked that the name of the restauarant should actually have been "Brasserie 52 Minutes" because they were over-efficient in their serving -- we were not even finished our soups and salads when the entrees appeared... and both waitress and busboy attempted to take our plates numerous times before we were done eating.

So we did what anyone would have done to buy ourselves more time -- ordered a second bottle of wine, of course!

Reinvention

My new hair stylist is a guy named Armani. I chose a salon on my route back and forth to work and figured I'd give it a shot. When I called and made the appointment, the receptionist said "Great, you'll be with Armani -- see you on Saturday."

"'Armani' as in the fashion house?"

"The very one."

For some reason, I'm expecting Armani to look EXACTLY like Luis, the funky Chilean stylist I went to years ago when I was still in Calgary. Armani does not look a thing like Luis, but he is quite hip and stylish. (Which, by the way, does give me confidence that he's not going to give me a Flowbee style 'do.) Bleach blond, peach fuzz-esque, bottlebrush hair, double layered polo shirts with collars jauntily turned up. We immediately hit it off and start chatting about life, New York, and life IN New York and soon I find out that he's only lived in the city for a couple of years himself. He tells me he's from a small town in Minnesota (for the first time I hear the accent on the "o" in Minnesota) and now I'm curious about the name Armani and how incongruous it seems that a white boy from small-town middle America would come to have the name of an Italian fashion maven.

He winks, says "honey, you can be anyone you want in this city", and slides a jar of pomade out of the way, revealing his cosmetology license.... "Name: Trevor Obermeyer". Trevor didn't even need the help of Second Life to create HIS alter ego. We're not in Minnesota anymore, Toto!

My Second Life (or "How I Lost My Clothes")

Somewhere in Second Life, there is a confused avatar wandering around who looks somewhat like me but who just happens to be naked. Sigh. It’s a long story.

So, trying to keep up on all the developments in social media and social networking, I decided a while ago that I needed to immerse myself in Second Life. I registered (THANKFULLY I was smart enough NOT to use my real name!), and then embarked on the lengthy process of customizing my avatar to look just like me. (Ok, sort of like me, but BETTER! Second Life Shari is HOT – but in a completely girl-next-door way, of course!)

As I create Virtual Shari, I’m hanging about in a place called Orientation Island – a starting point where a bunch of avatars are just standing around while their real-world counterparts adjust the shape of their cheekbones and the size of their thighs. Nobody is really talking, but a few are testing out the “flying” capability (I think I almost jumped in the ocean accidentally).

Now that I have my hair the right length and the right amount of color in my cheeks, it’s time to do something about these jeans and t-shirt. There must be something better to wear. Oh look, here’s a menu item that says “remove all clothes”. Perfect. Then I can browse the catalog and pick some new wardrobe items. With a swift click of the mouse, I am now naked as a jaybird. (All hail the Second Life engineers who at least had the sense to make the avatars only about as anatomically correct as a Barbie doll.)

Now, where is that virtual closet… panic starts setting in as I cruise through all the menu items and THERE ARE NO CLOTHES TO PUT ON. Not only that, but I can’t even reclaim the jeans and t-shirt that I just so unceremoniously tossed aside. A guy in a Santa hat walks by and says “Whoa! Merry Christmas!!” For PETE’S SAKE. How the heck do I get dressed in this crazy world???

Ultimately, the only solution was to abandon Virtual Shari #1 and re-register under a new (and yes, still FAKE) name, re-create my online self, and give up my newly found exhibitionist tendencies.

So, NOW, Second Life is home to a Virtual Shari #2 who happens to look a little bit like me, but who is wearing the most adorable pair of jeans and classic white t-shirt.

View from the 44th Floor

At about 6:30 pm Nick IM'd me from his desk and said "Esquire is having an event and we just got invited -- it's starting in 2 minutes!" One sidelong glance at my computer, a couple of quick emails, a brief IM back "I'll meet you in the lobby", and we were off!

In spite of the long list of to do's, unanswered emails and stacks of files on my desk, I have decided it's time to reclaim some work/life balance. And what better way to kick off that initiative than with a swanky cocktail party on the 44th floor of the tower? And to top it all off, it was for an excellent cause -- this party was to celebrate the Tap Project, a clean water initiative of UNICEF. Tomorrow, March 22, is World Water Day and through the Tap Project, participating restaurants in New York City will invite patrons to donate just $1.00 for the glass of tap water they usually enjoy for free. All money raised through the Tap Project will help UNICEF provide safe drinking water to children all around the world.

A proclamation from the office of Mayor Bloomberg was read and UNICEF spokeswoman Sarah Jessica Parker was in attendance to deliver her message that we could all indeed make a difference. (Ladies, Ms. Parker is tiny, beautiful and in absolutely fabulous shape!)

A number of premier NY restaurants contributed a range of delicious amuse-bouche types of appetizers... the mini espresso cups of lobster bisque were to DIE for. (And the cups were cleverly designed with tiny little handles, so I could easily sip my bisque from one hand and my vodka/cranberry from the other -- genius! I had to pass on other fabulous-looking items due to the typical cocktail party dilemma of simply not having enough hands to hold a drink, balance a plate AND actually EAT what is on said plate.)

As the evening began to wind down, Nick, Jessica, Scott and I found ourselves in the southeast corner of the room (picture three sides of this room on our executive floor having floor to ceiling windows) and with it being a clear night, we marveled at the incredible view of the city lights twinkling in all directions around us. It's moments like those that make you smile, take a sip of your drink and think "maybe I do heart New York after all".

False Advertising

Two days after spring had ALLEGEDLY sprung (see previous post), we were socked with the nastiest storm we've had all winter... about six inches of "snow" yesterday. I use the quotes for the same reason I used the word "allegedly" because to say this was actually snow would be a GROSS misrepresentation.

In the weather report, they cheerily report that what happened yesterday was, in fact, a "wintry mix". Sounds festive, right? Kind of like a cocktail? ("Ah yes, I'll have a Wintry Mix please! With Ketel One and of course I'll take sugar on the rim!")

Right. What "wintry mix" REALLY means is that there are ice pellets descending from the sky, pricking your face like 10,000 tiny pins. These are NOT the white, fluffy, "every-one-is-different" kinds of snowflakes that fairy tale winter scenes are made of. No, these are teeny little weapons, punishing you for every single step you take outside. (I saw one guy with the full ski goggle set wrapped around his face and thought THAT is the smartest thing I've seen all day.)

Hundreds of flights were cancelled yesterday out of JFK, Laguardia and Newark. And for those of you who are familiar with my plight (and that of thousands of other travelers) over President's Day weekend, you will appreciate that had I actually planned to travel this weekend, I would have been practically suicidal.

Last night, I ventured out to the grand opening of an art academy in midtown (definitely deserving of its own post, so more details to come) and after a fun evening of admiring exquisite pencil-on-paper studies and pieces, I attempted to hail a cab to get home.

First problem -- a number of streets were blocked off completely for the snowplows.

Second problem -- because the roads were SO bad, there were many fewer taxis on the city streets than normal.

Third problem -- not a single yellow cab had its beacon-like "i am available" lights on.

Bottom line? I ended up walking home from 44th and 5th. I think that's probably over a mile, which is no big deal, and I've done similar walks many times in the city, but add a wintry mix, three and four foot high snow piles to climb through at every single intersection and you have one grumpy displaced Canadian by the time she gets home.

The sun is out this morning and the ice pellets have ceased. It's actually quite a gorgeous looking day. But I'll refrain from claiming that spring has arrived. Instead, I'll think I'll order a Wintry Mix. And make it a double.

The Tipping Point

A group of us actually LEFT the office yesterday for quite a civilized lunch at Maison, an adorable French bistro on the corner of our block. (We’ve all slipped into the undesirable habit of quickly nipping out to pick up a sandwich or bowl of soup and then just as quickly coming back to our desks to respond to emails etc while we eat). At lunch, our conversation floated from decidedly NON-work topics such as “Wasn’t Morgan Fairchild on Knot’s Landing?” to Larry David’s knack for political incorrectness and inappropriateness to how an umbrella could have possibly been broken in half while in the safe confines of a restaurant’s coat check room.

Then Matt said, “So what about tipping?” and we were off on a thoughtful discussion of comparing tipping strategies for various situations. Here’s what we came up with:

Taxis: Generally agreed that we round up and add a dollar. (So, for example, if the fare is $6.50, we give the driver $8.00.) While this simple approach works for relatively short trips, other situations require the processing of quite a complex algorithm involving such variables as length of trip, weather conditions, rudeness/pleasantness of the driver, ability of driver to follow instructions about what route you want to take, how much of a hurry you’re in and how much cash you have in your wallet.

Car Service: Opinion was divided as to whether a tip was already factored in when we book our corporate car service. However, we did all agree that regardless of the actual policy, no driver is ever going to turn down a cash tip. (Understatement is my specialty.)

Hotel turn-down and maid service: Again, our approaches were varied (or non-existent), but everyone seemed to think that it was a good idea to leave one cash tip at the end of your stay as opposed to each day. On an average business trip, $5.00 would probably do it. (Adjust for length of stay.)

Restaurant food delivery: Basic agreement was to use typical restaurant tipping strategies (so 10 – 20% of total bill). But again, a number of items become factors: severity of the weather, how quickly your food shows up (especially compared with how hungry you happen to be), amount of food ordered, amount of total bill and (again) how much cash you happen to have in your wallet at the time.

Satisfied with our guidelines, we checked our watches, tipped our waitress and headed back to the emails that had been quietly multiplying in our inboxes since we left an hour earlier.

Canada Rocks

As you all know, I am Canadian... no, make that fiercely Canadian... so of COURSE, I had to share this link....

http://www.esquire.com/features/eskyawards2007/canadarocks0407

Spring Has Sprung...

.... at least for today! It's about 10:30 at night and I just walked home .... it was almost 70 degrees today (still 65 degrees right now!) and THAT definitely contributed to the spring (pun intended) in MY step.

Now, all you SoCal buddies are shrugging at 65 degrees because it's no big deal... but let me put it in perspective: it was 12 degrees here last week -- TWELVE degrees. Five degrees with the wind chill. So it's no wonder that half of New York was still cruising around tonight, spilling out of restaurants and bars onto make-shift sidewalk patios. There was definitely a different energy tonight -- a happy sort of buzz as we stuffed our scarves into our bags and pockets, left our jackets unbuttoned and eschewed the yellow taxi for a brisk walk home.

And yes, it is supposed to be in the 30's again this weekend. :-(

Altar Boyz -- They will "altar" your mind!

Luckily, just in the nick of time, I learned about a theatre promotion called "20At20" where you can get $20 tickets for some great off-Broadway shows if you show up at the box office 20 minutes before curtain. "20At20" ended this past Sunday, but I managed to make it out on Saturday night to see the musical "Altar Boyz". I HIGHLY recommend it and NOT just because Shadoe Stevens was the voice of G.O.D. (Seriously!)

The show is self-described as "a new musical about a struggling Christian boy-band riding the wave of America’s latest fascination with religion." In reality, it is a hilarious send-up of every boy band stereotype, with amusingly cliched characters, and a bunch of kitschy yet clever pop songs woven into a storyline with the Altar Boyz' mission to save the souls of the ever sinful audience.

Of course, three of the band members are named Matthew, Mark and Luke... and for some diversity, add Juan and even Abraham, the token Jewish friend from the old neighbourhood (complete with requisite yarmulke).

Possibly the best line in the whole show comes from Luke, one of the dimmer bulbs on the Christmas tree, when during a number about abstinence, he remarks "You just gotta say no... even if she's Mary Mag-delicious!"

(Playing at the New World Stages, on West 50th between 8th and 9th)

Hoo Niz??

One of the places I frequent quite regularly for lunch is called “The Daily Soup”… it’s just around the corner from my office, so even on cold days, the New England Clam Chowder can easily lure me there. Even more interesting than the soup is one of the guys behind the counter. Picture a taller, more Middle Eastern version of the Martin Short character, Franc, from the movie “Father of the Bride”. With a dismissive wave of the hand, he calls out “Hoo niz? Hoo niz????” My mind is racing, trying to decipher what the heck he’s saying. Luckily the guy in front of me nods and says “I am”, and I’m finally able to put it together. The soup jockey is asking “Who’s next?” Hoo niz. Who knew??

Hubba hubba, cardboard and caramel

Something that makes me laugh without fail every single time it happens is when a random guy (often a construction worker or pubic works employee) utters some sort of come-on as I’m walking by, headed to work or where ever. Often, it’s just a simple “Hey, baby” or an enthusiastic “Good morning!”, maybe even with a tip of the ol’ hard hat in my direction. There’s also “Hey! Lookin’ goooo-oood!”. I had no idea that “good” had two syllables. And then there’s my personal favorite, the impeccably articulate “Hubba, hubba!!” (You’ll forgive my lack of surprise when I saw that the owner of this little gem boasted a slab of gold where a front tooth used to be.)

The most story-worthy incident so far, however, happened in the otherwise very safe and neutral Borders bookstore at Columbus Circle. In mid-November, I was browsing for Christmas gifts and as I reached towards the top shelf for the calendar of vintage images of Paris, I heard “excuse me” from behind me. For a split second, I considered ignoring it, but thought “have I turned into the stereotypical rude New Yorker already??” and so I dropped my arm and turned to find a most interesting-looking man staring at me.

His glasses were plastered against his distinctly egg-shaped face, sort of like wrap around sunglasses… except these were normal prescription glasses and the proximity of the lenses to his eyes made them look unusually huge and gave him the air of being permanently surprised. (Or permanently deranged – not really sure which.) The picture was completed by a shaved head, sweater zipped up tightly beneath his chin and a messenger bag slung diagonally across his chest.

He attempted a wavering smile and said “I like the color of your coat… it’s warm like caramel and … cardboard … and makes me think of nice things.” Wait, did he just say “cardboard”?? I thought this was shaping up to be pick-up line. He continues “So to reward you for wearing that coat, I decided to come up and talk to you”. Did he say “reward”? This is not going well. For either of us.

My standard strategy in situations such as these is to find a casual and innocuous way to quickly work two magic words into the conversation: “my boyfriend”. It’s generally failsafe. For example, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving? I’m going to Dallas with my boyfriend” or “Do you think my boyfriend would like this book for Christmas?” or even the juxtaposition of a nice compliment with a relevant question, “You look like a man of style… Do you think this would be a good gift for my boyfriend?”

Right on cue, about 7 seconds after the B-word popped up and hung in the air between us, dripping with unspoken messages, he mumbled something like “well, it was nice to meet you” and disappeared into the New Age & Astrology section. Oh, by the way – I’m a Leo – it never would have worked!

Start Spreading the News...

.... I'm leaving today.... I want to be a part of it.... New York, New York...

Ok, I actually left about four months ago and am now living and working in Manhattan (after spending the last nine years in Southern California).... but I am only now just getting around to setting up my blog, so I feel compelled to give a bit of background info. (Yes, I know I work in the internet/new media space and have for YEARS and so it's somewhat deplorable that I'm only getting around to contributing to the blogosphere now, but hey, you know what they say about the shoemaker's children.)

Some of you have already been treated to (tortured by?) a few of my emails, updating you on various happenings since my arrival in The Big Apple, so a few of my anecdotes will be re-runs... I'm simply "repurposing content for multiple distribution channels". See, I HAVE learned something working online all these years. :-)

Finally. I am finally getting off my you-know-what and converting all my random little email updates into a proper blog. Now I just need to get y'all to read it. :-)