Techno Rant

On our way to LAX to catch our flight to Calgary for the holidays, I spotted an “LA Story”-style freeway sign from the backseat of the towncar as we were making our way up the 91 freeway. It said “No text messages while driving after Jan 1st.” I remarked to Special K that just a decade (or less) ago, that sign would have made no sense. “Text messages”? What does THAT mean?

Although I was pretty sure that my comment was only really made loud enough for Special K to hear, our driver, Ken, piped up from behind the wheel and said, “It makes no sense NOW!”

Special K and I looked at each other, unsure of what the appropriate response should be.

But before either of us could respond, Ken launched into a tirade that began with “Why can’t you just CALL someone if you have something to say?? If it’s important enough to TELL someone about, then just pick up the phone and SAY it. I just don’t get it – it’s ridiculous!!”

I thought better of trying to engage Ken in a meaningful conversation about the different layers and levels of communication that exist within our society today, based on the wide variety of technological help we now have access to on a mass scale. But I figured my detailed and thoughtful conjecture on the nuances of phone calls versus emails versus text messages versus IM would cause him to burst a blood vessel just thinking about it.

But even without my encouragement, Ken was on a roll. Phase 2 of the rant went like this:

“It took me FOREVER to figure out this YouTube thing. I kept thinking that people were talking about U2, and I’d think to myself, I know they’re a good band, but why is EVERYONE talking about them?? This must be one helluva new music video they’ve got out. THEN I figure out it’s YouTube and not U2. Does anyone even USE YouTube?? I mean, what could the point of it be??”

From our captive spots in the back seat, Special K and I nodded, laughed and said “Right” at all of the appropriate places and then Ken said, “And what’s that new one now that everyone is talking about?”

Before I could elbow him to not respond, Special K answers, “Twitter?”

“YES! Twitter! Now what is the deal with THAT?? I don’t get it at all.”
Ken proceeded to rant about micro-blogging and the like while I pulled out my iPhone and pondered via Twitter whether Ken even owned an answering machine in the year 2008.

The Dry Spell is Over!

I don't know about you, but it has seemed that there has been a real drought in the movie business lately. Blockbusters like "The Dark Knight" and "Quantum of Solace" notwithstanding, it has been a tall order to find a decent movie to spend 90 or so minutes of your time on.

That is precisely why I'm always happy when November and December roll around and bring with them all sorts of Oscar hopefuls. This year has certainly been no disappointment and here's a smattering of what I've loved lately in the theatres:

"I've Loved You So Long"

This French film (sub-titled) with Kristin Scott Thomas is mysterious and moving as it reveals Juliette's (Thomas) history bit by bit, like peeling back layers of an onion. While Thomas is predictably solid in her portrayal of Juliette, fresh out of prison after 15 years, Elsa Zylberstein's role as the generous, good-hearted younger sister is the surprise of the the film and the two of them develop a dyamic that could only exist between family members who are essentially strangers.

"Happy Go Lucky"

I've already raved about this one enough, so I'll just say that if you still haven't seen it, GO NOW.

"Slumdog Millionaire"

Indian film comes out of Bollywood and into its own with this moving, sometimes humorous portrayal of Jamal, a "slumdog" from Mumbai who is working his way up the ladder in the Indian version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" The film cleverly uses the questions in the game show to reveal details of Jamal and his brother's history.


"Ghost Town"

This is a bit random and I'm not saying that this is Oscar material, but the movie "Ghost Town" was actually a really fun surprise. It's probably one of the worst possible names for this movie, but the film itself was pretty good, mostly owing to Ricky Gervais and his portrayal of a semi-reclusive NY dentist. One of the funniest parts of the movie is a short series of scenes with Kristen Wiig as a surgeon, portraying a character worthy of her SNL roots. I saw this on a flight to New York, so being a completely captive audience may have contributed to how much I like the movie, but if you see it for yourself, you'll see that behind the clever humour, there is a great premise that really makes you think.


And finally, my other movie-going tip (when you're NOT on an airplane) is that if you request a "kid's pack" at the snack counter, you get a small soda, just the perfect amount of popcorn and a tiny pack of candy, all for about $5 or $6. It's the best deal in town! And I've gotten over the embarrassment of asking for "the Kid's Pack, please" when I'm standing in front of the skeptical snack jockey with clearly not a single "kid" in my charge. Hey, last time, I got a Madagascar bobblehead on my soda lid to take home with me!

Growing Up Skipper

Earlier this week in one of our team meetings, we got a little distracted talking about toys we had as kids and as you would expect in a room of five women, the conversation eventually drifted around to Barbie. Most of us had been into Mattel's star creation in some way, and we compared notes on our experiences. Jess noted that she chopped off Barbie's hair and eventually just popped her head off "to see how she was put together". Albee also remembered "Darci", Kenner's answer to Mattel's blonde heroine.

I always really wanted my Barbie to have boyfriend, but I never did acquire a Ken doll, so she was destined to remain an independent woman, cruising around in her pink Corvette and taking the occasional road trip with the girls in the orange RV with the pop-out side canopy. One year Barbie got a dog for Christmas (an Afghan with long flowing hair just like his mistress) and another year, she got a horse. Her assigned profession evolved over time from a lawyer to an actress to a professional barrel racer (the latter being short-lived and only spurred by the arrival of the horse and a pretty hot wardrobe of rodeo wear).

In an attempt to introduce Mr. Right into the scene, my next door neighbour would occasionally bring over his GI Joe's, but that never really went very well. Joe didn't have much of a wardrobe and Barbie got bored pretty quickly with his army fatigues. He also refused to ride in the Corvette (lest he look like a sissy when the other Joe's spotted him cruising down the carpeted hallway in a pink convertible), so he and Barbie didn't go out that much. He never brought his own wheels with him either and Barbie started to wonder if he was really just a wee bit of a dead beat. Ultimately Barbie and Joe drifted completely apart and went their separate ways. (We think he continued to pursue an armed forces career for quite some time.)

As we were reminiscing about Barbie and the ever present controversy that surrounds her and her Jessica Rabbit bodily proportions, a couple of us remembered also having a Skipper doll who was meant to be Barbie's younger, prepubescent sister. Skipper was about an inch and a half shorter than Barbie and her feet were molded so that she could only wear flat shoes and boots (compared to Barbie whose permanently arched feet just invited the presence of sexy stilettos.)

(As an aside, it just occurred to me that Barbie is probably the key reason I have always walked on my tip toes when I don't have shoes on... )

But back to Skipper.... I piped up and said "Oh yeah, and remember how you could turn her arm in its socket and she would grow about an inch in height and she would suddenly "develop" in the chest area?"

The rest of the room looked at me blankly and then burst out laughing: "What kind of dolls did you HAVE in Canada??"

Skipper was first introduced in the mid-60's to address the "sex symbol" controversy that surrounded Barbie. There were a number of Skipper concepts introduced to market, including: Bendable Leg Skipper, Twist & Turn Skipper, Sunset Malibu Skipper and even Japanese Skipper. (Barbie's family must have adopted Japanese Skipper.)

Then in 1975, Mattel introduced "Growing Up Skipper" and THIS was the very Skipper that made her way into my toy box and into the makeshift Barbie condo that I created on my Dad's pool table. The packaging said "Make her grow from a young girl to a teenager in seconds!" and sure enough, when you rotated one of her arms, she did exactly that.

I don't remember having any negative or confused reactions to Skipper's changeable body proportions (I was more disappointed that she didn't fit into Barbie's clothes and that she couldn't wear high heels), but Mattel sure took a beating in the press for introducing a doll that visibly went through puberty just with the twist of an arm. But honestly, is that really any worse than the dolls you can feed and they will "make doody" in their dolly daipers?

From Me to You at 37,000 ft

At this very moment, I am hurtling through the air at 500 mph+ speeds in little more than a giant tin can with about 200 other weary travelers just like I've done countless times before. The key difference on this trip, however, is that I am finally on a flight with in-flight internet access. Sweet!

So, while I'm cruising along somewhere over Ohio, I really have nothing significant to share except for the fact that I am, well, cruising along somewhere over Ohio. While blogging. (And emailing and twittering etc etc etc.)

There seemed to be a tinge of sadistic glee in our flight attendant's voice when she announced back in New York that the flight to San Francisco would be six and a half hours. SIX AND A HALF HOURS. (That after an hour of quality time with the JFK tarmac and de-icing crew.) It was only 4 hours and 40 minutes to fly TO New York on Saturday, so these nasty head winds are just downright cruel. I could have flown to London instead! Blimey!

But here I am on AA #177 taking the blogosphere to a whole other level.

Momofuku Ssam Bar

Dinner at Momofuku Ssam Bar in the East Village on Saturday night:

-- Steamed Buns (pork belly, hoisin, cucumber, scallions)

-- Edwards' Wigwam Country Ham

-- Satur Farm's Fried Brussel Sprouts (with mint, scallions, and fish sauce vinaigrette)

-- Pumpkin Chawanmushi (Grana Padano, kelp, pepita)

-- Sichuan Beef Tendon (with green mango and peanuts)

-- Spicy Pork Sausage & Rice Cakes (with Chinese broccoli, crispy shallots)

And as if that wasn't enough, after dinner we went next door to Momofuku Bakery & Milk Bar and proceeded to test out almost every dessert on the menu, including Strawberry-flavored milk which was unbelievable. (Next time, I want to try the Cereal-flavored milk -- it's meant to taste like the milk that's leftover at the bottom of the bowl once the cereal has all been eaten.)

All Before 7 a.m. on a Saturday

My alarm went off long before the sun came up this past Saturday morning to kick-start my day of traveling to NYC. I threw my stuff into the car and headed up to the airport before the birds were even stirring.

It all started in the terminal at SFO. I had just purchased a bottle of water for the flight and was making my way out of the newsstand store when I heard “Excuse me, miss!” I stopped and turned, thinking maybe I had dropped something. Instead I was greeted by a guy with a slicked back pony tail, bolo tie and Sherpa vest. In a very zen-like way, he explained “There is a higher power that tells me that when I see a stranger twice within a few minutes, I must go and introduce myself to them.” I could barely refrain from responding, “Well, then airports must be an absolute field day for you then, huh?”

I smiled politely (I think) as he peeled one of his cards from the stack in his palm and said “I saw you in the security line and was going to give you a card then, but you were busy”.

Now let’s just stop here for a second.

He was going to give me a card back in the security line when he FIRST saw me? Wouldn’t that have been in violation of his Higher Power’s recommendation that he wait until the second time? Honestly, please think your pick-up lines through fully before releasing them on the unsuspecting public. I watched every episode of Matlock growing up and I can spot those inconsistencies a mile away. If he were a movie, that would have been a jarring continuity issue.

But not wanting to risk further conversation and engagement, I thanked Rico Suave and proceeded to my gate. 15 minutes later, they are doing the final call for a Dallas flight and he sprints over to where I am sitting, thrusts out his hand to shake mine and says “It was so great to meet you! I hope to see you again!”

A few of the people sitting around me in the waiting area smirked knowingly as they subtly glanced up from their newspapers and cell phones.

Rico dashed off to his gate and was the last to board before they closed the doors. I suppose I should be flattered that he almost missed his flight just so he could come and say good-bye to me, but mostly I just think he’s a little bit dim for taking that chance.

Once on the plane, I was blessed with two screaming children directly in front of me. They were screaming when they boarded, fought against their parents as said parents attempted to secure them in seatbelts, continued to scream and throw themselves against their seats, the floor and any other object unfortunate enough to be in their orbit for the next 4.5 hours. (Damn, those kids had some stamina. I thought for sure they’d wear themselves out an hour or two in.) Not only did they continue to cry and carry on, but they also began coughing in every single direction – one of those raspy, phlegmy kinds of coughs that you know has its roots in some nasty bug. I scrambled for my Airborne (and more importantly, some Tylenol PM for the little darlings.)

And finally, to complete the trifecta of randomness, the woman seated next to me pulled out her cell phone as soon as she sat down and remained on a call the entire time we were at the gate, crying and cussing and telling someone on the other line “he lied to me!” and then “he’s 42! He should know better!” and then “it’s like I’m a doormat with no feelings!”. But within the space of about 10 minutes she had changed her tune (but was still bawling) and now was seemingly defending the lying 42-year old scumbag with “that’s not fair! He didn’t mean that! He’s not that bad!”

American Airlines flight 24 to JFK. My own personal Twilight Zone. How much can one person really take before the sun has even come up?

Cyber Shop 'Til You Drop

It's that time of year again. The holidays are in full swing and it's at this point in the season when my heart goes out to USPS mail carriers who not only have to carry their weight in shiny, glossy catalogs, but who also have to schlep around ten times the normal volume of boxes and packages as the internet generation (and then some) does much of its Christmas shopping online.

I enjoy shopping as much as the next girl, but at this time of year, I'm quite happy to peruse virtual store aisles instead of battling harried shoppers in the real world. At home with my laptop, I can be in my pajamas (or not), with a glass of wine (or two) armed with nothing more than a mouse and a credit card and I can literally have the bulk of my shopping done without ever leaving the house.

I am, however, encountering a few snafus this year which are derailing my uber-efficient virtual St. Nick persona ever so slightly.

As I settled into my little home office on the evening of Cyber Monday to take advantage of all sorts of great deals and coupons, I landed on Banana Republic's site, having been lured there by promises of 40% discounts AND an additional 10% Cyber Monday discount. Many of the price cuts on the site were only good for Cyber Monday and would expire at midnight. Now, I will admit that at Banana, I wasn't strictly limiting myself to looking for gifts for others... I was quite open to the possibility that as I looked for a cozy sweater for Special K, that I might (just might) find a pair of shoes (or two) that I really needed to add to my closet.

And indeed I did. I added said pairs of shoes to my shopping cart and continued to browse. Much to my shock and dismay, all of the items in my shopping cart reverted to their original (and NOT on sale) prices at exactly 9:00 pm PST. 12:00 am EST. Darn it! Cyber Monday should end in the time zone within which you are actually shopping, not a time zone that is 3000 miles away! I'm sure I could have called BR's customer support and they would have honored the sale prices, but I figured there was probably a bigger message here that was something like "Serves you right! You should be shopping for OTHERS right now!" (But I will still monitor those shoes and snap them up the second they go on sale again!)

Then tonight, I was attempting to order something for my mom and dad, but from a Canadian retailer so that I could have it shipped directly to them without having to worry about duty and customs. This Canadian retailer would not allow me to use a US billing address online. I tried calling their 1-800 number because by now, I was pretty committed to the purchase, having researched the item, read the reviews and even watched a video about it. TigerDirect.ca made the fatal error of putting me on hold and leaving me there for minutes (WAY too many minutes) and I finally hung up, still gift-less and with my credit card feeling nakedly inadequate for international commerce.

Big sigh. I think I'm going to have to don the body armor and shields and head out into the war zone that is otherwise known as The Mall.

God Bless Elizabeth White

We received this email in our "advertising" alias inbox at work. God Bless Elizabeth White -- now I don't have to wonder where I'm going to generate next year's revenue!


Dearly Beloved -

My name is Mrs. Elizabeth White; I am a dying woman who has decided to donate what i have to you/church. I am 69 years old and i was diagnosed with cancer immediately after the death of my husband 2 years ago, who has left me everything he worked for and because the doctors told me i will not live longer than some weeks because of my health, i decided toWILL/donate the sum of $5,850,000.00 (Five Million Eight Hundred FiftyThousand US Dollars) to you for the good work of humanity, and also tohelp the motherless and less privilege and also for the assistance of the widows.

I wish you all the best and may the good Lord bless you abundantly, and please use the funds well and always extend the good work to others. Contact my lawyer:

Mislata Law Firm
Abogado De Justicia
Calle Embajadores, 106.2, Madrid, Spain
Legal Practitioner & Solicitor David Hanson
Phone/Fax: +34-63-417-7834
Email: abogadodhan@gmail.com

And tell him that i have WILLED ($5,850,000.00 US Dollars) to you and ihave also notified him. I know i don't know you but i have been directedto do this. Thanks and God bless. I will appreciate your utmost confidentiality in this matter until thetask is accomplished as i don't want anything that will jeopardize my last wish.

God bless you,
Mrs. Elizabeth White

My Home and Native Land

I'm just back from a few days north of the 49th where I escaped for a bit of a break over the Thanksgiving holiday and used the time to catch up with both family and friends. The more I go back to Canada (and hence the longer I've been gone), the more I appreciate what a unique and special place it is. I love being reminded of all the little cultural nuances that are newly fresh to me after having been in the US for so many years now.

Here's a sampling:

-- I ordered a sandwich and was asked "white bread or brown bread"? I'd forgotten that we say "brown bread" instead of "wheat" or "whole wheat".

-- We put our windows on "opposite ends" in the warmer months when it starts to rain outside. The double-paned storm windows can be opened so that fresh air can snake its way inside, but the rain won't. I've never once heard this expression in the US. Come to think of it, I've never seen the same kind of windows that can accommodate "opposite ends" either.

-- We park in a "parkade", not in a "parking garage" or "parking structure". (Honestly, my American friends, please adopt "parkade" -- it's so much shorter and easier!)

-- Canadian hockey announcers use words like "chippy" to describe a team that's hitting particularly hard and often.

-- Everyone knew what I meant when I referred to my "runners"!

-- [Almost] everyone is uber polite and friendly whether it's the hotel concierge, the cashier at the drugstore, the waiter at The Keg or just random people in shops and on the streets. I never hear "pardon me", "excuse me" and "sorry" as much down south. (And in Canada, it's more like "so-rry" instead of "saw-ry".)

O Canada --The True North strong and free!

Happy Go Lucky!

Sometimes you walk out of a movie theatre absolutely blown away by what you’ve just seen, either because the story was so engaging, the characters so alive and compelling or the dialogue so fresh, clever and witty. Not often, but sometimes you can even find a film that brings all of these elements (and more) together into a true cinematic tour de force.

Special K and I both walked out of the theatre last weekend after having seen the British film, “Happy Go Lucky”, feeling like we had just had exactly that experience.

This is SO much more than just the “feel good” movie of the year. Sally Hawkins deserves an Oscar nod for her portrayal of the ever-optimistic Poppy, whose undying positive outlook gets on the nerves of many of those around her. In the opening scenes of the movie, you’re not sure what to think of her because she’s so quirky, but by the end of the movie, you wish she was your best friend.

Eddie Marsan also delivers a perfectly tense and anguished performance as a London driving instructor cum conspiracy theorist/uber-pessimist. The juxtaposition of these two characters illustrates just how important perspective is and reminds us that life is too short to be unhappy.

I can’t recommend this film highly enough. In these tough economic times, the key messages of this film are very timely and refreshing. And even if you don’t want to see the film at such an analytical level, I guarantee that Poppy’s antics and witty repartee will make you double over with laughter.

And that’s definitely worth something.

Cruz-ing on a Sunday Afternoon

Last Sunday, I had an itch that needed to be scratched. I was feeling penned in. I needed to get out of Silicon Valley and stretch a bit. I hadn’t thought about it until the following Monday when one of my colleagues remarked, “wow, you felt like you had to get away – but you’re hardly ever even here.”

Special K refers to this as my ongoing restlessness. I prefer to think of it as my own personal tribute to Newtonian physics: “A body in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by some outside force.” I’m just the larger, more obvious embodiment of all those vibrating atoms and molecules that comprise my rarely-at-rest body and mind. (For the record, the only “outside force” that has been able to regularly cause me to illustrate the corolloary to this law of motion, “A body at rest stays at rest”, is Special K, primarily when we are curled up together on the couch, drifting off for an unplanned mid-day nap. But I digress.)


Back to last Sunday… I enthusiastically caved into my restlessness and jumped in the car and headed south to Santa Cruz. I’d never been before, but I’d read a few things that made me curious about the seaside town where Ferrari-driving yuppies and tofu-eating bohemians peacefully co-exist in their own little slice of beachy paradise. Santa Cruz also seemed to have a kind of interesting, albeit non-traditional history, really coming into its hippie-self in the 60’s when the University of California system dropped anchor on what would become the UC Santa Cruz campus.

It was a gorgeous day in NoCal and it seemed like the perfect day to hit the beach. I took a sweater thinking it would be cooler by the water, but I ended up leaving it in the car because it was over 80 degrees. I pulled off the winding highway that leads to the small town and eased my way through the quiet late Sunday morning streets until I came to the water … and the Beach Boardwalk.


The Beach Boardwalk is NoCal’s answer to Coney Island. It’s a stretch of beachside amusement park, packed with arcades, games, a rollercoaster, merry-go-round, fun house and no end of kiosks selling more types of food on a stick than you ever thought possible. A fun place for families with small kids for sure, but it also smacked of the sort of seediness that only idle teenagers in their hoodies and Vans can bring to a scene.


I wandered along the Boardwalk towards the wharf and made my way out over the water, passing by a number of small shops and restaurants. I started to hear a vaguely familiar sound – almost like horns, but at irregular intervals and from more than one source. As I got a few steps further, the bleating got louder and recognized it as the barking of sea lions. I scanned the water for any sign of them, but didn’t see so much as one slick little head peeping out from the surface. But every step I took, the barking got louder and louder. Then I realized that they must be UNDER the wharf.


When I rounded the corner of the last little building on the pier, I came across three sections that had been cut out of the deck of the pier, outlined with railings so that people could lean and look down and watch the sea lions slumber on the wharf’s cross-beams, slip in and out of the water and of course, bark at one another. I watched the various characters for the better part of 45 minutes and also managed to get *this* close to multiple pelicans who would alight on the railings in search of scraps from the fisherman who cast their lines into the ocean below.


Next, I climbed West Cliff Drive, one of the most gorgeous coastal drives I’ve seen. This well-known street winds its way along the top the cliff and separates some unbelievably beautiful homes from the Pacific Ocean down below. The surfers were also out in full force, enjoying some great waves.


Santa Cruz truly lives up to its identity as a town of juxtaposition. West Cliff Drive with its million dollar-plus homes and luxury car-filled garages is literally just half a mile from the battered 50’s style motels that dot the streetscape across from the boardwalk, right where a Rastafarian-esque busker strums a guitar, seemingly less concerned about the money he’s collecting than he is about how his sleepy, slightly skinny mixed-breed dog seems to be enjoying the fruits of his latest song-writing efforts.


A few hours and a couple of snacks later, I climbed in my car and made my way to the highway, pointing myself north back to the Valley, still warm from the sun, happy because of the sea lions and pelicans and decidedly less restless because I’d followed my nomadic urges, even if just for a 30 minute jaunt to the beach.

Rouge ou Blanc?

What a glorious weekend in the Bay Area! Unseasonably warm temperatures and lots of sunshine - it's enough to make me momentarily think that I'm actually in SoCal instead.

Yesterday, I headed up to San Francisco to meet Nick and Brandon who were in town from New York. Very exciting because I hadn't seen Nick in ages and this would be my first opportunity to meet the much-talked-about Brandon. Also, coincidentally, Jena and Eric were in town this weekend too and although completely unplanned, both sets of friends were staying at the hip Hotel Triton. (Quick history: Nick, Jena and I all used to work together in NYC. Nick and Jena still work together, but at a different company now.)

We planned to meet at the wine bar, Rouge & Blanc, next to Hotel Triton for drinks, appetizers and to catch up. Unfortunately, I didn't have Jena's cell phone number with me (it, along with dozens of others, never made the migration from my old phone to my iPhone, darn it) and so we completely missed each other, but Nick and Brandon made it and we had a blast catching up and enjoying both rouge and blanc to their fullest.

And luckily, I got Jena's phone number from Nick and now we've re-connected and will still hopefully see each other before she and Eric head back to NY. So much fun to see some familiar faces from the east coast!

Things That Are On My Mind At This Very Moment

-- How did it get to be November 15 already? It's practically Christmas. In fact, I'm newly amazed at where this entire YEAR has gone.

-- How long can I get away with not putting my license plates on my car?

-- What will the fate of General Motors be and how will that impact everything else? Stay in cash for a while longer or take advantage of low stock prices?

-- How can it possibly be fair that I pay an exorbitant amount in taxes each year, yet I can't vote on anything. Taxation without representation. Some democracy.

-- Will the Calgary Flames ever win another Stanley Cup? (Will they even make it to the playoffs???)

-- What pushes someone to take such desperate measures that are at best unethical and at worst illegal and horrific?

-- Should I drive or take the train to San Francisco today?

Drive Like You Mean It

I love to drive. Let me clarify that -- I love to drive when I can drive fast and when I don't have to deal with tentative, unfocused or just plain bad drivers. Not so much to ask for right? Actually, it seems to be a pretty tall order these days, especially when California streets and freeways are involved.

Having also lived in Los Angeles (and area), I notice that NoCal drivers move on average about 10 mph slower than SoCal drivers when it comes to open freeway driving. Even on city surface streets, I seem to regularly get stuck behind people who are consistently driving anywhere between 5 and 15 mph below the speed limit.

One of the biggest challenges with NoCal freeways are the merge lanes. They are short and an off-ramp lane is usually positioned about 25 yards after an on-ramp lane which means that cars are trying to get on the freeway at the exact same point that others are trying to get off. The result is rarely one of those TV commercial-inspired, perfectly choreographed weaving of the vehicles in question, so that no one even has to touch their brakes, but everyone is able to smoothly drift into the lane they need and be on their way. No, the result is usually chaos, with slammed brakes, near rear-endings, the occasional horn and a shot of adrenalin just to keep you sharp.

One of the things that I really like about the Silicon Valley/San Jose area is the abundance of "expressways" that allow you to avoid the freeways but still allow you to cover good distance fairly quickly because of the limited number of traffic signals. I have just barely made countless flights out of the San Jose airport simply because I used Central Expressway to get to the airport instead of the 101. But the problem with most of the expressways is that it can be a challenge to get on them from the very short merge lanes that bleed onto them every half mile or so. I can't count the number of times I 've been stuck behind someone as they come to a complete stop in a merge lane. I guess maybe it's a combination of Type A personality traits peppered with a bit of left over New York impatience that propels me to accelerate, signal and just nudge my way into the passing traffic.

Many times, I sort of force the issue, I guess.

But sometimes you have to.

Trick or Treat!

Last week, someone in the office asked (maybe a bit rhetorically), "When did Halloween become a full-fledged season instead of just a single day?" It did seem this year that Halloween was everywhere for a long, long time prior to October 31.

In the office, we had quite a festive time on Friday, complete with a pumpkin-carving contest, a mini ping-pong tournament and a power outage. Ok, so maybe the power outage wasn't all that festive (since it halted the ping-pong tourney in the semi-finals), but it did provide us with an excuse to view the carved pumpkins in the dark, with candles glowing from within.

Aldo won the prize for the best costume. You can check out a photo of it here at Posterous. Maria, Albee and I were doubled over laughing for ages because we thought it was so clever.

I "dressed up" by simply pinning a bag of Salt 'n Vinegar Lays to my shirt and voila, suddenly I became "All That & a Bag of Chips". I know, it's a bit cheesy, but it did get some good giggles. (Although I have to admit that I ended up having to make myself a little sign because some of my colleagues thought I was trying to pass myself off as a poor rendition of a vending machine.)

Special K flew in on Friday night to come and see me for the weekend ... when I picked him up at the airport, he had peel 'n stick numbers all over his shirt and pants... he was truly "someone you can count on". (We went for sushi after leaving the airport and our curious waiter finally asked Special K, "So, do you really like math or something?")

Last weekend, we had a Halloween party in Orange County that we were able to go to at the last minute, but because we had thought we weren't going to be able to make it, we hadn't really thought through the costume angle. We ended up going as "E-Male and His Attachment" -- Special K with a giant "E" emblazoned on his chest and me with large gold paperclips pinned all over my shirt and jeans.

You can bet that Special K didn't forget the attachment this time.

Go, P.J., Go!!

Here are the couple of photos I promised from PJ's big day on Bingo America. Even "Al" looks genuinely thrilled and happy for our hero!

When I am 80 years old and sitting in a rest home, playing bingo in the big common hall, I will STILL remember G58.

And Bingo was his Name-O

Our good friend, PJ, made the ultimate brave move last year when he decided to eschew the corporate world and pursue his real passion of acting full-time. Since then, he's been a busy guy, appearing on General Hospital Night Shift a couple of times, working as an extra on the production of "Angels & Demons" and picking up all sorts of great opportunities along the way.

It turns out that in LA, a lot of aspiring actors will take advantage of some of their down time by joining the studio audiences of various talk shows and game shows. The actors make a bit of cash and the show gets a full audience for each taping. It's a win-win situation for both sides.

Through this network of shows, PJ actually ended up as a contestant on Bingo America, a game show on GSN that is hosted by Richard Karn of TV's Home Improvment fame (he played Tim's sidekick, Al). They called PJ just the day before taping because they had a last minute cancellation.

PJ's episode of Bingo America aired last week and he nonchalantly asked Special K to tape it for him so he could see it the next time he visited. When I was in SoCal last weekend, Special K and I queued up the DVR and settled in to watch 30 minutes of a game show neither of us had ever seen, but which we thought was cool simply because we knew one of the contestants.

The game started out with PJ going head-to-head against another contestant, a cute girl named Amanda. (Both Special K and I thought PJ would never be able to concentrate, competing against a pretty girl!) PJ and Amanda competed to buzz in first in order to answer trivia questions (correctly) and gain points on the Bingo board. PJ won the first round, Amanda won the second round and it all came down to a showdown for the best 2 out of 3. PJ wins round 3! We say good-bye to Amanda and PJ is now on to the second phase of the Bingo America journey with $1300 in his jeans pocket.

This next step requires PJ to maneuvre his way through a five-step process by randomly choosing numbers on a giant bingo board that he hopes are "safe" (ie. there is some amount of money hidden behind the number). If the number he chooses is not safe, the host will unveil an image of a bomb, meaning that PJ loses everything he has earned so far. The numbers he chooses are standard bingo numbers: B5, I25, N42, G58 etc. With every step, the odds get increasingly more challenging, until PJ finds himself at the fifth and final level where his odds of losing everything are 2 in 3. By this time, he has earned $6500 and he can choose to walk away and keep that money. Or he can gamble against terrible odds and hope for more cash AND an opportunity to compete for a grand prize of $100,000.

Special K and I are now on our feet, yelling at the TV, "Walk away, PJ, walk away!!"

Most of the studio audience is yelling the same thing.

PJ decides to gamble.

He goes for it.

He asks for O75.

There is a 2 in 3 chance that he will lose everything.

The expose what's behind O75 and .... he's SAFE!! (and earns another $500!)

Special K and I are now jumping up and down and high-fiving each other.

Now PJ is ready for the final round. He stands with the host and faces a giant plastic see-through sphere with dozens of balls flying around inside (think of the machines they use to toss the balls before they announce the lottery numbers).

This final stage of Bingo America is purely a game of chance. If one of the numbers that PJ chose in the previous round as he was picking his way around virtual minefields is the actual number that the lotto machine spits out, then PJ wins $100,000. That's right, $100,000.

Our hearts are pounding as the host stretches the suspense and anticipation to the max. We can barely stand it and we think we can see PJ sweating just a little bit.

I turn to Special K and say "If PJ won $100,000, he would have told you, right?"

Special K looks at me and doesn't say anything. We don't know what to think.

A ball drops out of the machine. The host asks his version of Vanna White to tell the audience what the letter on the ball is:

She replies, "I can tell you that it's a G."

G58. G58. G58. That's what PJ's G number was. What are the odds?

PJ looks like he is going to pass out. Special K and I feel like we're going to pass out.

After almost unbearable suspense, the host asks his Vanna to show the audience the ball.

G58.

G58???

Omigod -- G58!!!!!!

PJ just won $100,000!!! Special K and I were speechless. We stared at each other for many, many seconds, mouths agape, unable to even breathe. I finally managed to sputter "Call him! Call him right now!!!!" and as we finished watching PJ high-five the host and shout out to the audience, we got him on the phone and gushed at him from two different extensions, finishing each other's sentences and recounting every single moment of PJ's journey to Bingo America fame.

It turns out that PJ had to sign legal documents, promising not to disclose the outcome of the show until after its air date. And PJ taped the show way back in August! He has had to keep this massive secret to himself for over three months.

We are absolutely thrilled for PJ and both of us remarked how something like this reaffirms your believe that good things do indeed happen to good people and that this is a clear message that PJ is on the very path he's meant to be on and that this is a brilliant reward for him making the bravest move of all -- pursuing that which he's most passionate about.

We love ya, PJ, and we're your biggest fans!

(Note: I'll post a couple of photos in the next post -- didn't want the images to spoil the story!)

Sevens -- The Update

So, the jeans that mysteriously made their way back to Special K's house last weekend were indeed my long lost pair of Sevens. Same cut, same pocket design, my size. But now they have faded to be about 10 shades lighter, the embroidery on the pockets is unraveling and they just have that worn, slightly pilly look that denim gets after having been around the block a few times. They're at the stage where they'd probably be my favorite pair of jeans had it actually been ME who got them to that stage.

Thank goodness SOMEBODY got a lot of use out of them over the past two years.

And I guess the upside for me is that now I have a groovy pair of painting pants. Add a beret and I will be the chicest painter in Silicon Valley!

The Case of the Missing Sevens

When you live a bi-coastal lifestyle, there are bound to be casualties ... you are certain to misplace things and leave things behind either in hotel rooms, in your apartment on the other coast, or at your boyfriend's place in yet another location.

When I first moved to New York over two years ago, I left a few things behind at Special K's house. There were a few boxes in the garage that I knew I couldn't take to my shoebox-sized apartment in Gotham and since I was moving in the fall, I also left a decent amount of warm weather/summer clothes behind. One of the clothing items I left in California was a pair of cropped Seven for All Mankind jeans.

On a return trip to California not long after I moved, I remember looking for the cropped jeans because I wanted to wear them, but couldn't find them anywhere. Special K and I looked high and low but didn't find the jeans. We checked every closet, cupboard and dresser drawer -- nothing.

Finally, he scratched his head and said "You must have taken them to New York with you". Since I'm a girl and have a photographic memory of exactly what I was wearing on ANY and ALL important dates/moments with Special K, I was acutely certain that I had indeed been wearing the cropped jeans on my last day in SoCal, precisely because I knew I wouldn't need them in NYC for months because winter was on its way.

I couldn't fathom what could have happened to these jeans! And I was NOT happy about the fact that it had to have been a $150 pair of jeans that were the ones to go missing. (Don't tell my mom about the $150 -- she raised me to be a smart, frugal consumer!) In any event, over time, I gradually accpeted the fact that the jeans were gone and hoped that one day, we'd discover them in some random place, smack ourselves on our foreheads and exclaim "Of COURSE that's where they are! Why didn't we think of this sooner??" It actually got to the point where any time I'd misplace something, Special K would casually remark "You can't find it? It must be with your jeans."

So, fast-forward almost two years exactly and I have now completed my NY tour of duty and am freshly settled in NoCal.

In the meantime, a friend and business colleague of Special K's had relocated to SoCal (at about the same time I went east) and while he was getting settled in his new job and looking for an apartment, he crashed with Special K for a couple of months. In that time, he managed to meet a woman who we would all later learn was not completely "there" and was just a teeny bit crazy in a very "Fatal Attraction" sort of way.

Long story short, it appears as though this woman, ahem, "borrowed" my jeans for the last two years and they just finally made their way back to Special K's house this past weekend when his buddy realized the situation.

I am headed to the OC this Friday night for a long anticipated reunion with my Sevens... AFTER they've been vigorously laundered and re-laundered.

Who steals someone else's jeans?? I guess I should just be thankful that she didn't hawk them on eBay for the cash.

K.O.'d!

There is a bakery/sandwich shop just down the street from the office where we end up going quite often to pick up lunch because it's so convenient. Apparently we've been going a little TOO often.

Today, the girls went at noon while I was stuck in a meeting and I didn't grab my lunch until after 2:00 pm. When I showed up at the sandwich shop, one of the cashiers (a guy we see there quite often) says hi and then asks "Where are all your friends today?"

I told him they came at lunch when I was in meetings and then he remembered "Oh, that's right, all three of them came earlier."

And then he added, "You know, we've started calling you guys the Knockout Group".

Wow. Thanks... I think? When I got back to the office, I relayed this message to the girls and suggested we have t-shirts made. Maria had a much better suggestion that we parlay this new found admiration into free food!

Who says there's no free lunch?

Running Man

If you've checked out my Posterous blog, you've seen the photo evidence of the Chicago Marathon and Special K's participation therein. This was Special K's 8th marathon (yes, EIGHTH marathon) and the Gods really made him work for this round of 26.2 miles.

For the second year in a row, Chicago set records in the heat department with temperatures skyrocketing to nearly 90 degrees. (You would think there would be more risk of driving rain and even an early snow in Chicago in October -- not that the city would have a heat wave that Phoenix would be proud of.)

The marathon organizers raised the event "alert level" to red, meaning that it was a set of extremely high risk conditions for runners. The next level would have been "extreme" where the event would have been canceled or stopped midway through. Some runners dropped out of the race due to the heat, many completed the final miles of the course at a walk, and the organizers actively encouraged all participants to slow their pace and take it easy. The fire department even opened up fire hydrants at various points along the course so that passing runners could be sprayed down.

The marathon itself is an event of epic proportions and I thought these stats offered a great snapshot of its size and depth:

• Over 45,000 registered runners


• 10,000 race day volunteers


• 6,800 charity runners looking to raise more than $12 million


• More than 100 countries represented


• Over 1.5 million spectators


• The course snakes through 29 of Chicago's neighbourhoods

I witnessed this at the NY Marathon a couple of years ago and it continued to amaze me in Chicago that people could focus on anything other than just putting one foot in front of the other for over 26 miles, but here's a selection of some of the fun (crazy?) things people ran in/as/doing:

• A guy was dressed as Minnie Mouse with full polka-dotted dress and mouse ears. (No giant Minnie Mouse high heels, however.) He ran the entire race dressed like that.


• Another guy was dressed as Elvis, complete with wig, sideburns, bejeweled disco jumpsuit and giant sunglasses. Imagine how hot and sweaty that get-up was!


• Two buddies ran the entire race dressed as Batman and Robin. Sweaty part deux. And trois.


• And most impressive, I saw one guy running near the finish line while juggling three small balls. The two girls next to me said they saw him miles earlier and he was juggling then, too. I can barely walk and chew gum at the same time!

But the coolest apparel item we saw was a t-shirt with the simple slogan "I run this town" emblazoned across the chest. Of course we bought Special K one of those!

Pre-posterous!!

Between Facebook, Twitter, Yammer, this blog and Kaboodle (of course!), you would think that I've social media'd myself to the max and there would be no more room (or time) for any johnny-come-lately's.

Well, I'm a sucker for a better mousetrap and a couple of weeks ago, Guy Kawasaki introduced me to a site called Posterous.com. Posterous is a blogging platform that lets you post content to your blog directly via an email (and you can still post traditional updates via the web), meaning that I am now a mobile blogging machine because I can easily post from anywhere via my iPhone. (Yes, I treated myself to an iPhone -- I don't think I've blogged about that yet.)

I love it -- I'm in Chicago right now with Special K and Posterous will easily let me photo-blog about the Chicago Marathon tomorrow so I can keep you all up-to-date on Special K's progress.

Here's where you can visit my now post Posterous self: http://orsomethinglikethat.posterous.com/

And I Thought New York was a Small World!

Turns out that Chicago is even moreso... at least for me. Within my first seven hours in the city yesterday, I ran into three people I know, all completely random and unplanned.

First of all, in my hotel, I bumped into one of our Publishers and one of our Associate Publishers (two separate "bumps"... they weren't even traveling together), both in town from New York, with nothing to do with my own reasons for being in Chicago.

Then, the most random "bump" was at a fun wine & cheese bar/restaurant last night that's actually managed by a friend of a friend of mine. Special K (who is running the marathon on Sunday, hence the main reason for the Chicago trip) and I had just been seated at our table and were still perusing the menu when I happened to glance up just in time to see a guy walk in to the bar area who looked an awful like someone who used to work at my old internet start-up way back in the day.

My brain processed "Gee, that guy looks like Eric... nah, can't be Eric.... How long has it been?.... do I really want the wine I just ordered?.... But Eric DID move to Chicago a few years ago for a new job.... that cheese plate looks good.... It MUST be Eric.... I better go say hi and find out for sure..." in about 1.5 seconds and I left Special K chuckling at the table (apparently, I had verbalized a little bit more of that train of thought than I realized) while I went to say hi.

Indeed it was Eric, he was shocked to see me and we have now made plans to get together for dinner with him and his girlfriend tonight after work!

It's a small world and gettin' smaller!

Should I Move Again?

There is a road in Sunnyvale called "Easy Street". I'm thinking of relocating.

(By the way, best street name I ever saw in New York was "Stickball Hall of Fame Place". Seriously! I saw it on my way to the airport one day from the backseat of a towncar and emailed it to myself so I wouldn't forget.)

Space, The Final Frontier

You know the rule about how the time to complete a task will expand to fill whatever amount of time happens to be available? It's the same rule that had us all cramming in college on the last night before an exam or a paper was due, even though we'd known about the deadline for weeks or even months before.

I think the same rule applies to space. Almost exactly one month ago, the movers arrived in NoCal with all of my stuff. The very same amount of stuff that fit (quite comfortably) into quite a tiny apartment on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. Barely 30 days later, my things and I have managed to ooze like jelly into every last room, corner and crevice of my new place -- which, by the way, is TWICE as big as my humble NY pied-a-terre.

In New York, I had a sink in my bathoom, but literally no counterspace save for a tiny strip of granite that ran behind the sink, up against the wall. In my new place, I have oodles of bathroom counterspace and suddenly, bottles and tubes and beauty accessories of all shapes and sizes have found their way onto the countertop to fill the open space and I have no idea where they all came from. They must be multiplying in the warm, sunny California climate.

I did buy a couple of pieces of furniture (like a desk and a kitchen table), but those aside, I still seem to have managed to occupy twice the space I had previously in record time. As I was re-arranging a closet today, I stood back, scratched my head and thought, "How did I ever fit this in my place in Manhattan?"

I'm definitely not complaining... it is such a treat to have a little bit more room. Excuse me while I go spread out and make pretend snow angels on the floor in my living room.

Road Trip!!

Now that I'm back in California full-time, I'm also back behind the wheel on a daily basis and just over a week ago, I made my first semi-lengthy road trip in over four years. My new Nissan Rogue and I set out late on a Tuesday night headed for Santa Barbara, roughly 300 miles and 4 hours away. The drive down was in the dark and my focus was just on getting there, but when I drove back on Thursday, I left at 6:00 am and was able to actually enjoy the trek back to Silicon Valley.

A few observations from along the way:

-- No radio nor iPod is needed at 6:30 am when you are lucky enough to be driving right along the coast as the sun is coming up. Just me, the Rogue and the road... that was plenty.

-- Turns out that Santa Barbara Road is nowhere near Santa Barbara.

-- Gilroy does indeed smell like garlic.

-- And Salinas smells like onions.

-- Seeing the exit for Hearst Castle brought on a little twinge of nostalgia.

-- I don't know if it's a more laid back approach in NoCal in general or if my patience has taken on the characteristics of a true New Yorker or if it's a bit of both... but I implore all you CA drivers out there on the 4-lane 101, please, PLEASE stay out of the fast lane unless you are going at least 75 mph.

Ooh Za Za

I enjoy a five-star meal just as much as the next person and I have been known to mmm and ah appreciatively while I enjoy something different and delightful to the palate like goat cheese profiteroles or pecorino-stuffed risotto balls with a wonderful glass of Joseph Phelps or Stag’s Leap. But while I can clean up well, dress the part and order pretty confidently in most places, I’m still an easy-to-please girl with simple tastes at heart. There’s just something about a great slice of pizza and a Coke from the fountain machine that hits that spot like almost nothing else can. Not all pizza joints are created equal of course, but when you do find a good one (please, no chain restaurants), you know exactly what I mean.

Special K is a pizza fan, too, so when we hear of a particularly good pizza place, we’ll make the effort to check it out. But unfortunately, the pizza gods have not been smiling on us lately. Three times now, we have either heard or read about the “best pizza!” in the city/county/borough/state and three times we have been thwarted in our efforts to test it out for ourselves.

Someone recommended Arturo’s pizza in the Village and we planned an entire New York day around having lunch at Arturo’s and then hanging out the rest of the afternoon in SoHo, doing some shopping. We even skipped breakfast because we were so looking forward to an excellent pizza lunch. Our mouths were practically watering when we stepped off the subway and made our way into daylight and down Houston to Arturo’s… only to find that Arturo’s isn’t open for lunch. They don’t open until late afternoon for the dinner crowd. Now uber-hungry, we settled for another pizza place around the corner and it was just fine. But we still never managed to make it to Arturo’s for even a quick slice of pepperoni.

The second incident was back in Orange County. PJ, JD and Dougie Fresh were staying at the house for the weekend and Special K had ripped out a story from one of the local magazines, touting a pizza parlor in the city of Orange as the best pizza in the county. The boys are all pizza connoisseurs and so we set off merrily (on Saturday around noon) for our latest ‘za quest. As we pulled into the parking lot, we immediately noticed the dearth of cars. And sure enough, when I jumped out to get a closer look at the hastily pasted, hand-written sign in the window, it said that the #1 pizza joint in the county would be closed that day. (We settled for Mexican for lunch, but it wasn’t the same.)

And the latest in the three-strikes-you’re-out series happened as Labor Day weekend approached and we were planning our trip to Phoenix. Co-worker Chris used to live in Scottsdale, so he gave me the low-down on a few good restaurants and then said “Oh, there is also a great pizza place in Phoenix that everyone loves. A guy wrote on Yelp that he drove all the way from LA to Phoenix for it, and it was well worth the trip.” Well then! Done deal, we’d make a point of hitting Pizzeria Bianco for lunch one day and test out its worthiness for ourselves. When I pulled up the web site, we saw the (predictable?) statement “Pizzeria Bianco will be closed for summer break from August 24 to September 15”.

Third time’s a charm? Apparently not in the quest for good pizza. But nice try, pizza gods, we are still NOT going to visit Pizza Hut or Dominoes. Ever.

Settling In

I am slowly but surely getting settled in my new digs in Northern California and am also slowly figuring out how to find my way around (remember my internal compass is completely off up here) . I am still sans GPS, however, and so I still got lost twice this weekend, just turning the wrong way because I was SO sure that I had finally conquered the "Never Eat Soggy Weiners" equation as it applies to Northern California. Of course, my judgement was wrong each time and I spent a good amount of time making u-turns.

Friday night kicked off with a great dinner and visit with Sharon and Chris in Menlo Park, including a mini-visit with the Fox Terrier twins, Sam and Molly. Even at 12 years old, they are still full of terrier attitude although Molly has a doggy wheelchair to help her cart her failing rear-end around with her. That didn't stop her from growling incessantly at Sam from across the room.

Saturday was a day full of errands and "knocking stuff off the list" (Special K LOVES it when I get in that mode - actually, he is great at reminding me that Rome wasn't built in a day, and my rebuttal is that it might have been had I been consulted). After 5 hours of mostly not getting lost, I became very well acquainted with my neighbourhood Target (can never get out of that store without spending $100), the nearest drycleaner (a lovely lady named Joanne who used to live in Flushing, so we had stuff to chat about immediately), the closest Trader Joe's (yes, a package of Joe-Joe's did indeed find their way home with me) and a car wash that will probably become a semi-regular weekend destination.

I am mostly unpacked now, but I do still have a few home office type things (files etc) to stash away before I can truly say that I'm officially moved in and settled. But it's not bad progress considering I've still been on the road quite a bit the last few weeks.

As Sunday winds to a close and I'm mentally preparing for the week ahead, I pulled up Weather.com and checked the forecast for the week. I'd adopted the habit of checking the weather every morning in NYC in order to figure out what to wear, which shoes to actually put on my feet versus which ones to carry, what jacket (if any) to take and how likely it was that I would need an umbrella.

I smiled when I saw the outlook for this week -- every day is forecast to be sunny with a high between 78 and 82 degrees.

Weather.com is going to miss me.

Momentum Wears a Bright Yellow Shirt... and No Helmet

One evening last week in NY, I was due to meet Nick and Reny in the lobby of their building at 8:30 so we could go walk down 9th and find something for dinner. I was running about 15 minutes ahead of time, so I decided to stretch my legs and make a bit of a walk out of it.
I was over on 10th Avenue and had just approached 55th Street. The light was red and the “Don’t Walk” sign was lit, but in true New Yorker fashion, I stepped out into the street anyway and looked up the hill to the left to see if any cars were actually coming.

That’s when I heard him… a few seconds before I actually saw him. Which is surprising because of the neon yellow dri-fit shirt he was wearing.

Just as I was about to cross the street, I heard “HOLY MOTHER F’ER!!!!!!!!” from up the street… I stopped in my tracks, having no idea where that was coming from and why. A split second later, I saw him – a rollerblader careening down 55th (ie. DOWN the hill) towards 10th, headed straight for the intersection, just as the light turned green and the cross-traffic began moving again. Mr. Neon Yellow skidded to the side, like hockey players as they angle themselves to slam an opposing player into the boards, fell and tumbled to the very edge of the intersection, missing the passing traffic by only a couple of feet.

I ran to him as he lay on the pavement, not moving and asked if he was ok, if he could move, if he needed me to call 911 (or anyone for that matter). He opened his eyes, raised himself on his elbows, shook his head and said “No, I think I’m ok.” He wasn’t bleeding and none of his limbs were sitting at weird angles, so I said “Well, let’s at least get you off the street” and tried to help him get up. Once I got him to his feet (er, wheels), he promptly fell down again.

By this time, a couple of other people had stopped to help (and who says New Yorkers don’t care??) and we managed to get our rollerblading buddy off the street, up onto the sidewalk and propped up against the side of the building. Again, we asked about calling 911 or getting a hold of a friend, but he refused again.

After making sure he had his bearings back, I headed up 55th and when I turned back to check up on him, I saw him sailing across 10th (with the traffic lights, thank goodness), his helmet-less head glinting under the street lamps and his arms and legs flailing in all directions. I think he yelled something else out, but I was too far away to hear it now. I can only imagine what the follow up to “mother f’er” might have been.

I don’t know who was watching over this guy to make sure he wasn’t killed, or even seriously injured, but whoever it was should really remind him to wear a helmet AND send him to Central Park where he would only risk crashing into trees and other rollerbladers.

It's Good To See You Again

Last week, I was back in New York for a few days for business – this was my first trip back to Gotham since my 36-hour extended farewell in the middle of August. It was great to be back, but it also felt pretty strange to be staying in a hotel. When my driver picked me up at JFK, he confirmed “Headed to The Dream Hotel on 55th?” and I started to respond, “No, we’re going to West End and … “ before my voice trailed off and I remembered that I was not actually going “home”, but that I was once again a temporary visitor in the city that never sleeps.

Although I have reams of evidence that I actually did live in New York for two years, on this trip, it all felt like it had all been just a very vivid dream. It’s the same feeling I get when I’ve just returned from a vacation – the feeling of never having been gone at all. This time, it was the interesting contradictory sensations of everything being intimately familiar yet brand new at the same time.

On the day of my arrival, I had a late dinner with Nick and Reny at a random Italian place on 9th Avenue (“It’s the best in the city!” the host promised as we pondered the menu from the sidewalk – it turned out that the host had a great gift … for hyperbole.) The next day was full of meetings and work and I was more than happy to finally escape the office around 7:00 to join Ally, Oda, Nick, Dina and Kim for drinks at Ava Lounge and then dinner at Brasserie Cognac. (We settled on Ava after trying three other places that were either closed completely or closed for private parties for Fashion Week…I guess it was appropriate to wind up at an old haunt on my first trip back to the city.)

After a quick 48 hours, I was back in another town car heading for JFK… so glad to have been in the city, but just as glad to be heading “home” for real.

Special Day for Special K

Happy Birthday to Special K! That's right, this is the momentus day on the calendar that is responsible for the delivery of Special K (and I don't mean the breakfast cereal, as you all should know by now) into this big old world.

The celebrations really started last night at Sangria in Hermosa Beach. Special K and PJ (accompanied this time by JC and IG) put on a little "First Fridays" show (on a Saturday) and in between renditions of "American Girl" and "Margaritaville", Howard busted out the birthday cake for both Special K and for Timber, another Septemeber 7 baby. At the stroke of midnight, we all raised a glass to the two birthday boys, and around 1:00 or 1:30, I herded half the band into the car and safely delivered them through a Del Taco drive-thru and then back to the Castle.

Today, the day kicked off with the Steelers first game of the season (Steelers killed the Texans), followed by a quick trip out to the beach.... who knows what the rest of the day shall bring!

Enjoy the baking soda, darling.

Whew!!

Wow, what a crazy couple of weeks! I haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth, but I have relocated back to the West Coast (SF Bay Area this time around) and as a result, my summer has been a hectic mess of work, travel, and oh yeah, moving across the country. And in between all the moving and relocation stuff, Special K and I also jetted off to both Dallas and Phoenix. The former for his mom’s birthday and the latter for a Labor Day weekend getaway.

For approximately two weeks, when someone asked me “Where do you live?”, I replied, “Well, technically I’m homeless… “ because I had given up my apartment in NY, but hadn’t yet settled in NoCal.

While the movers have now made their way across the country and delivered my stuff, much of it is still in boxes lying around my new place because I’ve hardly even been there to unpack. I don’t yet have cable, internet nor phone because I haven’t been in town consistently enough to arrange for the cable/internet/phone company to come by. (Lack of home internet connection is really the primary reason for my parallel lack of blogging activity.)

But I am slowly getting settled and putting all the pieces in place to construct yet another new chapter of my life in yet another new location. Updates to come!

My Last Night in New York ... Make That New Jersey

So after seeing Big Bird at La Fenice, I headed back to my [former] building to change into travel clothes, zip up my suitcase and catch my towncar to the airport. Although I never do this, something compelled me to call JetBlue and confirm that my flight out of JFK to Long Beach was on time. I just about dropped the phone when the automated computer voice said “Flight… Two-One-Seven has … been… canceled.” I had to press “replay” just to make sure I’d heard correctly.

Really? On my last day in NYC the last flight of the day to SoCal has been canceled? On the very day that the movers took everything away and I don’t even have a bed to crash on overnight? This was all very poetic (and predictable) in a warped Murphy’s Law sort of way.


I looked at my watch. 3:06. My car was due to pick me up at 3:30. Should I just cancel the car? Should I go to the airport with the hope of figuring something out once I get there? I dialed our corporate travel agent and within a few minutes, I had a brand new ticket on a new airline (US Airways), out of a different airport (Newark), in a different state (New Jersey), headed to a slightly different destination (Los Angeles) and with one connection (Phoenix). Not exactly ideal, but considering how many flights had been canceled due to the weather, I felt pretty fortunate just to have a ticket.


At exactly 3:30, I rode the elevator down (for the last time), hugged Leo and Nigel (two of the building concierges) good-bye and located my driver out on the street. As he threw my suitcase into the trunk, he said “All set to go to JFK?” I responded, “Nope! Change of plans – we’re going to Newark instead!” Without missing a beat he said “No worries, I could take you to Philadelphia if you wanted!” and we were off towards the Lincoln Tunnel.


When I arrived at Newark, my new LAX-bound flight was already running almost two hours late. Given that I had only an hour layover in Phoenix to begin with, I called US Airways and re-booked myself on the first flight from Phoenix to LA the next morning and then I called Marriott and booked myself a hotel room as close to the airport as possible.


Over the course of the next 6 hours, the US Airways gate staff in Newark would delay the flight another 5 times, each time adding 30 – 60 minutes to our anticipated departure time. Finally our aircraft arrived, but Mr. Murphy had diverted another plane with our intended flight crew to Albany for refueling.


Finally, at 11:00 pm, a sheepish gate agent came back over the loud speaker and said, “At this time, we are officially canceling Flight 352 to Phoenix”. A collective groan went up in the waiting area and one woman collapsed in hysterics.


I called a couple of hotel chains to try and get a room, but characteristically for New York, every room was booked. The Marriott Rewards customer service agent told me very seriously that there was a room at the Ritz Carlton Downtown in the city and it was a gorgeous 2500 sq. ft. suite with incredible amenities. We both dissolved into giggles when she said it was only $7500 per night. I told her I would have considered it for $6500, but $7500 was just a little too over the top.


I called JetBlue back again and had them scour their Saturday schedule for west bound flights. All New York-Long Beach flights were long since sold out and overbooked, but the agent was able to send me to Salt Lake City and then connect me through to San Diego where I would have to rent a car for a two-hour drive to Special K’s house in The OC.


It was now close to 11:30 pm on Friday night and I was staring at the very real possibility of either (a.) hanging around Newark airport all night (no thank you), (b.) going back to my now empty apartment and sleeping on the floor (less than ideal) or (c.) wandering around Times Square all night, pulling my last “all-nighter” Big Apple style (exhausting just to think about – besides, what would I do with my luggage?)


I called Nick on his cell phone, reasoning that if they were asleep already, the cell phone would be off and at least I wouldn’t have woken them up. Hallelujah! Nick answered on the second ring and soon, I was in a towncar, heading back into Manhattan where I crashed on Nick and Reny’s couch for the night.


Nick and Reny fed me a great breakfast and we even had time to take wee Ryan out to the courtyard for some soccer before I was due to catch yet another car bound for JFK. Upon arrival at the airport, I was not surprised at all to see that my Salt Lake/San Diego flight was already over an hour late. I finally got out of JFK at about 3:00 pm on Saturday afternoon and after a bit of a planes and automobiles adventure (no trains, although it was close), finally showed up on Special K’s doorstep at about 9:30 pm on Saturday night, roughly 36 hours after this whole adventure had begun on the opposite coast.


Escape from New York complete! And I look much cuter with an eye patch than Kurt Russell did.

My Last Day in New York

As far as moving goes, Friday actually went fairly smoothly. There were a couple of hiccups, but nothing that derailed the process in any way. In spite of dealing with the logistics of moving, my last day in NYC was actually pretty great -- surprisingly so since I had mentally prepared myself for a gruelling day of potential nonsense beyond my control. (As it turned out, I wouldn't be disappointed -- the nonsense would come later (in spades) and as you'll see from my next blog entry, it was completely beyond my control.)

Quick review of Friday ("Move Day"):

At 6:00 am, I got up to shower, un-make my bed and get the last few things tucked away in boxes.

The movers were booked (and confirmed) to show up between 8:00 and 8:30 so that they would have enough time to load before I had to leave to catch my flight later in the day. The moving foreman finally appeared around 9:15 and the truck showed up an hour after that. They assured me that it wouldn't take long to load the truck and they were right -- they were pretty much done by 1:00 pm, even though they had to deal with a double-booked elevator and someone else who was trying to move in as I was trying to move out.

After tipping the movers and loading them up with various cold bottled drinks to take with them, I was left alone in my now empty apartment. I took a few minutes to remember the first time I saw this apartment when I first picked up my keys almost two years ago. It was empty then, too, but full of possibilities instead of mostly pleasant memories. What a difference two years makes and how humbling to realize that your presence hasn't made any structural, permanent changes and that the few marks that you did leave on the wall will just be scrubbed or painted away and that space will come the anchor for someone else's personal story very soon. As I thought about that, I dug a Sharpie marker out of my bag, got down on the kitchen floor and wrote "I Heart NY" on the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers. A little silly perhaps, but I liked the thought that a little piece of me will remain on the west side, at least until that kitchen is remodeled.

Because of the movers' efficiency, I had a couple of hours before my car was due to pick me up at the airport, so I headed out to grab some lunch. I was only planning to hit a deli for a quick sandwich, but as I was walking down Columbus, I slowed my pace as I walked by an Italian restaurant I had always wanted to try. "La Fenice" has always looked quaint, warm and inviting from the outside, but I had never actually been there for a meal. I went inside and sat at the bar and struck up a conversation with the bartender. Instead of a banal sandwich, I had ravioli neri with gorgonzola cheese cream sauce (I'm not due to check my cholesterol for another month or so, thank goodness!), a brilliant ceasar salad and a bread basket with a medley of different pastes and dips.

Now THIS was worthy of being my last lunch in NYC! When Peter The Bartender found out that I was moving that very day, he also treated me to dessert on the house, an incredible layered treat of mango and raspberry mousses.

When I was half-way through my lunch, an older couple came in and all the servers went over to say hello. Even Peter the Bartender left his station and visited the couple with the white, silvery hair for a few moments. When Peter came back to the bar, he leaned in and said to me "That guy is Big Bird on Sesame Street! They come in all the time!" My eyes immediately drifted to the wall space above the mirrors behind the bar where a plate was hanging with a hand-drawn sketch of Big Bird and the signature of Caroll Spinney. Peter saw my eyes go immediately to that plate (because I'd seen it as soon as I sat down) and he smiled and nodded, "Yep, that's him!"

I smiled at what a truly "only in New York" moment this was and how great it was that this should happen on my last day, at an unplanned lunch at a restaurant I'd never been in before.

Peter and the other servers wished me the best of luck and I headed home (for the last time) to change clothes and grab my suitcases. This is where the "nonsense" started. Stay tuned...

Please Don't Go! (Or "New York's Last Act of Desperation")

New York, please don't stand in my way. We've talked about this. You know I have to leave. We're just not meant to be together long-term. I need to move on and put some space between us for a while. Your holding me back just makes the whole situation more difficult for both of us. You're so aloof and hard to get close to so much of the time, so I find it surprising that you're actually trying to hold on to me. (Frankly, it comes across as a little desperate, and it's not a side that I'd show very often if I were you.)

Haven't you ever heard the parable about the sun and the wind? Or the saying that if you love someone, you should set them free?

You know I love you, but preventing me from leaving on not just one, but TWO flights is just not cool.

Goodbye My Lover, Goodbye My Friend

As I sit here, surrounded by boxes, less than 48 hours before the movers come, I'm reflecting on the last couple of years and feeling so content in knowing that not only did I actually have a great opportunity to live and work in New York, but that I also made the most of it -- exploring the city, learning this "new" culture, and building wonderful friendships. But as the last few things lie scattered around my apartment, waiting to be tucked away for the voyage westward, I know that it's time for the next chapter. After all, it's written right in the lyrics of Baz Luhrmann's "Sunscreen":

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. *

So, off I go to Northern California!

It's kind of like an athlete retiring at the top of his/her game -- leave while you still love it, aren't jaded and have sweet memories. (Um, Brett Favre? What the heck??)

Also, they are building another huge apartment complex behind my building and within a few months, it will be tall enough to completely block my currently unfettered view of the Hudson River. And a rather noisy Beagle moved in down the hall a couple of months ago and yodels at the most inopportune times.

And to top it all off, I just ran out of return address labels. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is.

* PS (I also lived in Los Angeles once and left before it made me superficial. Oh wait, that's not actually in the song.)

The NYC Farewell Tour

As my last week as an official NYC resident marches on, I'm trying to see as many friends as possible before the movers descend on my apartment on Friday, ready to whisk my worldly belongings westward. (At least, I hope they "whisk" my belongings... but it sounds more like a painful, labored trudge across the continent -- it could be up to three weeks before I am reunited with my many boxes of random things.)

Yesterday, I had a great lunch with Esther and then rallied a bunch of folks for drinks and appetizers after work for my "see ya' later" get-together. We all convened at Amalia, one of our local haunts, just down the street and around the corner from the office. I did take a bunch of photos and once I find the box where I stashed my camera/computer cables, I'll be able to upload them. (Don't hold your breath -- we are at least three weeks away from opening ANY boxes.)

It was great to see everyone and catch up a bit, but a special thanks to Kim, Cortney and Oda -- you guys know why. :-)

Tourists Keep Right

Hanging out on a lovely August evening with the gang Saturday night, sipping on Proseco and Cassis, the conversation bounced around a number of topics... in the space of a few hours, we managed to cover the Russians' invasion of Georgia, the Olympic games opening ceremony, the price of real estate in Manhattan (and the absolutely painful process of furnishing all necessary documentation for a loan), the impending birth of wee twins, and the history of the fake boob. (Yes, you read that right. We are a well-rounded group and can converse on many, many topics. We even had a doctor in our midst who interned with the son of the fake boob inventor.... pre-Dow Corning lawsuits.... at least I think that was the connection... the Proseco made my brain a tiny bit fuzzy by this point in the conversation.)

At one point, Nick and Gemma were comparing notes on where their new offices were located and it turned out that both of them were right in the thick of Times Square (about 10 short north-south blocks from where my office is/was).

They were lamenting (and everyone else was completely sympathetic) about how difficult it is to have an office in or quite near to Times Square because of the volume of tourist foot traffic. If you have been in Times Square, you know what I mean. It is wall-to-wall people there most of the time and if you have an actual destination that you are trying to get to, it is almost impossible to pop yourself out of the slow-moving crowds so you can walk briskly (like a good New Yorker) to your next meeting.

Our solution was that the sidewalks in the Times Square area should really be divided with a dotted white line (like a regular freeway) and every so often, there should be signs saying "Slower traffic keep right".

Tourists to the right, New Yorkers in the fast lane...

Things That Are Driving Me Nuts At This Moment

-- The fact that Twitter is not updating on my blog. (And the fact that Twitter has updating issues on a regular basis.)

-- The fact that no matter what I do, I can't get rid of the double header on the the left side of my blog... and what's more, I have no idea what happened to even create it in the first place.

-- The fact that when my laptop falls asleep, it is harder to wake up than the big guy sitting in the aisle seat on the plane when you REALLY have to go to the bathroom.

-- The fact that there appears to be no rhyme nor reason why certain emails land in my Junk Mail folder.

"Yes, I love technology, but not as much as you, you see..."

Almost Famous

I am huge at SNA and SJC.

No, unfortunately, those are not the must-be-in-the-know names of new, so-hip-it-hurts nightclubs. Those are the codes for the Orange County and San Jose airports respectively. I have now officially been traveling too much.

This week, I arrived at the Orange County airport for my flight where the American Airlines gate agent recognized me immediately and chatted hockey with me for a few minutes. (We had commiserated when the Pens lost the Stanley Cup this past season.)

When I arrived in San Jose, I went to pick up my rental car and even though I had to queue in the lane next to his, my buddy Ranjit spotted me and gave a big enthusiastic wave. Before I knew it, he had bounded over to my car (abandoning his own line of cars waiting to exit the lot) and was rapping on the passenger side window. As I rolled down the window, he stuck out his hand for a hearty handshake and exclaimed, "Sheddy!! How have you BEEN?? Haven't seen you in WEEKS!!"

And finally, when I arrived at my hotel that evening after a day at the office, the front desk clerk looked up and said "Hi, Ms. Gunn, we've been wondering where you were."

Seriously, I'm going to have to start wearing giant sunglasses and a baseball cap before the paparazzi start hanging out in the office parking lot at lunch.

A Big Birthday Thank You

I recently (as in, two days ago) celebrated a birthday and I have to admit that this one completely snuck up on me because my schedule has continued to be rather random and bi-coastal.

But I do want to extend a grateful thank you to family and friends who managed to track me down where ever I was via phone, email, Kaboodle, Facebook AND surprise me in a variety of ways:

- Big kiss to Special K who sang to me on Friday night (along with PJ), surprised me with an ice cream birthday cake (which PJ picked up), and sent me a beautiful bouquet of a dozen red roses.

- The whole Kaboodle gang who rallied for a huge company lunch at the local pasta joint. (Hit or miss on the food, but the company was great!)

- Special thanks to Cristina, Kristi and Brenda who treated me to tapas and caipirinas at Cascal where we always enjoy ourselves.

- Shout out to my grandparents who sang "Happy Birthday" to me in stereo on the phone and to my parents and the gang in Vancouver for all their warm wishes.

- And a HUGE hug to Brenda who has told me at least twice that I look like I'm 24. (I haven't the heart to tell her that she needs new glasses.)

Shop Til You Drop

Somehow, I ended up on the VIP invitation list (as did hundreds of others, I suspect -- so I'm not really that special) for Gen Art's Shop NYC event which was held on 18th Street in the Metropolitan Pavilion last Wednesday night. I cajoled Oda into going with me -- ok, we're both shopping fans at heart, so I didn't have to expend very much effort "cajoling" her.

Gen Art is an organization devoted to showcasing emerging talent in the fashion, entertainment, music and arts arenas and produces over 100 shows each year catering to these areas. The Shop NYC event highlighted fashion works from 50 - 60 emerging design talents in everything from apparel to shoes to handbags to jewelry. The venue was packed with women looking for unique items (at a discount) and a few misplaced men who stood to the side looking appropriately bored as wives and girlfriends rifled through racks of tops and dresses and fingered handbags and jewelry on the display tables.

We did a hot lap to see what was there, glasses of Bailey's and crushed ice in hand. Once we had downed our glass of liquid courage, we through ourselves fully into the fray as well and emerged victoriously with a necklace each from Odette New York and tops from Yumi Kim.

By this time, we'd worked up a significant appetite and at Oda's suggestion, we popped in on Markt in Chelsea and enjoyed a late dinner of french onion soup (best I've had in ages) and salad. (Kathy, if you're reading this, I FINALLY made it Markt after almost two years! And you're right, it was fantastic!)

As all true Kaboodlers know, shopping (and dining!) IS more fun with friends!