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!