Welcome to Jamaica, Mon!

To celebrate its 10th anniversary, Special K's company treated its entire staff to 6 days in Jamaica. I was able to escape the concrete jungle and join him in the Caribbean paradise for about 72 hours -- definitely not enough time, but certainly better than not being able to go at all.

Even though my visit was fleeting, I had a great time and as always, I reveled in the little glimpses of the local culture that I was privy to.

My new favourite condiment is a little gem called "Pickapeppa Sauce" -- a tasty medley of mango, raisins, tomatoes, onions and tamarind which was particularly satisfying when combined with a traditional Jamaican pattie (a corn pastry stuffed with various vegetable and meat fillings -- think of it as the Jamaican equivalent of an Indian samosa.)

On the drive back to the airport, I spied a tiny little ramshackle grocery store called the "English Dis & Dat". And just down the road was a shack-like watering hole labeled "Girly's Hot Spot". I'm definitely visiting both of those on my next trip.

We stayed at an all-inclusive resort, which meant we kept running into and seeing the same people over and over again. Pretty soon, Special K and I had developed a series of nicknames to refer to people whose names we didn't know, but whom we'd either spoken to at a random meal or whom we'd witnessed say or do something funny, silly or stupid. Pretty soon we were nudging each other, saying, "Hey, there goes Sissy Shoes" or "Did you see just see The Cackler trip and fall in the pool?"

I don't even want to know what nicknames others may have given us.

Car "Reviews" from a Road Warrior

Traveling as much as I have been in recent months has also meant that I've driven a rather large number of different rental cars. This has been a bit of helpful research actually -- when I finally do move back out of Manhattan and into a world where a car is once again a necessity, I will have had tons of hands on experience to tell me what cars to avoid completely and which ones may be worth further consideration.

While my reviews (if you can even call them that) are certainly not of the calibre (or usefulness) of those found in leading automotive magazines and web sites (such a shame considering my previous tenure at a leading automotive magazine publisher), perhaps some of my random and quirky observations will at least entertain you, even if they don't prove useful in any sort of car-buying decision-making process. (I am probably just an "influencer" only in my own mind.)

Here are some of my recent rides:

Hyundai Santa Fe: This smallish SUV was a surprisingly pleasant ride -- I picked it up at the San Francisco airport and drove it down to Silicon Valley on the 101 and noticed how smooth the ride was and how responsive the vehicle was overall. I have generally been more of a sports car girl in the past, but lately, I'm finding myself attracted to smaller SUV's and cross-overs -- which, I guess, makes some sense since these versions are generally sportier and more nimble than their full-size cousins.

Hyundai Elantra: I wasn't as happy with the Elantra as I was with the Santa Fe, but it's still a pretty decent car. My very first car in high school was a little Hyundai Excel, and while I loved it and drove it until it wouldn't drive any more, Hyundai has made HUGE strides in their quality over the past 10 - 15 years. I'd still pick the Santa Fe over the Elantra (the Elantra felt a bit cramped in the interior), but the Elantra did have XM radio which was key driving from San Diego to Orange County where radio stations from both San Diego and LA are too fuzzy to listen to as you make your way through the barren Camp Pendleton area. Note to self: Get XM radio with next vehicle. (Personally, I like the Flight 26 channel.)

Mitsubishi Eclipse: What's not to love, especially when it's pumpkin orange in color? Considering my soft spot for sporty rides, it was a treat to get behind the wheel of this car and take it out of Manhattan, through New Jersey and into Pennsylvania. Good pick-up and just fun to drive. (I mean, come on, consider what kinds of cars you normally get when you rent. Ford Taurus, anyone??)

Chevy HHR: This is a very utilitarian vehicle and while it definitely got me from A to B without a problem, I would never buy this vehicle. It's deceptively small and cramped inside (as we found out when we tried to cram five people inside to go to lunch) and the blind spots created by the B and C pillars are ridiculous. I just had to put my blinker on to change lanes and pray because shoulder-checking didn't do a heck of a lot to ensure safe passage into the next lane to the right.

Toyota Prius: Loved driving this car once I (a.) figured out how to start it, (b.) stopped thinking that it had stalled at every red light, and (c.) saw that it only cost me $3.00 to fill it up with gas before I returned it. Seriously, has Toyota ever made a bad vehicle?

VW Beetle: (and a convertible at that, thank you very much!) Ok, this one is not a true review because I didn't get to actually drive the thing ultimately. It was a bit of a false start at the Avis at the San Diego airport. I showed up around 11:30 pm at the counter after flying in from who-knows-where and the rental agent said "I can upgrade you to a Beetle for the same price if you want -- and it's a convertible." Having never had the chance to drive a new Beetle before and knowing that I was going to be in Southern California for about five days, I figured that this was a great idea. I signed the paperwork and and headed out to the lot.

I popped the trunk so I could load my bags and my enthusiasm for this fun little convertible was immediately doused when I saw that the opening for the trunk was no bigger than a mail slot and there was NO way my rollerboard suitcase was going to fit since it was bigger than an 11x14 envelope. Still somewhat enamoured with the thought of having a convertible for five sunny days, I attempted to jam my suitcase into the front seat floor area. No dice. I cussed under my breath (or maybe out loud -- it was close to midnight after all), marched back into the rental office and traded my bright blue bug for a Hyundai Elantra (see second entry above).

I think the bug is perhaps the most impractical car ever invented and I'd rather have a MINI.

Making Special K Proud

To say that Special K is a Pittsburgh Steelers fan is an understatement of the same magnitude as saying that Britney has “issues”. Seriously, Special K is not just a fan; he is, in effect, the president of a phenomenon known as Steeler Nation.

As a Canadian, I never developed an affinity with any NFL team (CFL all the way, baby!), but Special K and his brethren welcomed me with open arms and have essentially adopted me into the Nation. (But I’m only on a visa for now – you have to earn permanent residency.)

Steeler Nation visa in hand, I was even invited to Football Sundays at Pittsburgh Bobby’s house – a veritable shrine to all things Steeler. The walls of the TV room are yellow with black trim. The carpet is dark green, channeling Astroturf within an adorable little bungalow in North Hollywood. And practically every square inch of wall space is covered with myriad memorabilia, mostly of the Steelers, but also of the Pirates. (The first time I made the pilgrimage to Bobby’s house on a Sunday, I don’t think I even watched the game – I spent three hours soaking up all the details on the walls!)

And I knew I had made it to the inner circle and at least received an extension to my visa when a Ben Roethlisberger jersey mysteriously showed up at my apartment in NYC last year!

So, today, I was getting ready to board a plane (surprise, surprise) from San Diego to San Jose. As I approached the gate agent with my boarding pass in hand, I noticed that he was wearing a “Super Bowl XL” sweatshirt over his American Airlines uniform. Some of you will remember that Super Bowl XL was in Detroit in 2005 and the Steelers emerged victorious from a battle against the Seattle Seahawks.

As I handed the agent my boarding pass, I nodded at his sweatshirt and asked “Did you go to that Super Bowl?” A moment of confusion flitted across his face (I mean, c’mon, I don’t exactly look like a football fan) and he politely, if not a little dismissively, gave a half-smile and said “Yep, sure did”. I smiled back and said “Are you a Steelers fan?”, at which point his entire countenance positively transformed as his eyes brightened and his mouth widened into a broad smile.

“Oh YEAH I am!” came the enthusiastic reply.

I said “How about Randle El’s touchdown pass??” and reached up to high-five him as he swiped my boarding pass.

“Oh yeah! Raise it up! Raise it up! Steel Curtain, baby! Steel Curtain!” he called after me as I disappeared into the mouth of the jetway to board my flight.

I think this little exchange most certainly qualifies me for my Steeler greencard, if not my full citizenship.

Manhattan at 5:00 am

It's true that New York never sleeps, but the closest I've come to seeing the city in some form of near-slumber is at 5:00 am on a Wednesday morning. From the previous post, you know I was airport bound last Wednesday at this ridiculously early morning hour. As the towncar slipped (or rather, careened) through the still dark city streets, I enjoyed the feeling of having the city almost to myself for once (in between slammed brakes and wild lane changes).

It's not that I'd never been out in the city at this time of morning... A couple of times, I'd been sliding home from the previous night's festivities, but mostly, I would have been dragging my you-know-what out of bed before even the birds begin stirring so that I can catch one of those awful early morning flights. But last week, something made me actually pay attention.

Last Wednesday at 5:00 am, there were a few people out on the streets -- some of them were definitely straggling home after a Tuesday night of who knows what. But I did also see an uber-committed runner or two, already pounding the sidewalks, iPod's clipped to dry-fit shirts. We passed a group of three men having a conversation on the sidewalk and I wondered what they could possibly be gathered to discuss at that hour.

Manhattan was so peaceful and quiet, a welcome respite from the teeming activity that normally characterizes the city, even during the wee hours. It only took about 10 minutes to get out of the city with the biggest cross-town obstacles simply being a red light or two.

Hard to believe that in less than two hours, the streets would be jumping and thumping, the drone of traffic punctuated with honking horns, sirens and cussing drivers.

They All Look Alike

Once again this past week, I headed back to the west coast for about a week and a half of bouncing around California for work. I flew out on one of the first flights from JKF to San Francisco on Thursday morning and as usual, I booked a towncar for the drive to the aiport from the city. My pick-up time was 5:00 am and the car service called a few minutes before that to confirm that the driver would be on time.

Just before 5:00, I gathered my bags and headed downstairs to meet my driver. The doorman on duty looked up at me sympathetically as he glanced at his watch and saw me dragging a suitcase behind me yet again.

The towncar was right outside the door just as dispatch had promised and as soon as he saw me, the driver popped out, hoisted my suitcase into the trunk and held the door for me to climb into the backseat.

Once we were both settled in our seats, he looked up at me in the rearview mirror and said "Is Mr. Stewart not joining us this morning?"

I know it was 5:00 am and I was barely awake, but I was still pretty sure that I didn't even KNOW a Mr. Stewart, and I definitely had not made arrangements for any sort of pre-dawn shared airport ride with him.

As you could probably guess, this was not my car and in fact, it was not even my car service. My car was actually a block away because his dispatch gave him the wrong cross-street.

When I finally did track down the right car, I laughingly told the driver the story and said something about how all towncars look alike, but he didn't think it was that funny. I didn't think it was very funny that he drove like a freaking maniac all the way to the airport. I was definitely wide awake (due to the adrenaline alone) by the time we pulled up at the American Airlines terminal.

Weekend at Bernie's -- in Hell's Kitchen

This article appeared in the NY Times this week... this is pretty close to where I live:

Even for the once-notorious Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood, it may have been a first: Two men were arrested on Tuesday after pushing a corpse, seated in an office chair, along the sidewalk to a check-cashing store to cash the dead man’s Social Security check, the police said.

When Virgilio Cintron, 66, died at his apartment at 436 West 52nd Street recently, his roommate and a friend saw an opportunity to cash his $355 check, the police said.

They did not go about it the easy way, the police said, choosing a ruse that resembled the plot of “Weekend at Bernie’s,” a film about two young men who prop up their dead employer to pretend that he is alive.

“Hell’s Kitchen has a rich history,” said Paul J. Browne, a police spokesman, “but this is one for the books.”

There was no sign of foul play in Mr. Cintron’s death, he added.

The roommate, James P. O’Hare, and his friend, David J. Dalaia, both 65 and unemployed, placed Mr. Cintron’s body in the chair and wheeled it around the corner, south along Ninth Avenue on Tuesday afternoon, the police said. The men parked the chair with the corpse in front of Pay-O-Matic at 763 Ninth Avenue, a check-cashing business that Mr. Cintron had patronized.

They went inside to present the check, but a clerk said Mr. Cintron would have to cash it himself, and asked where he was, the police said.

“He is outside,” Mr. O’Hare said, indicating the body in the chair, according to Mr. Browne.
The two men started to bring the chair inside, but it was too late.

Their sidewalk procession had already attracted the stares of passers-by who were startled by the sight of the body flopping from side to side as the two men tried to prop it up, the police said. The late Mr. Cintron was dressed in a faded black T-shirt and blue-and-white sneakers. His pants were pulled up part of the way, and his midsection was covered by a jacket, the police said. While the two men were inside the check-cashing office, a small crowd had gathered around the chair. A detective, Travis Rapp, eating a late lunch at a nearby Empanada Mama saw the crowd and notified the Midtown North station house.

Police officers and an ambulance arrived as the two men were trying to maneuver the corpse and chair into the check-cashing office.

The two men were taken into custody and questioned. The police said they were considering charging them with check-cashing fraud.

Mr. Cintron’s body was taken to a hospital morgue. The medical examiner’s office said its preliminary assessment was that he had died of natural causes within the past 24 hours.

(For the story on the NYTimes.com site, click here.)

Giving Santa a Run for His Money

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I insist on continuing to tally up the number of miles I fly and how many nights I actually sleep in this crazy expensive apartment that I pay to keep each month? Because apparently I like to drive myself nuts. What's that old business saying? You can only improve what you measure? In my case, an "improvement" would actually be fewer trips.

December travels:

-- New York (9 days -- about half with Special K, yeah!)

-- San Diego (3 days)

-- Victoria, BC (3 days -- wonderful visit with G&G)

-- Santa Clara (2 days)

-- New York (36 hours)

-- Winter Park, Florida (3 days -- Dr. Pete and Robin's beautiful wedding)

-- Calgary (5 days -- blissful holidays with Mom & Dad, friends and Schnauzer puppies)

-- Orange County (4 days)

I made an average of about two plane trips per week and logged approximately another 15,000 miles in December. I think Santa may hire me next year for his North American run. I've got criss-crossing the continent down pat.

A Beautiful May Day -- in January???

I haven't heard what the high temperature actually was in New York today, but it was projected to be in the high 60's by the guys on the radio and Weather.com was actually showing a predicted high of 70. Wha?? Does Mother Nature know that it's theoretically still the middle of winter?

I flew back to NY this morning on a redeye from San Francisco and it was certainly pleasant not to need my heavy, wool winter coat (which, by the way, I have been dragging around with me all over the continent now for over two weeks and honestly didn't end up really needing it ANYWHERE, not even in Calgary at Christmas). I actually almost had to ask my driver to turn on the A/C for the drive into the city from JFK, but I refrained simply out of respect for the calendar date.

Just a Little Bit Country

After a short detour to Winter Park, Florida for a wedding on December 22, Special K and I headed up to Calgary to celebrate Christmas with the folks (and the Schnauzers!). This was only Special K’s second time to “Cowtown” and once again, he gained a bit more of a glimpse into the wide world of Shari… this may have been a window that should have remained a little bit more tightly closed.

Growing up, we always had a radio on in the kitchen and during my most formative years, it was always tuned to the station CFAC (can you believe I actually remember the call letters?) which broadcast classic country tunes from the likes of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams (both Sr. and Jr.), Boxcar Willie, Charley Pride, Patsy Cline and Tammy Wynette. It also tended to be the same station that both my parents’ vehicles’ radios were tuned to, so to say that I was bombarded with country would be an understatement.

Classic country still holds a special place in my heart even though my music tastes have expanded considerably since I was 8 years old (again, primarily dominated at that time by artists such as the ones listed above, the MiniPops and the Chipmunks). However, I never really did transfer my appreciation for classic country to its more contemporary cousin. In my pre-teen and teen years, I started listening to Top 40, pop, and rock and sort of eschewed the new neo-traditionalist country artists and tunes. (Save for the blip in college when I took two-step lessons and used to frequent the Ranchman’s country & western nightclub on a regular basis.)

On this trip back to the homeland, we discovered a pretty good country station on the radio of my mom’s minivan. I think Special K was more than a little amused to learn that I still knew many of the lyrics and could sing along to classics like Tom T. Hall’s “I Love (little baby ducks)”, Johnny Horton’s “Honky Tonk Man” (“hey, hey mama, can your daddy come home?”) and David Frizzell’s “I’m Going To Hire a Wino to Decorate Our Home”. (The lyrics on that one kind of speak for themselves.)

The main lesson learned? You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl!

Happy New Year!

Wow, 2008. 2008!!

I hope everyone had a safe and fun New Year's! Special K and I have been roaming around the continent over the holidays, but we are now enjoying some much-needed downtime in Southern California.

Holiday updates to come soon!