It's a big, weird world

I am the 90 percent

2012-02-14T19:01:00.004-06:00

We had our second home-cooked lunch fundraiser at work today and we raised $404 for our NYC half-marathon efforts. It felt wonderful to feed everyone some delicious food and take home $101 to bank for the cause.

You might recall that our first fundraiser was on Australia Day. That time around I learned just how much cooked rice you get when you empty a 5lb bag into every saucepan in your apartment. Shudder.

This time, I got my Martha Stewart on and made pulled pork in wholemeal wraps with a zingy coleslaw. I actually cheated and used packet coleslaw mix, but the dressing was all mine and I was pleased with the result. It's always a gamble trying out a new recipe but I thought it went down well (it must have - I didn't have any left). The other main course on the menu was a hearty and delicious tofu & eggplant Thai green curry which proved really popular. Then the workplace was divided between our two dessert camps - it was either sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce & whipped cream, or individual tiramisu. I mean, seriously! Could you go wrong with today's lunch?

After pocketing today's takings, plus some allegedly late donations from a couple of generous work colleagues, I've now met 90% of my fundraising goal. Can you believe it?

My knee is also feeling better, thanks to regular physio manipulations and Pilates at-home DVDs. And P.S, if you haven't ever done a Ana Caban Pilates DVD, you really should - she is excellent. The intermediate mat routine has some tricky bits in it, but close the curtains so the neighbours can't see, and nobody needs to know but you.

Oh but it gets better - I have even geeked out and I'm faithfully doing my knee stretches twice a day. What a nerd, right?

A little over a month to go until D-Day. Let's see how long this positivity can last.

People Call Me Forrest Gump

2012-02-05T10:00:00.002-06:00

STOP PRESS - FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Knee injury does little to stop rookie athlete completing her first race!

I tried to get back into training this week but I've been a little sidelined by a nagging knee injury. I have started seeing a physical therapist who is great, and he has put me on an exercise regime to turn the "al dente" muscles behind my knee into the "well-cooked spaghetti" they are supposed to be. Ice packs have also helped - not only to soothe my swollen knee - but also to make me feel like an elite athlete.

Something else that helped me feel like a pro was the 4-mile Gridiron Classic held in Central Park today. I had signed up weeks ago, before my knee was playing up, so this past week has been about psyching myself up to the physical challenge. This was set to be my first race ever, so I wanted to make a good impression, but I also didn't want to kill my knee and set myself back even further, fitness-wise.

I took my physical therapist's advice and waited to see how I would feel this morning. Oddly enough when the alarm went off at 7.15am, I was ready to get up and face the day. My knee was a bit cold and tender, but not as bad as it has been. So I went through the motions of getting myself ready for race day, including a healthy breakfast feast. For good measure, I put on make-up. It felt weird to be doing that, but I thought some effort ought to be made. I left the jewelry at home.

It wasn't that I was running late, but I didn't want to take any chances with public transport this morning. The cab broke the land-speed record and got me to Central Park in record time. Leaving my bag at the designated area, I found my Team in Training crew. My mentor happened to be there (I wasn't expecting to see her), but she gave me a quick pep talk and the same reminder that I had had from the therapist about not pushing myself too hard this time around.

The crowd was a real mixed bag today - young kids, all the way up to old people. And being Super Bowl Sunday, lots of runners wore their team colours (good to see a heap of NY Giants garb). Not having any football attire of my own, I opted for a gym outfit and a Nike top in a lovely purple-pink colour that matched my race bib. Of course.

Before long we were off and racing. I was wearing my interval timer Gymboss device, so I could time myself to run for 2 minutes and walk for 1 minute. I wanted to see whether pacing myself like that would give me enough energy in my tanks to finish the race and not feel dead afterwards. I also had my own water bottle, so I wouldn't have to stop at the fluid stations along the course.

My race ended up being ruled by beeps. When my timer beeped I ran, when it beeped again I walked, and when it beeped a third time I started running again. And so it was for the full four miles. Supporters were lining the race route and clanging cowbells or just applauding - cheering us all on and reminding us that we were doing great. I saw one guy a couple of times, who was telling us that we were all amazing, and running so much better than everyone who was still in bed. Was that even a compliment?

In the end I finished the 4 miles in 45 minutes 57 seconds, which works out to 11.5 minutes per mile. I know that's not great and it's certainly not fast, but it was good for me and it's a place to start.

I've got a little over a month to whip my knee - and the rest of me - into shape for the NYC half-marathon. But having experienced a race day now, I know what I can expect and in a perverse way I'm actually looking forward to it.

Coffee, with a beer chaser

2012-02-01T16:35:00.002-06:00

I think night times are shorter in Boston or something, because I swear that Saturday morning came around faster than normal. But at least the rain had abated and the sun was shining, so we had that going for us. Plus we were still on holidays, and you know how I feel about that.

Emerging from the hotel and out into society, me and J-Train headed to Fanueil Hall and wound our way around the food stalls and trinket stands in Quincy Market. At this point in the day I was only being sustained by one in-room coffee pod and let me tell you that was nowhere near sufficient. Decaffeinated as we were, we both ordered a Starbucks coffee and immediately regretted it. Sometimes they are drinkable, sometimes they are just not - and you never know until that first, fateful sip. Sad faces all round.

Getting past our coffee craving, I suggested to J-Train that we be a bit rebellious and take the train out to Stony Brook, to tour the Samuel Adams Brewery. I mean, why not - right? And so after a bit of train route wrangling, we were on our way.

The Samuel Adams Brewery is located in the quiet but suburban area of Stony Brook, an easy 15 minute train ride from central Boston. When we came out of the station, I had a momentary panic that we wouldn’t be able to find the brewery. But it turned out we were blessed on two fronts – on the one hand, we had a crowd of young beer-drinkers to follow; and secondly, the street signs clearly marked where we needed to go.

Arriving a little before 1pm, we managed to squeeze ourselves into the free tour at 1.40pm. While we waited we just sat outside in the fresh air and watched a steady stream of people come and go. When we finally got inside, the one-hour tour went surprisingly quickly. Our tour guide (Meghan) was an enthusiastic Samuel Adams employee – and probably customer too. She knew her stuff and did a good job of imparting her knowledge about how Samuel Adams combines barley, hops, yeast and water to produce the best beers in Boston. I felt a bit sorry for Meghan really because all of us knew that part of our tour included a free tasting, and people were obviously pumped for it. As we moved around the brewery, we learned about the mixing machines and hoses and donating leftover slop to nearby dairies for cattle feed. Poor Meghan was only able to capture the attention of about half our group – the rest were way too distracted by the promise of freebies. And when we finally got into the tasting room, Meghan really had no hope at all. And yet she was a real trooper cause she didn’t give up. Meghan ended up shouting her instructions about the tasting notes for each of the three beers we tried. Whenever she could, she did make some snide remarks about the yahoos in the room (none of whom were listening, because they were too busy chugging their tastings and having belching competitions).

We opted out of the free trolley service to nearby Doyle's cafe/pub, where we could have picked up a free “perfect pint” glass (created especially for the brewery by Boston-based scientists). We were eager to get back to the city because we had free tickets to a Motorcycle Expo (with bikers, their chicks and all the trimmings).

Yep, you heard me. More to come.

Croissants, Crabs and Celtics

2012-01-31T13:30:00.003-06:00

Friday morning in Boston was a rainy affair, and sadly the weather did not improve much as the day wore on. But we were not about to let the weather dampen our spirits cause we were on holidays, man – and it felt gooood.

Despite the strong, in-room pod coffee that I had pretty much needed just to open my eyes, I needed a hefty (and larger) Au Bon Pain coffee and croissant to propel me forwards. So it was that I discovered this lovely chain store sells raspberry and cream cheese croissants. Don’t screw your nose up like that – you would love them! But if not, then I would eat it for you and all would be well. I give and I give.

Having purchased my breakfast, I waited outside for J-Train and I was immediately set-upon by a swarm of sparrows. This was not a regular flock either – this was a swarm. Similar to the seagulls back home, these birds had my croissant in their sights, and they were not afraid of me at all. As I lifted the croissant to my mouth to take a bite, several of the brave sparrows flew right up to my face, equally keen for a bite of pastry. It was astonishing! Never have I known sparrows to be quite so forward. Being the Catholic ornithologist that I am though, I started to hand-feed the sparrows, much to the delight of a creepy taxi driver parked nearby who kept shouting encouragement to me. Or perhaps he was cheering on the birds. Who could tell? J-Train took some photos of my awesome bird whispering, and then we decided to move on before all my breakfast disappeared.

For the next little while we rode around on the hop-on/hop-off tourist trolley car – the only tourists doing so on that drizzly morning. We drove past the Cheers bar (well, the one used for the exterior shots on the TV show anyway) and looking ahead at the map I realised we were headed straight for the famous and fabulous Fenway Park, where guided tours are conducted at the top of the hour. Even in the rainy conditions, J-Train indulged me and around we went. Having lived so close to Wrigley Field in Chicago, I really got into the baseball – not the rules of course (I still have no idea), but I love the atmosphere and the tradition of it all. And Fenway Park, home to the Boston Red Sox, has all those things in spades. The ballpark may be turning 100 years old this year, but the place has still got "it". In the ubiquitous souvenir shop after the tour, I wanted to buy a hoodie or a pair of red socks or something, but I felt like I would be cheating on the Chicago Cubs. So I walked away empty-handed. How weird is that?

Leaving Fenway Park I dragged J-Train around the trolley tour route to the Seaport District, and in particular for a lunch at The Barking Crab. I’d been here before – in fact, I tried my first bowl of clam chowder here a few years ago, and the restaurant had made such a good impression. It’s on the water, it’s relaxed, and it’s got great seafood. What’s not to like? After an appetiser of clam chowder and a main course (a 1.5lb bowl of Alaskan crab legs), J-Train seemed as pleased as I was with the lunch destination. My lobster roll and fries hit the spot for sure. We rolled ourselves out of there and met up with our trolley driver, who agreed to drop us off at our hotel even though it wasn’t on the trolley route.

Somewhere along the way, the driver got confused and dropped us off at someone else’s hotel instead (the allegedly haunted Omni Parker House, where the Boston cream pie was apparently created). But this little detour wasn’t a bad thing. I was grateful in fact, cause normally it’s me that gets geographically challenged but for once, I actually knew where we were (conceptually at least)! J-Train took over the map and directed us back to our hotel, through the gorgeous Boston Common (created in 1634 and therefore the oldest park in the US) and the Boston Public Garden across the street. We were set upon by more wildlife – this time it was squirrels, but these ones were actually very cute and curiously interactive, and not the scampering vermin I’m used to seeing.

Back at the hotel we crashed for a bit but then had to spring into action to take the Metro out to the TD Garden, Boston’s big sports stadium (basketball, hockey, and um...other athletic pursuits). We could have taken a taxi there of course, but the Metro line for the stadium was right by our Hotel, so it was almost too easy. In much the same way as New York’s subways require you to know whether you want to go Uptown or Downtown, to be successful in Boston you need to know whether you’re going Inbound or Outbound. Your subway line number or colour helps too. Once we worked all that out though, we knew where to catch the train and where to get off. And the tickets were only $2 each way. So easy!

On Friday night the Boston Celtics (yay!) were playing the Indiana Pacers (boo!) and from our nosebleed seats way up in the back, we had a fantastic view of the court and could appreciate the sea of green all around us. I love watching the NBA basketball live – again, it’s not about the rules (what are they again?). For me, it’s still about the atmosphere and the tradition. When the jumbo-tron tells you to cheer, you cheer. And when the music starts, you chant “De-fence! De-fence!”. Resistance is futile, chums. Naturally I wore a green cardigan to show my support for the team, but I just couldn’t bring myself to invest in official Celtics merchandise. What would the Chicago Bulls say?!

In any case, a victory for the home side left everyone – including us – in a great mood and we capped the night off back at our hotel with a greasy room service hamburger and fries. A great start to the holiday, and to our weekend away.

Where I've Bean

2012-01-30T16:01:00.002-06:00

When you have a glass of wine on a Wednesday night before meeting your cousin to see “Avenue Q”, and then you drink two beers during the performance, and you don’t eat dinner until 11pm, it’s a wonder you can pack anything sensible at all for a long weekend to Boston. And yet, that’s exactly what I somehow managed to do.

Not only that, I got up in time – and in pretty decent shape – to go into work on Thursday morning. Along with my fellow half-marathon runners (Flock, Flora and KP), we had scheduled an Australia Day home-cooked lunch for our work colleagues. For $10, they could buy their choice of a main course and a dessert and 100% of the proceeds would be shared between towards our respective fundraising efforts. Our menu was beef chilli and rice (from me), spanakopita and salad (KP), chocolate mousse (Flock) and ANZAC ice-cream cookie sandwiches (Flora). I could have stuffed my face with every single one of those dishes, so I appreciate the tough choice my workmates had. Still, we raised a lot of money for our fundraising cause that day, and enthusiasm seems to be building for a reprise in a few weeks. Excellent! All that said of course, I’m still a way off from my fundraising target, so if you can help out, I would really appreciate it. Either click here to go straight to my page, or you’ll see a big fundraiser link on the right hand side of my blog’s main page. Click wherever – you won’t be sorry.

So thanks to the Australia Day lunch and some admin stuff afterwards, I had a pretty full-on day on Thursday. But then J-Train came to meet me at my office for our trip out to Newark Airport. I had taking the more cost-effective option on Jet Blue airways and booked us cheap flights to Boston from New Jersey. Not a nightmare really, but it’s just not the closest airport to me. Getting out to Newark Airport from Manhattan after lunch time on any workday (by car) is an exercise in the ridiculous; it felt like we were driving forever. The train would have been more direct of course, but that was too much to think about when I was masterminding this east coast adventure. And once we (ultimately) got out to Newark and cleared airport security, we had enough time for a burrito dinner and a brief relax before we were boarding. In less time than it takes to watch two “30 Rock” episodes, we had arrived in Boston, got in a cab, and zoomed over to the Boston Park Plaza Hotel.

As glitzy and glamorous as the 1920s-era property might be, and as well-appointed as it definitely is, the Boston Park Plaza Hotel nevertheless has the tiniest, most impractical bathrooms you’ll ever see; so short on space, and definitely designed by someone who valued function over form. Not so the rest of the room, thank goodness. The room itself was large and the beds were really comfortable. The coffee pod machine mixed some really strong morning beverages too (so much that I didn’t even mind the powdered non-dairy creamer I had to mix through it). Gods be praised! From our lofty 12th floor room, we had a fantastic view of (and into) the rooms opposite us. Unsettling perhaps; but still much better than a brick wall or car park view, that’s for sure. Phew! Sleep sure came quickly on Thursday night.

It takes a lot of guts

2012-01-24T07:20:00.003-06:00

On paper, last night's tourism plans seemed like a really sensible idea. For the first day of the Chinese New Year, the weather had turned bad on us, and standing on a street corner in the rain to watch a parade (however colourful and 'firework-y') didn't sound fun anymore. So we - or, more accurately, I - changed it up a bit.

We took the #6 train to Astor Place. Given its name, I always expect that this station is going to be fancier than it is. When you get up to street level at Astor Place, you're met with the smell of grilled meat (never a bad thing), and the neon craziness of falafel joints, gyros bars and tiny restaurant after tiny restaurant. And last night in the relative dark of 6pm New York, we were confronted with umbrellas, puddles, and street signs that seemed to go nowhere. So of course we took a wrong turn. I own up to this now because it was the one and only wrong turn we took last night. And for that, I believe we ought to be commended.

Reorienting ourselves, we ended up at Destination #1 - McSorley's Old Ale House. Established in 1854, McSorley's is the oldest still-operating saloon in New York City. It has swinging wooden doors, sawdust on the floor, and the craziest ragtag clientele you'll ever see. But I love me a place with history, and when we arrived the 'bouncer/host' found us a couple of chairs towards the front of the bar. The waiter came over and in his gruff tone asked, "We've only got two beers - light and dark. Which one would you like?". Like deer in headlights, we simply replied, "light". And so it was. We each got two small steins of cool, light beer and mmmm it was tasty. Really refreshing and just the tonic for a cold, dreary night. As Arnie said, "I'll be back".

But the Magical Mystery Tour did not end there. Destination #2 was a few blocks away, The Tuck Shop at the corner of 1st Ave & 1st Street. A couple of lamingtons and a James Boags beer? Um, yes please! Talk about an early Australia Day celebration.

Having hidden out there for a wee while, we headed to our third and final destination of the evening and perhaps the piece de resistance of J-Train's holiday. Katz's Deli is now one of my favourite spots in the whole City. It's been around since 1888 and I don't think you stay in business here that long unless you've got something special. Given the lessons I learned last time I was here, I restrained myself somewhat and just had the chicken soup and 1/2 pastrami on rye and baby, that was plenty! You almost had to roll me out of there. J-Train was truly prodigious, and managed to stuff in an whole pastrami on rye, and then a 1/2 corned beef on rye disappeared too. Is he bottomless? We also took home a bowl of matzo ball soup for later. Delish! As we rode the bus home, both of us succumbed to a scary food coma - vacant stares, the whole bit.

While we may not have seen any firecrackers or eaten any fortune cookies, I reckon our Year of the Dragon got off to a pretty great start!

Brunch, Boxers and Baubles

2012-01-22T22:00:00.004-06:00

I am so glad that J-Train keeps letting me drag him from one end of New York City to the other; I have had a wonderful time on his holiday!

Today we slept in, which was great, and I got to put my new snowboots on for an outdoor excursion to the crazy - but amazing - BB King's Blues Club & Grill, in Times Square. I know, I know, Times Square is usually the last place I voluntarily go. But what was I going to do? I wanted my chicken fried, my greens collard, and my mac cheesed. And I wanted my Sunday brunch served up with THE most amazing gospel music, courtesy of the Harlem Gospel Choir. Wrap your lobes around this for five minutes, if you please:

If you can keep still during that clip, you have no soul.

Even though we arrived right on time for the show, most of the seats were already taken up, but a lovely waitress seated the two of us in a booth ("normally reserved for 6 people", scolded the other [evil] waitress). We had the best seats in the house! I did my typical theatre-going thing, where I perch myself right on the edge of my seat. I couldn't help it - I was loving it! The energy - the applause - the music. It was amazing! And I enjoyed it all with my coffee, mac & cheese, bacon, and chicken (baked, not fried, but coated in the most amazing sauce mmm-mmm). I dragged J-Train to his feet a few times and made him clap along with the choir, but we both did a pretty terrible job of clapping off the beat.

The dragging theme continued after brunch, where I led J-Train to Jimmy's Corner, a bar recommended to me by my friend, Skilley. If I couldn't take J-Train to the boxing on Staten Island, I'd give him boxing in Manhattan. And for a bar that is normally packed with people, today it was like a ghost town. I put $5 in the jukebox and got to pick 15 songs to scare the crap out of the tiny crowd. I couldn't do too much damage though - the machine is full of Elvis, Beatles, BB King, The Platters - so much old school I almost cried. J-Train amused himself looking at all the boxing memorabilia and photos around the walls, courtesy of the owner (former boxer and now trainer, Jimmy Glenn).

Post-beers, we walked to the store that puts things in those little blue boxes (for a bit of a look-around at shiny and sparkly things), and then onto the store that packs things in those brown bags of all sizes. The skies got darker, the wind got colder, and we got psyched about some couch time at home.

Ordering some take-away, we kicked back and watched the NY Giants book a spot in the Superbowl on February 5. They beat the San Francisco 49ers and no, I had no idea what was going on during the game. Maybe this is my year to finally learn the rules. But hey, I loved the energy of the game, and the nail-biting overtime that ended in the win for the Giants. And some of the players were very cute. Who knew?!

The Sky Is Falling

2012-01-22T09:09:00.003-06:00

I could scarcely believe it when I threw open the living room curtains on Saturday morning, and New York was (finally) a snowy, winter wonderland. I knew the snow was coming, of course, but nothing quite prepares you for the stark change in the landscape.

Sure it was 7.30am, but the streets were uncharacteristically quiet and coated in a white layer of frosting that was growing thicker by the minute. Yesterday was the first time that J-Train had actually seen snow and so while he's not predisposed to vocal outpourings of emotion, I got the sense that he was pretty keen to get out amongst it.

And so we did exactly that. We got ourselves together into our running training gear, and set off for Central Park. Leaving my hot-house apartment, the freezing air of my building's lobby was a brief shock. But that was nothing compared to the relentless snow that fell on us the minute we stepped outside. Snowflakes here and there are just fine - pretty, even - but when they fall non-stop, and occasionally blow sideways into your eyes, it can be a bit crazy.

So I squinted down 1st Ave to see if any cabs were coming, and nearly got bowled over by one as it slushed to a stop infront of us. Piling in, I blabbed to the driver about why we were out and about so early. He howled with laughter about our Central Park training run and didn't hesitate to tell us how crazy we were, but then I played the "we're raising money for cancer research" card, and he was proud of us. But still laughing.

NY cabs drive like crazy people in all weather conditions, so we were at Central Park before we knew it. I'm not sure what J-Train thought, but I was quite enjoying the warmth of the taxi and didn't really fancy being outdoors in all that cold whiteness. But we did it - we got out, we started walking, and it was actually quite okay.

Despite the weather conditions, Central Park was busy yesterday morning with the New York Road Runners Manhattan Half-Marathon. We got word that for safety reasons, the Central Park people had closed the top part of the race route, way up in the north of the Park (where we were also supposed to be training), so we had to restrict ourselves to jogging circuits of the 1.7-mile lower loops. Me and J-Train rugged up, left our bags at the supervised spot, and set off to run-walk a couple of loops. I even used my new interval timer device to track our progress. One of the coaches programmed it for me - I have yet to read the instruction booklet.

We had to dodge a couple of runners to get to our starting spot, but we got started. It's weird but running on the snow is a lot like running on wet sand at the beach - it has that sort of consistency, and it is about as hard on your legs. You don't get very good traction at all (sneaker treads being what they are) so it was pretty slow going out there. And it was slippery too, so you had to be doubly careful. Our coaches are always telling us that we never know what the weather will be like for our race, so it's a good idea to run in every condition that you can, snow included.

And not just because of the weather, I got a good taste of what it will be like on race day too. There were heaps of volunteers and a handful of hardy spectators to cheer us on as we shuffled around the track. Bells ringing, wolf-whistling, motivational cheers and congratulations just kept us moving and congratulated us for what we were doing. I couldn't help but think that these guys were just as admirable - coming out to the Park on a freezing Saturday morning just to be encouraging. That is quite an achievement too!

My training didn't last very long. My left knee gave up again (why is it doing that?!) and then I got a very painful stitch right under my ribs, and it hurt to breathe for a long time. We ended up running/walking/shuffling for 4 miles (or about 6km) yesterday, which is no mean feat really. But still, I gave myself a hard time for being a sissy for much of the morning, until we got to Brooklyn Diner, that is. Up by Carnegie Hall, we called in there to defrost after training and all I could think about was a breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs, and warm and sweet challah toast on the side. Freshly squeezed orange juice and strong diner coffee helped us feel much more human, as we watched the sky fall outside.

Steak and Sing-A-Longs

2012-01-21T13:31:00.002-06:00

Friday was a bitterly cold day, so I was quite grateful to have no meetings outside. I was snug as a bug in my office, and even working on administrative tasks didn't seem so bad, as long as I could avoid being outdoors in the frigid winds.

J-Train wasn't so lucky though. He spent the day shopping, exploring, and then shopping some more. But right on time, we met at 6pm in the foyer of my building to walk home together and chat about our days, teeth chattering all the way.

We didn't hang out at home too long last night because I had made dinner reservations for us at Michael Jordan's Steakhouse (yes, THAT Michael Jordan). Our table overlooked the gorgeous main concourse at Grand Central Station, so the view was amazing. But the food was great too cause we had the three-course NY Restaurant Week menu ($35 per head). Tomato bisque with cheesy croutons, prime aged filet steak, potato gratin, baby carrots and then sticky date pudding and carrot cake for dessert. A bargain no doubt, but still way too much food - even for piggies like us.

After dinner, we waddled onto the cross-town bus into Hell's Kitchen to meet K&P at the truly dive bar, Tobacco Road for a 10pm show of Dueling Pianos. The two guys playing all the hits (Brad and Mark) were fantastic - so talented and their low-brow humour was just the tonic we needed to ease us - and the rest of the crazy crowd - into our weekend. The cheap American beer helped for sure. I requested a couple of terrible songs, but my primary objective was to simply embarrass J-Train by singing at the top of my lungs. I think he was just grateful that his Jack Daniels and Cokes were strong and plentiful. Yay, mission accomplished!

At 2am the show finished and we threw ourselves out of the pub and into the cold. We bundled up and marched straight into Papaya Dog for a much-needed hotdog. The odds-and-ends of animals slathered in ketchup, mustard and relish have never tasted so good, trust me. Yikes!

Rolling with the Punches

2012-01-21T12:36:00.003-06:00

With the exception of Wednesday, I've been working while J-Train has been in New York so I can't really comment on the things he's seen and done while I've been at the office. But this past week I've been doing my best to fill our evenings with catch-up time.

Thursday night we had plans to go out to Staten Island to see a championship boxing match. When I read that last sentence back to myself, it doesn't seem half as ridiculous as it did when I first bought the tickets. First of all, I know nothing about boxing (but J-Train does). I'd never been to Staten Island, nor even on the ferry to get there. Everything about Thursday's nights plan promised new and exciting adventures for both of us.

So when we met at my office at 5.30pm that day, we were pumped to get on the subway, catch the ferry, and watch two men pummel the crap out of each other. But what do they say about best laid plans?

We got on the subway at Grand Central and the trip quickly turned sour. The train kept stop-starting and we managed to translate a garbled announcement from the conductor about delays all the way along our line into Brooklyn, due to a "passenger accident". Our train limped into stations and the delays between the stops dragged out longer and longer. Finally we got down to about Astor Place, still 5 or so stops from where we needed to be, and then we just stopped. Passengers around us started to get really antsy, irritated that a "passenger accident" (most likely code for a suicide) was making us all late. Nice, huh?

At Canal Street, our subway idled at the station and shows no signs of going any further. So J-Train and I made the decision to head up to street level and find a cab to take us to the Ferry. A good plan perhaps, but not when you're trying to do it in peak hour traffic, at the change-over time for the afternoon & evening taxi shifts. There was not a cab to be found. In New York City! Can you even believe it?

Time dragged on and it became very clear that we were never going to make it to Staten Island in time for the boxing. And with no guarantee how long the match was likely to go for anyway, we didn't think there was much point trekking all the way out there late. We agreed to abandon the boxing and all of a sudden found ourselves plan-less.

But New York wasn't about to beat us yet. We left frenetic Canal Street and Chinatown behind and walked into Little Italy, to stuff in the original NYC pizza at Lombardi's, where I've only been once before. Margherita pizza with pepperoni on top, some breadsticks dunked in tomato spaghetti sauce, and we were in heaven. Hopping onto the Number 6 subway uptown, we succumbed to our post-pizza food comas at the movies, taking in Marky Mark (sans Funky Bunch) in Contraband. It was good, but our lives were not changed dramatically.

J-Train's so easygoing and didn't seem to mind me dragging him from one end of the city to the other. And if he was bummed about missing the boxing, you'd never know it. Now that's the kind of house-guest you want!

Just Cuz

2012-01-20T12:37:00.003-06:00

So it’s Friday lunch time and I’ve finally turned my attention to writing this. I had mentally written it yesterday, but what good is a mentally-written blog post? Hopeless. Granted this one is a bit overdue but for reasons that shall soon become very clear, writing time has been in short supply this week. I'm sure you will forgive me.

On Tuesday night, I welcomed my cousin (J-Train) to New York. This is his first overseas holiday and I’m so thrilled that he chose to visit me here. And if you thought that playing tour guide for my parents over Christmas & New Year exhausted all the sights and sounds of New York, think again. J-Train and me have been carving it up all over town and it has been great.

After a home-cooked meal on Tuesday night (home-cooked by yours truly, do you mind), J-Train slept well and awoke to a snow-less but sunny Wednesday that was full of promise. I had the day off too, but I got up early and rather ill-advisedly, I went to the gym. I was on the treadmill for less than 3 minutes before I had to accept that my left knee was not going to be cooperative that day, so I gave up (cursing my stupid old lady leg the whole way).

I remember we started slowly on Tuesday, in no rush to be anywhere in particular before lunch. We walked up my street to the Empire State Building, and engaged in some hardcore haggling with the tour bus operators, before J-Train finally settled on the three-day, hop-on/hop-off bus ticket he wanted to buy. Ticket safely stowed away for Thursday, we rounded the corner onto Broadway and wandered downtown.

I am a bit mean actually because the section of Broadway around 34th Street is admittedly a bit of a dump. It’s busy, to be sure, but it’s nowhere near as flashy as further uptown towards Times Square, where everything gets a little nuts. But there are shops, and J-Train is all about the shops. Problem is, the shops along this stretch of Broadway seem to sell alternately cell phone batteries, costume jewellery and crappy luggage - and that’s pretty much it. But do you think J-Train minded? Hell no! He was just soaking it all up. Seedy or classy, he’s already keen to move here!

Soon enough, Broadway smartens up again and so before we knew it, we had The Flatiron Building in sight and we crossed onto Fifth Avenue into Eataly. We all know what a love affair I have with this place, and it’s a must-see destination as far as I’m concerned. We had a delicious coffee and a bit of a look-see downstairs, before heading up to the rooftop for a spot of early lunch. Our choices were simple – a couple of local brews and some sandwiches, but the combination of the fare and the hot-house conditions up there and were in heaven. I really think we could have just sat there all day.

But time waits for no-one and before long we wandered up the street so J-Train could take his first New York subway ride. He didn’t get mugged, or see a rat, or anything stereotypical like that, but we DID make it to our destination (Rockefeller Center station), so I was particularly proud of us for that.

I must have been filling with confidence at this point, because in my smugness I took a typical wrong turn coming out of the station. Nuts. It didn’t matter though because the universe then did me a solid. The wrong turn actually led us to the perfect side of Rockefeller Center. J-Train got a great view of the ice-skating rink (no skaters, but a very groovy zamboni in action). And our little sight-see side-trip let me orient myself properly, so we could keep moving - in the right direction this time.

Around past Radio City Music Hall, we headed west towards the studios of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I cannot tell you how excited I was to be going to a taping of this show. My crush on Jon Stewart is no secret, but it’s not easy to get tickets to his show – they are released so rarely. Back in early October they released tickets for three days in January, so I got online and snagged them (with the help of Lex all the way over in Chicago, whose office computer connection is way faster than mine). So yes, I’d had these Daily Show tickets for a while and finally the day had come when we could use them.

In the frigid conditions between the office buildings, when the wind chill was truly terrible, J-Train valiantly trudged along with me, never once complaining that he was cold. I could tell of course, but he would never admit it. But like all new visitors to NY, it takes a day or two to work out how you’re supposed to dress. Just cause it’s sunny, doesn’t mean it’s warm. In fact, the clearest winter days are usually the coldest – there’s no clouds to trap whatever warm air might be around. So yes, the cold weather came in fiercely the further west we walked, and the nearer to the Hudson River that we got.

When we lined up, we met my friend C-Hun, who wrapped the first series of his web-based show “Fat Guy” late in 2011. Season 2 is in the works, and will no doubt be great.

We waited in line, got our ticket numbers, and were then instructed to come back about 90 minutes later to line up AGAIN (in our ticket order), so we could go into the studio.
To kill time we wandered over to VNYL in Hell's Kitchen, which C-Hun couldn’t believe I’d never been to, and when we got inside I could see why. Click on the link back there and you'll see what I mean. It's got "me" written all over it. Mosaic tiled tables (some of them mirrored), fabulous steel-topped bar with funky cocktails, gorgeous vinyl records incorporated into the décor, and (perhaps best of all) BARBIE action figures of recording stars. A Dolly Parton action figure, anyone? Uh, yes please! It was so fun. And when you’re in a fabulous place like that, what better to enjoy that a delicious cocktail and an Elvis tribute sandwich – gooey and melty peanut butter, tempura bananas, and Billionaire Bacon. OH LORD. I don’t even know why they call it Billionaire Bacon – and who cares, really. It's bacon, and it's amazing. The whole sandwich was so delicious, but I’m pretty sure it held my heart in a vice-like grip for a while afterwards.

Back at the studio we filed in for the taping and before long, Jon Stewart came out to chat with the audience (a little over 200 of us I think). He could have stood up there and read the phone book and I would have been transfixed, so I’m afraid I can’t really give you an objective review of his show. Special guest was a New York Times columnist and author, and they talked about Mitt Romney being a lunatic and how private equity firms work to rip us all off. It was quite riveting and I was in serious danger of actually learning something. So I chose to stare at Jon Stewart instead. The man’s brain is incredible. Sigh. Don't judge - everyone has their thing.

Anyway around 7.30pm or so, the taping ended and we wandered in the direction of the train home, stopping first at a phone store to buy J-Train a top-up card. The junior sales “man” (and I use that term loosely) asked me if J-Train was my son. Um, now between you and me I am only 13 years older than J-Train. Okay so I guess biologically I could be his mother but more to the point - who the hell asks someone that? A customer, no less!? I nearly died. I couldn’t look at the guy - lest I grab his face and smash it. C-Hun wanted to wait outside, while J-Train just wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. But we did none of those things. I simply ignored the guy (he was dead to me anyway), walked up to the female sales associate (who was wearing a giant grin at this point), and I quietly paid for J-Train’s phone card, and we left.

We found beer pretty quickly after that though. It was good.

Parting ways with C-Hun, I hailed a cab so J-Train and I could have dinner at Baby Bo’s Cantina, around the corner from my apartment. Despite all the junk we’d eaten and drunk that day, somehow we found room for baby burritos. Because really, isn’t there always room for baby burritos?

When The Blob met The Unabomber

2012-01-15T11:13:00.002-06:00

Reading over my previous post, I approached this weekend with a resolution not to be such a pansy-ass about my NYC Half-Marathon training. Instead, I decided to do the miles I was supposed to do, and just not complain about it. And do you know what? That's exactly what I did.

And the weekend weather being what it was, my fleecy-lined running tights got some outdoor time this weekend. Still confronting to shoe-horn my thighs into them, but they are very comfortable and were hugely useful to fend off the frosty New York air.

Saturday we had our group training session and we had to get into pacing groups. I still don't really know how long it takes me to run a mile but I took the conservative option of joining the slowest group in the pack - not just because it seemed do-able, but also because I didn't want to make my knee any more sore than it has been. The group I joined was actually a combination walk/run group, and our plan was to shuffle through intervals of 2 minutes running, 1 minute walking. We motored along at a slow but constant pace and while I'm still not good at having a conversation while I run, I got through the rostered 6 miles without even realising it! And I could talk - and more importantly move - after our training and in spite of the frigid conditions, I was feeling pretty proud of myself.

Today (Sunday morning), the weather was sooo much worse. We're only looking at a maximum of -3 Celcius today, so obviously the morning start was pretty brutal. When I left the house, it was only -7 degrees. Yikes! And we also didn't have the luxury of someone to watch our bags this morning, so I had to dress for that. I had to wear something warm enough to go out in, but not too warm that I would overheat as I ran. Decisions, decisions. So I adopted a Unabomber-type costume of my running tights, singlet, long-sleeved hooded running top and a weather-proof jacket on top. Plus sunglasses and earrings (a bit of overkill perhaps, but if I can't wear make-up, I have to do something extra - right?). I met Flora & K-Train at 10am at our usual Central Park training location and off we went, along the 4 mile course of the upcoming Gridiron Classic. I'm registered to do that race and I wanted to have a bit of a rehearsal before race day. Fortunately for me the girls agreed to keep me company. I also gave the girls the heads-up that I'm not exactly the fastest (or most chatty) runner, and I was honestly happy to let them run on ahead and I'd catch up later. But whether they slowed down for me, or whether I just did better than anticipated, I actually kept up with them and ran the whole 4 miles! I honestly still can't believe it.

So sure, it was a combination of run-walking this weekend but I still clocked up 10 miles and I feel really good about it. Running outside instead of on the treadmill really does make the world of difference. Plus running with other people helps a lot too - even if you don't talk to them.

Knee-ding to focus

2012-01-13T08:24:00.002-06:00

I got back into training for the half-marathon this week and despite missing our big training on Tuesday night (theatre tickets), I stuck to the fitness schedule very well. I did my Pilates for strength training and I ran some miles on the treadmill (not as many or as well as I would have liked, but “time on my feet” is more important apparently).

Today we're on a rest day, and I'm left alone with my thoughts - always a dangerous prospect.

After a week of good intentions it saddens me to realise that my body is rebelling against me. Today for instance, the muscle behind my left knee is very sore and it even hurts to walk let alone run. I’ve iced it, I’ve heated it, I’ve stretched it, and I’ve even massaged it and I still can’t shake the nagging pain. My body has staged a mutin-knee. Sorry, couldn't help it.

For heaven’s sakes, all I want to do is run 4 miles without stopping and my body – via just one knee - seems to be doing everything it can to stop me.

And if I can’t run 4 miles, how am I supposed to do 13.1 miles in March? I am starting to panic about this.

I’ve shared my fitness fears with the coaches and they assure me everything will be fine. They tell me never to doubt myself and I want to believe them. I really do.

The coaches also tell me that lots of people had a training break over the holidays and are now trying to get their heads back in the game. “Focus” seems to be the challenge for a lot of us at the moment – the need to recommit to training, fitness and fundraising.

My head and my heart are ready to focus and to recommit, but my body doesn’t seem to want to play ball. It’s so frustrating. I am afraid that I’m going to be the slowest, most unfit person at the back of the pack; the lamest horse in the race. I know what they do to lame horses.

We have training at 9am tomorrow and according to the schedule, we’re supposed to run 6-7 miles. Just the thought of it makes me sad.

How am I supposed to keep my head in the game when I can’t even picture myself in it?

Day Seventeen, Shops and Caffeine

2012-01-08T09:35:00.004-06:00

It felt good to sleep waaaaay past 4.15am on our third day in Vegas. Indeed we were in no rush whatsoever to get moving on Thursday. We headed back to Jimmy Buffet's for breakfast, where I demolished a delicious plate of huevos rancheros much to the horror of my parents. I can't help it - huevos rancheros is my favourite breakfast item. It's fun to say AND fun to eat. Whatever.

The meal was just to fortify us for the day of consumer madness at the Las Vegas Outlet Mall (south side). I came out here on my Vegas trip in 2008, but they have added a few more stores since then. We bought our $7 day tickets on The Deuce - the Strip's shuttle bus service - and got out to the Mall for a great day of browsing and buying. I snagged a few great clothes bargains but one thing the place seriously couldn't offer us was good coffee. [Side point to all Australian baristas who might be reading this. Please come over to the US and use your skills. Expats in this country need you, man. This is not a drill.]

Carrying multiple bags (and a new suitcase for my parents), we caught the Deuce one stop closer to the Strip, to a place called Town Square. I think this must be where Las Vegas locals shop. It has a Whole Foods, a bunch of other dining and clothing stores, and a massive electronics store (which was why we stopped in). We also managed to get a half-decent cappuccino, which helped immensely.

Back on The Strip we dropped our bags off in our room and caught the Deuce to the MGM Grand, just in time to see the lions before they went to bed at 7pm. I also found a fantastic light-up postcard for Granny in the gift shop, and it was all I could talk about for hours. Lame.

Wandering back along the Strip we saw the fountains of the Bellagio exploding with full-force, which was just amazing. We'd seen them a few nights before (but from the Hotel side) so it was very impressive to stand across from them and watch them spout and froth in time with the music. Oh Vegas, how I love you for being totally over the top.

And before long we were back on the Deuce, this time heading out north for the Freemont Street experience. Our Grand Canyon tour guide had suggested this as the first item on his must-see list and I had done it in 2008, so I was definitely eager to head back there. And it HAD changed a bit since I was last there, so that was really good to see. They've added a zip line for one thing, so you can go flying-foxing over the heads of people and I was quite surprised when Mum said she would be keen to do it. We didn't though - perhaps it's a job for next time? After a bit of a flutter on the slots at the iconic Golden Nugget casino (which was not as seedy as I remember it being last time), we were under the giant canopy of plasma screens just in time for the 9pm light show happening 90ft over our heads, this one set to the music of The Doors. Amazing.

Even though we hadn't gambled our lives away, or even seen a stage show, by this point in the holiday Las Vegas had chewed us up and spat us out. We were exhausted. It was all we could do take the Deuce back past the World's Largest Gift Shop and to our hotel, stuffing in some food and a cold beer, before collapsing into bed.

Day Eight & Ten, Back to NY Again

This is just a brief paragraph, and not something that needs its own blog entry. The last day of my holiday with my parents was Friday and it all happened so fast - the airport shuttle, the check-in, the hasty coffee & farewell before we parted ways.

I know that just by reading back over these blog entries I can relive all the great times we had - not only discovering New York together, but also Washington DC and Las Vegas. From the stories they've told me, my parents really enjoyed their US adventure and I am so grateful they let me tag along. I hope I can see them again soon. At the very least, now that Dad has retired he should have plenty of time to make me the photo DVD of our trip that he promised me. Get to it, fella!

Back to work on Monday - eek, normal life rears its ugly head already. Fortunately my cousin is coming to visit later this month so I'm counting down the sleeps until that one. We have a date with Jon Stewart (well, with the taping of his show anyway) so let the anticipation build!

The Sixteenth Day, A Tour Underway

2012-01-08T08:35:00.006-06:00

I briefly mentioned in yesterday's post that Caesar's Palace should come with a map. The hotel is confusing enough when you don't have anywhere important to be. But when you're running late to meet your 6am tour bus departure for the Grand Canyon, the last thing you need is to be lost in the never-ending corridors of a behemoth casino. And yet, that's exactly what happened to us at the start of Day 2.

When the alarm sounded at 4.15am that day, I think we all pretended it wasn't happening. But then we swung into action and got ready for an exciting day trip to the West Rim of the (literally) awesome Grand Canyon. This was a first for me too, so I was particularly excited. First time to Arizona; first time to the Grand Canyon. Bring it!

The elevator doors opened onto the Casino Floor and I was first struck by the acrid stench of cigarette smoke. When you live in New York, you become accustomed to a range of crazy smells, but fortunately cigarette smoke is not something I need to contend with indoors anymore. So in Vegas, that people were slumped at slot machines and chain-smoking at 5.45am on a Wednesday came as quite a rude (and smelly) shock; though perhaps it really shouldn't have.

We didn't have time to dwell on this though because we had a tour bus to meet at 6am, underneath the Planet Hollywood globe around the corner from our Hotel. An easy enough meeting point to find, you would think. But then you need to remember a few salient points: a) I am geographically-challenged at the best of times; b) we were all in a new and confusing place; and c) each one of us was substantially decaffeinated that day. We were seriously set up to lose.

After a bum steer from a "helpful" security guard, we ended up almost running through the splendor of the casino's Forum Shops before FINALLY emerging onto the Strip with no clear view of the Planet Hollywood globe that we needed to find. My watch said three minutes to six. Taking a wild guess, I turned right and broke out into a little jog up the hill. Did I think that higher ground would help me find the meeting point? Nope, I was just desperate at this point - for a comfy bus seat, for coffee, for not missing our chance to see the dusty plains of Arizona. As luck would have it, at the top of the hill I not only spotted the PH globe but also our tour bus - revving its engine and ready to go. At two minutes past six, we piled into our seats and set off. We were back on schedule.

Once we got off the Strip, Vegas turned into a very quiet town in the pre-dawn light. Our tour guide obviously didn't want to start yapping at us too early - so many of us were still asleep - so we all just gazed out the windows for a while and watched the world go by. Before long, we left Las Vegas behind and drove into small-town Nevada, headed for Arizona. The landscape changed and the roadside ceased to be about casinos and car dealerships, instead becoming covered in spiky and gnarly joshua trees and the anticipation of seeing a bighorn sheep, the state animal of Nevada. We didn't seen any of those though - boo to that!

The primary advantage of leaving Las Vegas at the ungodly hour of 6am is that your bus is the first - and usually only - one in the parking lot of all the tourist attractions on your visit schedule. You don't have to battle hordes of other visitors in gift shops, or jockey for positions to capture the perfect photograph. You have space, you have peace and you have quiet. It became clear to us quite quickly that getting up and out at the crack of dawn was the best thing we could have done that day. And the weather in Arizona was working for us too. Cool in the pre-dawn, but warming up to a bright and sunny day - perfect for some time in the great outdoors.

Our first stop after a quick roadside breakfast (provided by the tour) was the majestic Eagle Point, home of the Grand Canyon Skywalk. This area, indeed the whole Grand Canyon National Park, is home to the Hualapai and because you're on their tribal lands, there are some restrictions to photos you can take. But there are representatives of the Hualapai Nation on-site to either take photos of you, or give you advice on what you're looking at over the huge expanse of mountains and valleys before you. We didn't go on the Skywalk, not because we're overly squeamish about heights or anything - it's just that we didn't like the idea of paying $100USD for photos of ourselves out there. You can't take your own photos, you see. The Hualapai take them and then charge you for them in the gift shop - it all seemed a bit steep and besides, our photos turned out OK after all. We did take the opportunity of browsing the amphitheatre, Native American housing, and gift shop instead though.

By now it was almost time for lunch so we piled back on the bus and continued through the Hualapai lands to the icky-named but beautifully scenic Guano Point. If you like, you can click here to view a gorgeous 360-degree photo of the spot and I think you'll agree that despite it's name, Guano Point is very impressive indeed. And the best advantage of the place is that there are no guard rails or security measures of any kind there. One false move and you plummet all the way to the bottom of the Canyon. But for uninterrupted photos of the amazing expanse, you cannot beat it. And our lunch was a very tasty meal of roast chicken and vegetables, and our table couldn't have come with a better view.

On the way back to Vegas the bus slowed down so we could take photos of Hoover Dam, but I'm not sure whether the pictures will turn out because we were still motoring along pretty fast. A great feat of human engineering to be sure but after the gorgeous nature we had been seeing all day, the Dam looked a bit ugly from where I was sitting. And as the neon madness of Vegas came into view over the horizon at about 5pm, we all had to steel ourselves to re-enter society.

Having seen the Forum Shops of Caesar's Palace in the early morning, it was quite a shock to be back there again and fighting the crowds for a good spot to watch the Fall of Atlantis show, ride curved escalators (true!) or find excellent espresso. So it was little wonder that we rounded out our long day by dashing across the street to hide out at Bally's casino, in a small Thai restaurant that offered delicious food and cocktails.

Knowing when to hold 'em and fold 'em

2012-01-08T07:58:00.004-06:00

Thank heavens for this blog sometimes. My brain doesn't need to remember dates or details, because this handy little catalogue will do it for me. In February 2008 I went to Las Vegas for the first time. When my parents mentioned that on their trip to the US they also wanted to see The Town That Calls Itself Fabulous, all I had to do was drag out my blog entries from a few years ago and I had the inspiration for the start of an amazing three-day trip.

Day Fifteen, At Least It's Clean

If you wanted to analyse the Las Vegas trip properly, it didn't start off in particularly promising fashion. My parents had booked their NY-LAS flights MONTHS before I got my act together, so by the time I looked at airline tickets the costs to get me on the same flight as my parents were pretty ridiculous. It started to seem like we would not be able to fly to Las Vegas together after all. So I went to an online travel site and inputted my search criteria so that I could at least fly out of the same airport, on the same day, at around the same time.

How excited I was when the online site offered an option that fit the bill beautifully, so clickety-click, I purchased the ticket. It wasn't until the confirmation email arrived that I realised I'd booked my flights out of JFK airport and not Newark, like my parents. What the?! I hadn't chosen JFK airport as an option - I knew what airport I wanted to fly from, and I'd carefully selected Newark as part of my ticket search criteria. Why would an online travel site just automatically disregard my departure airport, just so it could find me the cheapest air ticket? Doesn't William Shatner know I don't read computer screens and I just obsessively press buttons? What is wrong with the universe?!

Sigh. So yeah, the trip to Vegas started out with yours truly ballsing up her airport departure.

On the actual day of travel though, none of this was any problem in the least. I booked two airport cars for us - one going to JFK, the other to Newark, and I made it to Las Vegas McCarran Airport about 30 minutes before my parents. I was waiting for them at baggage claim when they arrived. We were back on schedule.

When I came to Las Vegas in 2008 we stayed at The Bellagio. Now even back then I knew that that was an amazing and very special experience; one not likely to be repeated in my lifetime. And true enough when it came to booking this trip, the accommodation discount gods of the Bellagio were not smiling on me. So this time around, we stayed at the mammoth Caeasar's Palace Hotel. Our room was clean and well-appointed, about a kilometre from the elevators (through rabbit-warren hotel corridors) but at least we were well away from the mania of the 24-hour casino floor. Forget chocolates on your pillow - this place should come with complimentary valium. And a decent map. In equal measure, Caesar's Palace is enormous, confusing, smokey and incredible.

But hey, I'm honestly not bagging Caesar's because I totally chose to stay there. I wanted my parents to have an authentic Vegas experience. I wanted us to be in the thick of the action on the Strip, surrounded by noise and people and neon. I got all those things in spades.

Our first stop after dumping our bags was Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville. This is like my oasis of calm in Las Vegas and I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to sip on the pomegranate margarita and soak up the crazy atmosphere of the place. Even my Dad soldiered on, in no small part powered by the ultra-amazing Perfect Margarita (and its fabulous - and multiple - tequilas inside).

By the time we got back outside, evening had arrived and the pamphleteers were out. You know the ones I mean - they are shady looking guys and gals who pass out little pamphlets to male tourists on the Strip. These little pamphlets are actually catalogues of strippers and escorts that you can purchase to come to your hotel room and keep you company for a couple of hours. I had warned my Dad about the pamphleteers of course - so he knew what to expect. But in typical fashion, they fiercely descended upon him and flicked their pamphlets at him, left and right. To the wails of "come on, big maaaaaan", they tried to tempt him to purchase a lady or two for the evening. For me and Mum, watching Dad try to stay nonchalant and coolly navigate these very insistent PR men was most amusing.

Back at Caesar's, we lost a couple of dollars in the slot machines (just to say we did it) and then we were in bed super early, knowing that Day 2 of our Vegas Vacation would be a long one.

Two Weeks In, Gluttony's a sin?!

2012-01-02T22:24:00.003-06:00

So this time tomorrow we'll be in Las Vegas and my parents will almost be on their way back to the motherland. Is our holiday really almost over? Sad face. But we are not depressed really. In fact, we were quite resolved today to make the most of Mum & Dad's almost-final hours in New York.

In fact, this morning we set off early-ish and headed to Houston St to Katz's Deli, the famous place where Sally had her heavy-breathing moment ("I'll have what she's having"). For a deli that opened in 1888, I seriously hope Katz's hasn't changed much about its menu or its food recipes. I like the idea that Katz's is totally old school and fabulous. Mind you, I had the pastrami on rye sandwich (naturally) but OMG, there was SO MUCH MEAT on that sandwich. My heart ended up being wrapped in pastrami. Is that even biologically sound? I'm not so sure. But fortunately we got to the deli about 30 minutes before the huge crowds showed up - perfect.

When we left, we took the subway to Brooklyn Bridge and wandered through that neighbourhood down to South Street Seaport. It's weird being here in the cold weather - when the beer garden is shut, and the ice cream stores are all closed too. It's like a ghost town, except the sheer array of souvenir shops and trinket outlets is quite staggering. Anything that they can slap an "I heart NY" logo on, they will. Mouse pads, tshirts, baseball caps - crazy.

After the Seaport, we caught the East River Ferry back to my place and rested for a bit, before having dinner at El Parador for some lovely Mexican food. Roast duck enchiladas? Uh, si senor! Yummo.

Now of course I have to pack for the next three days in Sin City. We're staying at Caesar's Palace (so we could have the full-on Las Vegas experience). I'm so excited to be back in the land of the velour tracksuit. Naturally I'll be a bit quiet on the blog for the next few days, but you can count on a pretty fun recap when I return. Stay tuned!

Day Thirteen, How Much We've Seen

2012-01-02T07:01:00.008-06:00

You can step outside my apartment building, look west up the street, and see the Empire State Building staring at you. So how is it that we've made it to Day 13 of this holiday and I still haven't taken my parents up to the ESB's Observation Deck?! It's crazy, I know. And yet on Day 1 of the New Year, we just had no time.

Our day started - yep, you guessed it - early; but that was because we knew we wanted to have brunch at Red Rooster, way up north from me in Harlem. On Sundays, and indeed yesterday, Red Rooster was offering its famous Gospel brunch, and I was resolved to be early for it. Southern food and a gospel music? I'm totally there.

So on a whim, just before we left the house, I thought I'd just look up the restaurant online again to double-check the service times for brunch. Noon till three pm. What the?! I was sure the website said 10am when I'd checked earlier. Oh man. I'd dragged my parents out of bed at the crack of dawn for nothing! We could all have had an extra 90 minutes' sleep, no problems. ARGH. How to confess this?

I took the Band-Aid approach and just all-out fessed up to the error. Mum & Dad were totally cool with it, and actually liked the idea of just going somewhere local for coffee first. Phew. As we left my house, a "flashy bus" was pulling into the bus stop by my house so we jumped on it. Early as it was, the streets of Manhattan looked like a ghost town yesterday morning. It was at this point I questioned what coffee shops might exactly be open at this time on New Year's Day. Hmm, my holiday planning was starting to get sloppy. I could see people walking the streets with Dunkin' Donuts coffee but that was definitely going to be a last resort for us.

When Culture Espresso turned out to be closed (sad face), we took a chance on Bryant Park and sure enough - like the very Holy Grail itself - the park was a hive of activity. Aroma Coffee delivered the goods and we sat on folding chairs, right up by the rink, to watch HEAPS of people start the new year whirling around on ice skates.

After a little while we figured it would be a good time to head up to the restaurant for brunch. The subway ride up to Harlem (125th St) took off from Times Square, which was not far from where we had paused to enjoy coffees.

Now you're probably thinking, Red Rooster? Why the hell would you want to have brunch at a Red Rooster?! Well, this place is not like any Red Rooster we get back home. No six-pack fried chicken and moist towelettes here, friends. If you didn't already do so before, click the link here and check out the restaurant for yourself. The restaurant is gorgeous - and not too large (though the downstairs events space - with ENORMOUS dance floor - would be lots of fun). The chef is Marcus Samuelsson, a Swedish Ethiopian chef with restaurants dotted around the US and one in Stockholm. And the food? Oh man. It's comfort all the way.

As the lone gospel singer wandered the restaurant with her hand-held mic, belting out prayerful tunes, we all stuffed in some delicious brunch. I had the burger (it came with truffle fries - I was powerless to resist), while Mum had the lamb & potato hash, and Dad had the scrambled eggs with onion & chorizo. Some cornbread to start and a glass of prosecco to wash it all down? Delicious.

Tummies full we bade the restaurant farewell and caught the train back Downtown, so we could wander around the main concourse of Grand Central Station. In terms of size, this place is very impressive but I'm still a bigger fan of Washington DC's Union Station I think. But there is no denying that Grand Central is a terribly well-used and very popular tourist attraction in NYC and affords some very good photo opportunities, if you can manage to capture the immensity of the place.

By this point in the day, we were ready to slow down and take it easy. So we went back to the apartment and chilled out for a few hours before ending our day with a screening of "We Bought A Zoo". The movie was adorable to be sure, yet I waited 2 hours to see Matt Damon shirtless and my patience was sadly unrewarded. Not even Matt Damon in a singlet! I got Matt Damon in a turtleneck and reading glasses - and Matt Damon in khakis and a tool belt, so perhaps I shouldn't be complaining. In fact, who are we kidding? I'll totally take that. With a side of truffle fries.

Day Twelve, a year to shelve

2012-01-01T15:42:00.004-06:00

The final day of 2011 was another early one for me. I took myself off to the gym for the first time in ages and admittedly I didn't do very well. According to my training calendar, I'm supposed to be clocking up 4-5 mile jogs but I just wasn't up to it yesterday. I did last for a little over 2 miles on the treadmill before giving up, cursing my ankles for feeling sore. As penance I did about 6 more miles on the exercise bike, but I still felt a bit disappointed in myself afterwards. Have I already forgotten just how far I walked in Washington?! Crazy.

Setting off from my place on foot, we walked to my favourite Eataly for a proper Italian coffee. It is crazy how amazing that place looks and smells. Sliced meats, fresh cheeses, and the pastries?! Oh man.

We continued the gourmet adventure by heading up to Zabar's and again, we loved the sights and smells. We even loved the ancient men and women, pushing their trollies around the aisles to buy their delicious produce. Perhaps it was best that we weren't heading back home straight away, otherwise I think we would have loaded up our arms with outrageous quantities of epicurean delights. Instead we restricted ourselves to a couple of pre-made sandwiches, some tasty chocolate rugelach and some fresh fruit for our lunch. And we walked a couple of blocks south to Central Park and enjoyed our meal in the sunshine at Bethesda Terrace. So good.

Watching the outdoor skaters scoot around the iconic Wollman Rink, we then stopped by The Plaza Hotel, the sterling silver jewellery collection of Tiffany's and then tried to hide from the world (aka the tourists) at St. Patrick's Cathedral. I am sure God Himself was about to strike me dead for all the evil thoughts I was having about the other tourists in church yesterday. Why do people come into places like that if they refuse to be quiet or reverent in any way? Why do they think they're allowed to help themselves to devotional candles and not pay even a minimal donation? Why can't I give the death glare to people and not have it do any good? No fair.

Clearly I had hit an invisible wall by this point in the day, so the fact that a taxi showed up out the front of the Cathedral must have been a sign from the Almighty after all. The three of us headed straight to the cinema around the corner from my house, and we relaxed in the dark watching the new "Sherlock Holmes" movie, and then the latest offering from the "Mission Impossible" franchise. No life-changers there, but when we came home and ordered take-away Indian food, it capped off a beautiful evening and the perfect way to spend New Year's Eve when you're really not a NYE kind of person.

Continuing my fine tradition, my head hit the pillow at about four minutes past midnight and I didn't feel a thing. I must have been asleep or something :)

Four Days Behind, Losing My Mind

2012-01-01T13:35:00.012-06:00

You know it's a good holiday when you start losing track of days. But today is January 1st, which means a hearty HAPPY NEW YEAR to all. But more on that later. First up, we need to recap our little side trip to the nation's capital - Washington, DC.

Make a coffee before you start reading. This recap is likely to take a while.

Day Eight, Don't Be Late

I have been a bit silly, dragging my poor parents out of bed early while they're supposed to be on a restful tour to the States. But you know what? If we sleep in every day, we miss out on seeing lots of cool things and then we only achieve half the things we set out to do.

So it was that we rocked up at Penn Station, New York bright and early on December 27 to catch the train to Washington. I had already bought our tickets ahead of time, and put us in business class on a regional train. We could have got express train tickets but that train left even earlier in the morning and I really don't think we could have faced that. As it was, the regional train stopped at only a few places but it gave us a lovely chance to peer out the windows at towns along the route. Plus we've only got little legs, so there was ample leg room and comfort for us in business class, thanks very much. And we were two carriages away from the cafe car, so what's not to like about that?!

You know it's funny - if the only thing you ever see of Philadelphia and Baltimore is what you spot from the inside of a train, I don't think you'd ever go there. The towns look pretty grotty and not too welcoming really. And yet I'm sure I've heard good things said about both places. Maybe one day....

Our train pulled into Washington DC's gorgeous Union Station about 15 minutes behind schedule, and the weather had turned pretty rotten. Grey skies, drizzle - not a good start to a mini-break. Our taxi driver was a Pakistani ex-diplomat who, as he drove us to our hotel, regaled us with stories about the fantastic postings he'd had throughout his career and how he's now only driving a cab to pay for his son's university education. He does pretty well out of it too - with all the additional cab fares we had to pay (extra passengers, luggage, mileage), he'd charged us $10 before we'd even set off for the hotel! Classic.

Before long we pulled up at our hotel and I was very impressed with the location and amenities. We were right across the street from the Spy Museum, around the corner from Chinatown and one block from the Metro station. Perfect!

With the weather like it was, I have to confess that we really didn't want to pound the pavement and start exploring the city. So we dashed across the street and sought refuge in the truly beautiful (and IMMENSE) National Portrait Gallery. Even if museums and galleries aren't normally your "thing", this place is amazing. Endless corridors filled with amazing - and very different - works of art. Portraits of ordinary and famous Americans filled the walls and we happily lost hours in there. When we couldn't walk any further, we paused for a coffee in the indoor Kogod Courtyard which is just gorgeous. Me being me, I flatly refused to leave until I had seen The Great Hall - and me being me, I couldn't find it; even though I had the map. Absolutely hopeless. But it's amazing what happens when you ask for help and in no time we were ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the gorgeous mosaic tiles and stained glass windows of the room I'd been searching for.

Obeying our sore feet and rumbling tummies, we ducked around the corner into Chinatown for a really tasty meal and frosty Singha beer.

I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow that night.

Day Nine, Feelin' Fine

It was about this time in the holiday that I realised that wearing knee-high leather boots was probably a really dumb idea. So on Day 2 of our holiday, when we did more walking than would ever be considered normal elsewhere, I switched to sneakers and was pretty proud of myself for remembering to pack them.

We had 2pm tickets for the tour of the Capitol Building (but had to be there 45 minutes before that), so we really didn't want to venture too far out of the city.

Grabbing an extra strong coffee as we wandered the streets, we walked past the gorgeous Ford's Theatre, where President Lincoln was assassinated. Then we wandered past more truly gorgeous architecture - the IRS building, the EPA building, and the expansive museums of Constitution Avenue.

By then we had agreed that our aimless wandering should take us to the Washington Monument, so we headed across the parklands and over to the enormous obelisk. The Monument is still temporarily closed because of the 5.9 magnitude earthquake in 2011, but it is still possible to take some great photographs of it - which we did.

Then we looked across Constitution Gardens towards the Lincoln Memorial, and we agreed to walk over to there next. En route we looked at The National WWII Memorial and watched construction workers make long-overdue improvements to the Reflecting Pool site.

There is something amazing about standing at the Lincoln Memorial, at the foot of the mammoth statue and seeing what the late President sees - the wonderful view over an amazing city. From our lofty vantage point we could trace our route backwards, as well as see the day's ultimate destination - the Capitol Building.

So we were off - back along the other side of the Reflecting Pool, stopping this time at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial - the loss of life truly scary when you see just how many names are etched into the memorial stones (58,195).

Ducking around The Elipse, we gave ourselves a fantastic photo opportunity of the front lawn of The White House. Sadly no tours at this time of year, but I hope to get back another time. You don't watch as much "West Wing" as I do, and not have a curious interest in touring the amazing building.

With no time for lunch, we got to The U.S Capitol Building a few minutes before 2pm and lined up for our tour. After a short introductory video, our tour guide took us through some of the main rooms, including the gorgeous rotunda (Dan Brown's "The Lost Symbol", anyone?!). We walked into the statuary, which used to be the original House Chamber and offices. You can see plaques on the ground where famous politicians used to have their spots (incidentally we were almost standing on top of Lincoln's plaque without even realising it!).

At the conclusion of our tour we took ourselves through today's House and Senate galleries. Even though the pollies were on a holiday break, it was very impressive to look around the chambers and see where all the political magic happens. The information brochures that you can pick up for free are also really good - they give you a seating plan so that from up on high, you know who's who in the zoo.

After this we were tired, hungry and over stimulated, culture-wise. And yet we thought it would be a good idea to take the underground tunnel to the Library of Congress, so that's exactly what did. I have to say, I don't regret it in the least. You know me and books - I can scarcely resist a library or a bookshop to save myself. The website may be plain, but the building itself is spectacular, which says nothing of its contents. The Reading Room alone made me wish I was someone of importance, who had access to the incredible collection. To browse those shelves, even for a few minutes, would be such a gift. Naturally we are plebs, so we had to observe the Reading Room from up on high, behind a giant perspex sneeze barrier. But I took a sideways glance at some of my fellow tourists that day, and I don't blame the Library for a second - I wouldn't let any of those weirdos near my precious books either.

Having toured the Library, we were now OFFICIALLY knackered. We called in to the McCormick & Schmick's restaurant across the street for dinner that night. It was my pick, and I didn't have it in me to be any more creative than that. The seafood was pretty good though - but in a case of lovely deja-vu, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow that night too.

Day Ten, An Early Start Again

On Thursday we were up early again. After all the walking we'd done the day before, my feet were feeling so tender on Day 3, and so sneakers were totally the only option again.

More confident of our geography this time, we headed straight to the Metro station and after a change at Metro Center, we took the blue line subway to Arlington National Cemetery.

There is something quite lovely about a visit to a sombre place like Arlington, when you have the weather to match. I recall we had the same experience at the 9/11 Memorial in New York. For us at Arlington, we had a bit of fog, a bit of grey sky and the threat of rain, but nothing that actually materialised. The weather just added to the atmosphere and it was beautiful. I came to Arlington on my first (and only) visit to Washington DC back in February 2006 and I remember being really impressed then. Rather than taking the trolley car, we walked around the Cemetery this time and it really is a great (and easy) way to see everything. We visited the very simple Kennedy graves, Arlington House (aka the Robert E. Lee Memorial) and the Tomb of the Unknown Solider for the impressive - and rather haunting - Changing of the Guard ceremony that takes place every hour, on the hour. I wouldn't normally sanction the recording of such a lovely ceremony but given that the crowd prevented me from seeing much of it on the day, I don't feel too bad about sharing this video with you.

Once we'd done those things, we wandered back through the Cemetery to the main visitor entrance and then we were back on the Metro, returning to DC.

It would also seem we had not quite reached our limit of museums, because we devoted the next four hours to The National Museum of American History. My God, the people!! Tourists everywhere you looked - and who brings kids in strollers to these sorts of places? ARGH it was manic. But we steeled ourselves ("elbows out") and used the museum floorplan to ensure we hit up all the key attractions. We saw Julia Child's kitchen, Dorothy's ruby slippers, the Star Spangled Banner, the original Muppets and finished up by going though a couple of the ongoing exhibitions, including the First Ladies (evening gowns! fine china!) and Within These Walls, a wonderful exploration of the life of 1 house and all the families that had inhabited it over the past 200 years.

Were we exhausted after that? You bet. But did we stop? Hell no.

Wandering next door we stopped into the National Museum of Natural History. The life-size whale hanging from the ceiling, and the gorgeous elephant in the main rotunda were real highlights. But aside from that, and the mammals exhibit (impressive), I was in a daze from this point of the evening forward. The groovy neon inflatable artwork woke me up a bit of course, but I was pretty much done.

So it surprised us all that once we were out in the open air, we had enough energy to walk past the statue garden and watch the outdoor ice skaters for a while. But then our stomachs won out and we set off in search of dinner. All we wanted to have was a bowl of soup, and yet when we stumbled across Hill Country Barbecue Market, we had to go in. And so it also goes without saying that with BBQ ribs, mac & cheese, and brisket on offer, there was no way we were having just soup. The live band started up downstairs at 8.30pm and we enjoyed a couple of tunes (I was quite transfixed by the lead singer's fluffy red afro, to be honest. It was like a car accident atop his head, poor fellow).

It's amazing how a pitcher of beer, a good feed, and some happy tunes will restore a couple of weary travellers.

But yes, you guessed it - I was asleep before my head hit the pillow AGAIN. Third time's the charm.

Day Eleven, and a lack of a rhyme

The start of our 11th day was another early one because we had to contend with a hotel check-out, an Amtrak train departure and (in my case), a swabbing from the transit police for illicit drugs and other contraband. Fortunately I had enjoyed a rather strong coffee before that part!

We got the train back to NY without incident, and arrived in the City on a sunny and clear day. Is this December or what?! Winter be hanged.

Say what you will about how lovely holidays can be, sometimes there is just no place like home. And getting back to the apartment and swapping my sneakers for slippers never felt so good.

We did a couple of loads of laundry and then headed out to Times Square (ugh!) to meet B&C for dinner at Sardi's. Despite the traffic and pedestrian chaos, the restaurant was really nice and of course I couldn't fault the company. B&C had only been in New York a few days but had already seen most of the major sights and seemed to be enjoying themselves (though B did bemoan the lack of quality coffee - a kindred spirit if ever there was one).

After dinner we pretty much RAN to the theater to see "Million Dollar Quartet" and it was fantastic. Skilley is my friend from work and she joined us for the performance - we had fantastic seats, only a few rows from the front - and no one in front of us to block our view at all. The story is fantastic - capturing the music of the recording session at Sun Studio in Memphis, when Jerry Lee Lewis joined up with Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash. The whole cast was just amazing, and was a nice flashback to my own visit to Memphis when me & K toured Sun Studios and stood in the very room where the music magic happened. I think I might have to be friends with the entire cast of that show - I just loved it, and I think we all did.

After the show we said goodbye to Skilley and walked B&C back towards their hotel, stopping off for a quick coffee & catch-up chat along the way. It was great to see them and I was very envious to hear about the rest of their US trip, including a visit to New Orleans. Lucky ducks!

Day Seven - Retail Heaven

2011-12-26T18:25:00.002-06:00

If anyone ever asks you what the very bowels of hell look like, you might consider directing them to the Boxing Day sales at Macy's in New York. I figure that place would come pretty close and I should know - I spent a bit of time in there today. On the upside, I did get to ride the iconic wooden escalators that were the first of their kind in the world, and part of the original Macy's fit-out. They're still in use today - very groovy. And my wallet stayed in my bag the entire trip around the store - can you believe that?!

When we finally emerged back onto Seventh Avenue, we sought refuge at the curiously-named Irish pub, The Pig N Whistle for a restorative drink and bite to eat. Yucky fries but cold Diet Coke, so one out of two ain't bad.

Then it was back underground to take the subway to Chelsea Market, the cool shopping place on 9th Avenue. I like the big push towards local and organic foodstuffs at this place, so it stood to reason we would stuff in a coffee from Ronnybrook Dairy and then I followed my nose to the Tuck Shop to purchase some delicious (and authentic) Aussie meat pies for dinner. The smell of warm pies wafted through the food market area. How could we resist?

Off we continued back along 14th Street in the direction of our bus home, stopping long enough in Union Square to browse around DSW, Filene's Basement (which is about to close down anyway), and finally we ended up at Nordstrom Rack. Phew - it was a retail bonanza!

After the long day out and about, it felt excellent to finally sit still on the bus and know that in a few short minutes, I'd be able to sit on the sofa with my fluffy slippers on. Blissful.

We're off to Washington DC tomorrow, so my daily holiday updates will be on a brief hiatus. But don't worry - a bumper catchup post will follow. Stay tuned!

Day Six, A Christmas Fix

2011-12-25T21:43:00.003-06:00

Christmas morning started with a sleep-in. Doesn't that sound fabulous already? Well to be honest, the day didn't end up any more stressful than that.

We all got up, had some coffee, swapped excellent gifts and generally just relaxed. I was very lucky this year - I got some great new bedroom sheet/quilt sets; some earrings; creative dice; groovy boot stockings; a couple of recipe books; some throw pillows; and a fun new Manhattan skyline sticky decal for my laptop.

Then I put on a lunch of roast pork loin & vegetables, with an apple crisp and ice cream for dessert. No muss, no fuss. A food coma swiftly ensued, punctuated only by loads of laundry. I wore my paper Christmas hat the whole day. Mum said I looked like the Statue of Liberty. I had to admit she was right.

A little after 6pm we all took a cab to The Australian pub, to meet up with K&N and watch a bit of the start of the Boxing Day Test, televised from Melbourne. I can't say I watched much of the cricket, but it was excellent to see K&N again on their latest visit to New York. Plus there isn't much stress that creeps in when you're holed up in a booth while the rest of the pub patrons have to jostle for bar service. Blissful! That said though, two Coopers Pales down (along with some sliders & a VERY intense chocolate brownie) and I was tired and needed to head home for pyjama time. What a day!

Day Five, Latin's Alive

2011-12-25T15:09:00.004-06:00

Christmas Eve was a clear but cold day here in New York and we set off around lunch time, bound for an Off-Broadway show called Voca People. The theatre was really quite full - except for our row, which was dead empty except for me and the folks. People are so creative, you know? The Voca People perform using just their voices - no instruments, no nothing. Naturally they are helped along by one of them being the beatbox champion of Portugal, so his voice was providing the percussive sound and background beats. I was on the edge of my seat for the whole performance (much to the enjoyment of my Mum) but I was having a great time. The breadth of the music used in the show ranged from classical stuff like the William Tell Overture, all the way through to the theme music from "ET" and modern day stuff - so good. There was audience participation too - which I normally hate - but because they only picked on people in the first two rows of the theatre (and not us, way down the back), I was pretty cool with it. I was really pleased that some of the audience members were really good sports too - they got into the spirit of the show and made it really funny for the rest of us.

After lunch we grabbed a cab over to Bloomgindale's, where I honestly thought I was going to freak out. So many people - so many shoppers, little dogs, fragrance people - ugh it was all going on yesterday. Totally reinforced why I love online shopping so much. But I have to say, going through those designer departments and feeling the soft and snuggly cashmere clothes and rich fabrics; mmm, it was sensory overload, but in a good way for sure. I also kept my wallet in my handbag too, so well done me!

From Bloomies we walked the few blocks past Tiffany's (and their gorgeous window displays) to The Russian Tea Room for dinner. I had made the booking for dinner with the Russians because they were offering a really tasty prix-fixe, post-theater menu that I thought we'd all enjoy. The three of us were safely closeted into a red leather banquette/booth and from our vantage point we had a really lovely view of the dining room. That early in the evening, things weren't really swinging, but I got the feeling the wait staff were steeling themselves for a pretty busy night. I had really the tasty borscht to start, then a main course of beef stroganoff and for dessert I had the chocolate pyramid. Washed down with a cosmopolitan (or a cosmonaut, in this place) and a glass of Australian red wine and I was a very happy girl. The Russian Tea Room's gift shop downstairs is a bit crappy unfortunately - just several glass cases full of really expensive kitschy things like babushka dolls and linens and jewellery boxes and stuff like that. Nothing that interested us at all, but it was nice to at least look and see what they had.

Upstairs in the cold air again, we were weighing up our transport options on how to get back to my hood when lo and behold, a cab pulled up right in front of us to let its passengers out. It was a Christmas miracle! So we bounded on in and took a ride to the Moonstruck Diner on Madison, for a couple of coffees before we had to be at Christmas mass. As diners go, Moonstruck won't change your life but it was so nice and warm in there - and the peppermint teas were hot and tasty after our long day out; we just loved it.

A little before 10pm we walked back to the Church of Our Saviour, a Catholic church at the corner of E38th St & Park Avenue. I had never been inside but we'd checked ahead of time and knew that the church would be having 2 Christmas services that night - a carol singing with the choir at 10.30pm followed by a Christmas mass at 11pm. The Church itself is beautiful, and I remember saying to Dad it was such a shame that their website was so plain - it doesn't do the building itself any favours at all. The church really resembles a portion of a European basilica - gorgeous tiled floors, gilded ceilings and huge almost orthodox paintings with gold leafing all over the place. So lovely and sparkly and everywhere you looked, there was something new to see. The choir did a lovely job at setting the scene for Christmas and once the candles were lit, and the parishoners were seated we were ready to go.

The carols were lovely and traditional and then at 11pm the Christmas service started. It was like going back in time! With the exception of some of the prayers and the homily, the mass was entirely in Latin. Can you believe it? The music started and I recognised the tune of "O, Come All Ye Faithful". I was all ready to warble along and next thing I know, the congregation starts singing "Adeste Fidelis". I scrambled to find the Latin translation in the hymn book on my seat but I only found it as we got to the third verse. Typical. The same thing happened with "Silent Night", only that we sang that in German. It was such a mixed bag! I was confused throughout pretty much the entire mass, but at the same time it was really beautiful and a lovely treat. For Mum & Dad I figured the Latin mass must have been a bit of a flashback to when they were at school; indeed, they said it had been AGES since they'd heard a mass in Latin. As we filed out of the Church just after midnight, I felt pretty sure that we had all had a good time.

The walk home from the church really woke us all up - that fresh, cool air was a marked change from the populated, snuggly church. But even though the city streets were far from quiet, it sure was a beautiful way to start Christmas Day 2011.

Day Four, Kitsch Galore

2011-12-24T00:13:00.003-06:00

I had every intention of going to the gym this morning, but you know these things go. No sooner had I made the pledge to myself, than I instead decided to accompany Mum & Dad on the bus down to Battery Park, so they could take the ferry to Liberty Island and Ellis Island. Having been to both of these places multiple times myself, I only played bus chaperone and then hung out on the mainland on my own while they toured around.

Arriving around 11am at Battery Park meant that we were just in time for recess, or play lunch, or whatever you grew up calling it. So we bought some ultra strong coffees and some tasty apple-filled churros from a street vendor. Delicious, if not at all nutritious. Naturally I went back for a caramel-filled churro later (for research purposes). With Mum & Dad safely on the boat, I wandered off to see what mischief I could cause.

Across the street from Battery Park is the National Museum of the American Indian, and I'd never been there before. But it was warm inside, and it didn't cost me anything to go in, so I hung out there for about 90 minutes and checked out the exhibitions. The Museum is actually in the old US Customs House and the building's architecture is beautiful, including the gorgeous statues and the beautiful murals in the rotunda. When I bought Mum & Dad back into the Museum later in the day (after the cruise that they very much enjoyed), we all commented on the real similarities between the demise of indigenous cultures around the world. Of course this included some discussion about Australia and it was interesting to also read some of the stories of how native peoples from the US, Canada, South America and even the Arctic had to adjust to the arrival of white people. The parallels between the stories make for quite a powerful tale all told - and not really a pretty one, to be honest. I thought the Museum presented a very comprehensive collection with some great photos, artefacts and some really intricate costumes and jewellery too. Naturally I purchased some treats from the gift shop, including a gorgeous three-legged pig for my mum. Chilean legend has it that the cute little chanchitos are supposed to bring good luck, so I thought Mum would particularly like to keep him at work so he can grin up at her.

The weather down by the water was particularly chilly today, so we thought it wise to come out of the Museum and head straight for the street vendor settling Italian sausage sandwiches with grilled onions and peppers (capsicum). Obviously. Well, actually I dragged Mum & Dad there - I was starving! The sandwiches really hit the spot, even though I bit into the sandwich quite forcefully and got BBQ sauce up my nose. Even that couldn't dampen the culinary experience.

After an hour or so back at home we were up and out of the house, to enjoy a pre-Christmas dinner with K at Rolf's, the German restaurant that is a New York institution. Throughout the year, Rolf's goes all out to decorate the restaurant with all manner of tacky, kitschy decorations. At this time of year, it is quite honestly like dining inside a Christmas decoration. Just see for yourself - and let me assure you, while I did not make this video, it is pretty much on the money for how the restaurant looked tonight:

Sigh, that video makes me so happy. But seriously - everywhere we looked, there were baubles and creepy dolls and Santas in sleighs and bundt cake pans (random!) and every manner of ribbon and fairy light and it was AMAZING. The pork chop I had was bigger than my head, but I washed it down with a German beer and then really wanted to lay down. It was a case of total sensory overload, but I wouldn't have had it any other way!

We stopped off for an Aussie beer on the walk home, but now I'm back here in my PJs and feeling totally in the Christmas spirit. Tomorrow is December 24 and another big day, but I have so far loved every minute of this yuletide celebration and I'm ready to see what's next.

Day Three, Dance With Me

2011-12-23T00:01:00.004-06:00

I am now officially on holidays until Monday 9 January and baby, it feels gooood. It was all a bit surreal at work today though, tying up those loose ends and trying to achieve things before the home time buzzer sounded.

I think I was looking forward to home time more than most today, because after work I had a "mummy and me" date at Lincoln Center (for the Performing Arts), to see the NYC Ballet's production of George Balanchine's "The Nutcracker". I have been to the ballet a couple of times before, with mixed results. But I was pretty confident that tonight's performance was going to be a winner. And it totally was.

Firstly the night rocked because our seats were awesome. We were up high (third tier) in the David H. Koch Theater, but I had deliberately selected those seats because I knew the stage was full of exciting action and costumes, and I wanted me and Mum to be able to fully appreciate the spectacle. So from our lofty heights we had front row seats - a truly uninterrupted view of the whole stage. And no heads of fidgety kids to peek over!

Also from our seats up high we had a perfect view of the very talented orchestra. When the lights went down and Tchaikovsky's score started up, I loved it. Little by little the stage came to life - adorable children, stunning costumes, and a story that was so simple to follow that you could just lose yourself and soak up all the talent and glamour. At least that's what I did anyway.

And the sparkles on the costumes! Granted they weren't as flashy as The Rockettes sequinned duds, but what girl doesn't love a gorgeous pink tutu? And one dress weighed 80 pounds (according to the program) - the athleticism of all the dances was obvious. But at the same time, the elegant snowflakes that danced across the stage were so beautiful and graceful. I guess being so far away, I couldn't see if the performers were puffing or were exhausted. From where we were sitting, they kept up the illusion that they could dance forever.

After the show finished, we wandered out into the mild evening air and just walked for a bit, in the direction of our subway home. Again, we got back just before the rain started to fall (we seem to be making quite a habit of that), but even now - hours later - I can still see the sugarplums dancing in my head.

Dare I suggest this might become one of my NYC Christmas traditions?

Day Two, A Show Will Do

2011-12-22T08:59:00.002-06:00

I am glad that my parents have been sleeping well at my apartment, and it seems that their jetlag is subsiding. It’s a good thing too because I have set them a fairly cracking pace this week.

For Day 2 of our Griswold Family Vacation, my parents started a three-day, hop-on/hop-off bus tour through the city streets. As they tell it, their tour guide was really fun (and funny), and their full bus took them up Uptown yesterday – through Harlem and past Columbia University, then back past Central Park, Columbus Circle, Trump Tower and back into Times Square. They will tackle Downtown over the coming days, but they seemed content yesterday just to stay on board the bus and enjoy the sights. The weather was a bit rotten yesterday too – not icy cold, but grey and rainy (i.e. perfect conditions for snuggling up under a perspex bus canopy and just coasting along).

Right on time, I met my parents in the lobby of my office building after work and we walked the ten blocks to 21 Club. I first heard of this place ages ago (and saw it in such films as “One Fine Day” – where Michelle Pfeiffer’s character reluctantly goes to meet her clients and almost misses her son’s soccer game). Then most recently I saw 21 Club featured on a TV show on the cooking channel, and I knew I wanted to take Mum & Dad there. Any place with a speakeasy-style wine cellar is a place we have to see. Anyway as we approached the restaurant, we could see the famous fibreglass jockeys lined up along the outdoor railing – it really is a peculiar looking place. I hate describing things as “cute”, but that’s the best adjective for this place’s exterior. I had reserved our table in the Bar Room, a very popular (crowded) room with a remarkably low ceiling, made even more compressed by the trinkets hanging from the ceiling. I’m talking toy trucks, pipes, vintage toys and a bunch of other paraphernalia. I couldn’t remember from the TV show why all that stuff was up on the ceiling, and unfortunately there isn’t any reading material at the Club to tell you what it’s all about either. But I looked it up online this morning and discovered a helpful explanation of the collection.

We enjoyed a delicious three-course, prix fixe meal in the crowded dining room and then walked around the corner for the second half of the evening’s entertainment; the iconic Radio City Christmas Spectacular.

Radio City Music Hall opened in 1932 and a year later, The Radio City Christmas Spectacular (and the famous high-kicking Rockettes) debuted. The show was revamped this year to incorporate 3D film elements, and the modern touches certainly appealed to the young kids in the audience. The show started with a school choir performing some Christmas tunes – and one little kid who was obviously channelling Michael Jackson, grooving to the beat of his own drum up there on the stage. Adorable.

The Radio City Christmas Spectacular is a cheesy show but it is a New York City Christmas tradition and is pretty impressive. The athleticism of the dancers, their gorgeous sequinned costumes and amazing choreography really added to the experience. I loved the show – and I wanted to go home and insist that K enters and leaves every room like a Rockette from now on – high kicking, cheesy grins and all.

After the show, we walked around the corner to Rockefeller Plaza so I could show Mum & Dad the big Christmas tree, and the ice skating rink. Whether she realised it or not, Mum gasped when she saw the giant (real) tree with all of its sparkly lights. Not surprising really - the tradition of the giant tree in the Plaza began in 1933, the same year that the Centre opened. Ever since it has been a huge tourist drawcard and a symbol of Christmas in the city. We managed to get some pretty good photos of the decorations too, and we will go back a few more times before they leave, to appreciate the display in more detail.

Speeding home in a cab, we walked through the door about 5 minutes before the heavens opened and dumped some pretty fierce rain on the city streets. How’s that for timing?! I know that some more rain is forecast this week, and Christmas Day is supposed to be a bit grey and dreary. It would be nice if we could just get some snow – even just a couple of flakes – so we can have the White Christmas that we have all been hoping for, but I’m just not sure that’s going to happen. We’ll be in Washington DC from 27-30 December though. Maybe the nation’s capital will deliver the goods?

That's Day One, done!

2011-12-21T08:43:00.002-06:00

So I probably should have stopped at one beer. Enough said, right? Oi vey. And I am quite prepared to hang my father out to dry for my condition this morning. I’d lay some on Mum too, but she was way too jet-lagged yesterday to be any influence whatsoever. So Special K, it’s all on you fella! The old grey mare, she ain’t what she used to be.

Ugh but let’s forget how I feel this morning, just for a second. I would like to pause and declare that Day 1 of our Griswold Christmas Vacation was fantastic, at least as far as I am concerned.

Yesterday morning was a rude shock to my system. Owing to a missed connection in LA, the family vacation got off to a delayed start. But at 12.45am, I discerned the sleepy forms of my parents coming down the escalators into the Arrivals Hall at JFK’s Terminal 3. Hooray, they made it! Our taxi broke the land speed record back to my apartment and we chatted over raisin toast and restorative hot tea, before we decided that 2.30am was probably a good time to go to bed (especially since I had to work on Tuesday). Yikes!

I did indeed make it into the office yesterday morning, albeit a little late. While my parents slept off some more of their jet-lag, I tootled around the office grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Even the lady at the coffee shop in the morning asked me why I was so happy. It was just one of those days for me.

At 1pm, I went down to the UN and met my parents, so I could give them the behind-the-scenes tour. I didn’t even know until a few weeks ago (when Coco & CS came to visit) that I was allowed to conduct these all-access-pass visits. But now that I know, it’s totally on. The parents loved the tour through the UN, even though I did a terrible job at pointing out key points of interest (eg. “This is the Security Council chamber. It is big and it has lots of chairs in it. Oh look, there’s a tapestry!”). It was quite a nice day though, so we took the opportunity to walk behind the UN buildings along the East River. My Dad got quite excited when he saw a squirrel going about its business in the trees outside the UN. For vermin, it was indeed a cute squirrel; fair play to my father on that front.

As far as rallying goes, my parents did a wonderful job yesterday. After the UN tour, we walked back to my office and they continued on to browse the Christmas market at Bryant Park. I got a call from Dad some time later to say that they’d walked back to my apartment to collect his coat, and then they came back to my office to meet me at 5.30pm, like we’d planned. So for two people, brand new to New York and as jetlagged as all hell, they walked 4.2 miles just in the afternoon. Can you believe that?

When we caught up at my office last night, we took the subway to the 9/11 Memorial and had a look around there. The drizzly rain had started to fall, which was a bit disappointing, but Dad observed that it seemed a rather fitting climate for the location. We didn’t stay there too late – just long enough for a quick look-see, and then it was back on the subway and bound for my place.

We stopped off en route at the Heartland Brewery, in the Empire State Building and had some local brews (including a tasting tour of all the local options – some good, some not-so). Mum even tried her first piece of authentic New York cheesecake. Memo to me: at some stage of this trip, take Mum to Junior’s for the REAL deal.

Before calling it a night, we visited Baby Bo’s Cantina and enjoyed the crazy Christmas lights and yet more beers. Ugh it was totally Dad’s influence. Mum sipped a glass of white wine and behaved herself immensely. I even think she enjoyed her mini burrito – I know Dad did. And he likes the idea of being able to order things “on the side”. In this case, it was a heaped bowl of sliced jalapenos. He was in heaven.

When we got home, the Russian doorman embraced both of my parents – and I would have warned them about it, except I didn’t know he was a hugger. We all laughed about it though. We are well taken care of in our building, and my parents have already received a warm welcome from everyone they’ve met so I think they’d agree with me that their holiday is off to a great start.

Give Cash, Get Pretty

2011-12-19T14:01:00.002-06:00

I had a hair appointment on Saturday afternoon and felt instantly cheered. It's amazing what a pair of scissors and hydrogen peroxide can do to lift my spirits! Finding people you trust with your mane can be a real challenge in a new city but I've got this one in the bag.

The Ted Gibson salon in New York is a shout-out to modern glamour. In the shadow of New York's iconic Flatiron Building, the salon is a chic hive of activity and home to some talented and friendly people. Take my stylist, Gina for example - she's fabulous (or "fabaloose", as Crazy Granny likes to say).

But do you know what makes Gina EXTRA lovely? She has kindly donated a hair cut to my fundraising campaign for the Team In Training NYC half-marathon. So that means for every monetary donation I receive between now and Australia Day (26 January), my donors go into the running to win a free haircut by Gina. The winner will be chosen at random.

Naturally this prize will only work if you live in NY (or if you're visiting some time soon), but trust me that Gina is equally brilliant at styling men and women. She is so generous, plus she is now very much in demand thanks to her runway work and wedding & special events styling. Thank you, Gina - this is so kind of you! And thank you, Ted Gibson, for giving Gina the OK to donate her services to this important fundraising campaign.

To get yourself in the running for a primping & preening experience with Gina and the crew at Ted Gibson salon in NY, please dig deep and kick in some cash to my fundraising campaign. You'll find the donations page here.

And guess what? I ran 2.4 miles at the gym on Saturday without stopping once, so this half-marathon thing is totally happening. Eye of the tiger, no question.

Put A Band-Aid On It

2011-12-15T19:38:00.005-06:00

Well, it had to happen. I have sustained the first injury of my elite athletic life. I believe I have strained a lymph node. Well, I don't know what it is really, but it's a muscular thing or maybe a tendon thing. At the very least it's the squishy bit under my arm - where I keep my lymph nodes.

I turned up at the gym tonight, thinking I was headed into a ballet Pilates class. I haven't been to one of those in MONTHS so I was really excited to be able to make it to one. My hips have been quite sore since Tuesday night's run, so I liked the idea of doing a low-impact Pilates class to get a good workout - but also a really good stretch - for my legs. Naturally of course, I was running late before I ever started.

I rushed into the movement studio and in my haste to remove hoodie and iPod, I almost strangled myself with my earphones. Great look, Gabs. Then I looked at the front of the room and saw an unfamiliar instructor. Oh darn, I'd wandered into a Mat Pilates class - a.k.a floor torture! NUTS.

Too late to back out now, I laid out my mats and Pilates ring, and removed shoes and socks - ready to begin. First exercise of the class was my favourite - the plank. I got into push-up position, lowered my pelvis and concentrated. 30 seconds here, 30 seconds there, it was all fine. Then we had to do side planks. One side was fine and then we came back to centre, turned onto the other side and, in the words of Adam West's Batman, BLAM! KAPOW! OWWWW; (okay that last one was all me). My lymph node stretched, popped and shuddered. I seriously felt pain. It was not a pleasant experience.

The instructor noticed what happened and saw me cupping my own breast in the back row. Rather than leave me alone (which is what any normal person ought to do in this situation), she asked me if I was okay. "Yes," I said, "but I think I popped something". She told me to get into child's pose and wait things out a bit. So I obliged, all the while imagining my lymph node like a sore, deflated balloon in my armpit.

The rest of the exercises after that were okay, except the ones where I had to put any pressure on my right arm. My hips didn't like the leg exercises much either. My right hip has started clicking a bit every time I raise and lower my leg. This movement does not occur all that naturally in my daily life (how sad for me), but I can't imagine that a clicky hip is a very good sign really. Dodgy hip and saggy lymph node enjoyed the stretching we did - in fact my whole body really liked those parts - I totally zoned out and would have fallen asleep had the studio's dimmer switch been set any lower.

So yes I think my week of athleticism peaked on Tuesday and has slid into decrepitude ever since. If anyone needs me, I'll be icing my lymph node and nursing a glass of red.

Making progress, one step at a time

2011-12-13T20:38:00.005-06:00

Tonight was the first training session that we've had - ever - when it wasn't raining. An early Christmas miracle!

Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was just the planets finally lining up, but I made really good progress in the Park tonight. I joined my still-keen group of beginners on a quick warm up jog. Instantly I felt better than I did on Saturday. I settled into my groove and kept a steady pace. I chose not to chat to anyone around me tonight, cause I didn't want to burst the little bubble.

Back and forth we ran along the road; each circuit was 1/2 mile or so. There were times I wanted to stop and walk for a bit, take a bit of a break, but I didn't. I kept pushing myself. I didn't run quickly, but I pushed on.

Tonight's run was focusing on upper-body form, so the coaches were helping us improve our posture and our arm-swing as we moved. At one point, one of the coaches jogged up to me and started to chat. I had to respond. NUTS. So I gulped and gasped responses and tried to seem engaged. The coach told me I had an asymmetrical arm-swing. Dude, I thought, I can barely look at you right now...get lost! (huff!) (puff!). A bit of demonstration and I was soon swinging my arms symmetrically. Teacher's pet, all the way.

And after it was all over? I realised that I had run a little over 2 miles and I hadn't stopped once. This is progress, friends!

Lumbering Up

2011-12-11T11:53:00.003-06:00

A naked man wraps himself in cling film and walks into his psychiatrist's office.

The psychiatrist looks at the man and says, "Quite clearly I can see you're nuts!".

Ba-dum-bum. It never gets old. I know, I know - I won't quit my day job.

After a tough Pilates class this morning, I walked over to Home Depot to see a man about some lumber. I needed to get some replacement drawer liners for the absolutely crap chest of drawers I have at home. The bottoms of all my drawers have buckled and bowed and now the drawers hardly close. So I went to the store that claims, "you can do it - we can help" to get six pieces of plywood cut to size.

To my mind, the sad thing about Manhattan hardware stores is that they don't have giant car parks offering sausage sizzles (or brat frys, if you're from Wisconsin). No ice cream vans either. And aren't they poorer for it?

The pimply sales representative at Home Depot told me that they don't sell wood in Manhattan. He lowered his voice to a whisper and told me that if I wanted to buy plywood, I would need to go out to a Home Depot in "the suburbs". We both stared at each other, knowing that was never gonna happen. Then he said I could try the competition, over on 23rd Street and 6th Avenue. So off I went, to see another man about some lumber.

Store #2 turned out to be a bust, with the lunatic behind the counter telling me that not only would I not find the plywood I needed in his store, I was unlikely to find it anywhere. Not in the city, not in the suburbs, not anywhere on planet earth. Hmm. I don't know much about plywood (nothing about it in fact) but I am fairly confident that if Target can find plywood thin enough to build the drawers in the first place, somewhere has to sell me plywood to replace it.

So I went to the store I should have gone to in the first place.

Nuthouse Hardware is the only 24/7 hardware store in NYC and it is quite an institution. It is the sort of hardware store you go to when you have no idea what you need to buy. Not only do you come out with it, you leave with your arms full of a bunch of other stuff you had no idea you needed in the first place.

Two of the hardware store guys (jovial Nepalese fellas) took pity on me and decided to render assistance. I explained to them what I thought I wanted, and they chattered away to each other to work out how to meet my plywood needs. They invited me to descend two flights of stairs with them, which I obligingly did, all the while wondering if I would ever be seen again.

Down in the basement I discovered a wood-worker's paradise. Offcuts of every kind of lumber you can think of (though I can't think of too many, let's face it). Down the back, behind the steel and 2x4, we found several squares of plywood - just the thickness (or thinness?) that I needed for my DIY job. I did a happy dance on the inside. Once again, Nuthouse Hardware delivered the goods.

The guys then involved me in a lengthy discussion about plywood thicknesses and sanding materials, which I only barely followed. We measured, me re-measured and we measured one last time. Then we finally got down to the business of using the saw to cut the plywood to the shape and size of drawers. Even though all I did was stand back and get covered in wood dust, I was quite pleased to be downstairs with the guys and part of these plywood particulars.

Of course on the way out, I bought sandpaper and a giant plastic container to keep my snow & ugg boots in (as you do). The store won again.

And now I'm home and actually have to give the drawers their new bottoms. If only such a task could be outsourced. DIY is all well and good, except for the Y part.

You've got a long way to go, Charlie Brown

2011-12-10T12:25:00.003-06:00

Good grief! So here's the thing. I know that I am not fit, despite my treadmill and Pilates activities. I might be getting there, but I have not yet arrived. In fact, I am quite a way off. This was brought home to me in spectacular fashion this morning at our first proper Group Training Session for Team in Training.

It was a chilly morning, but I felt a bit invigorated already because I had caught the bus up 1st Ave, got out at 68th Street and then walked across town up to the 72nd Street entrance of the Park. The fresh air and warm-up walk did me the world of good.

So we met in Central Park at the usual Bethesda Terrace location for our 10am start and I was really pleased to see Flock and Flora there too. We work together, we jog together. Group suffering is so much easier to bear, I think. We got into it pretty much straight away and after the coaches and mentors introduced themselves to our huge group we broke up into jogging groups to get started. The New Jersey and Madrid running groups headed off in one direction, and the NYC half-marathoners headed off in another.

An easy run this morning, they said. Only 1.7 miles (or "the lower loop" - see the southern part of this map). The intermediate and advanced among us were told to do two laps of the circuit, but the beginners and runner/walkers only had to do one.

I made it around the lower loop, with a bit of jogging, a bit of fast walking, and a bit more jogging. The cold air was pretty tough to take at first - but then I got into it.

The coaches/mentors had invited us to come away from today's session having met at least 5 new people, but I found it hard to run and talk at the same time. I was not very conversational, cause I just wanted to concentrate on my jogging and try not to die or get hit by a cyclist, rickshaw or horse-drawn carriage. Honestly I was happy in my own little zone. I chatted to a couple of the girls and one of the coaches as they jogged up to meet me, then they slowed down - or I did - and we overtook each other again at intervals. It was fine.

I remember thinking that 1.7 miles was pretty long today - and yet the half-marathon itself is 13.1 miles. I have between now and March to get my butt in gear and build up some stamina. We have been given our training plan for December and apparently by the end of this month, I'm supposed to be doing 4-5 mile jogs in one session. Um, yeah. Okay. Today was only Day 1 though - in future jogs I will only get better. Maybe I should do the lower loop run by myself a couple of times? Hmm, probably.

Next week is a 9am meet-up, but we have some strength and cross training sessions between now and then. Let's do this thing. You will not beat me, Central Park.

Being a Locavore

2011-12-03T12:19:00.002-06:00

I may be a couple of weeks late for the official Small Business Saturday, but this morning I decided to stage my own show of support for my local neighbourhood businesses. Prompted by laziness and an empty fridge, of course. But motivations are immaterial, surely?!

At the corner of 34th & 1st sits a new diner called Lucky's. I don't know if its named after a person or a dog or what, but I liked it. The online reviews are terrible, which I think is a shame. Still, if you look closely at the calibre of people writing them, you'll most likely do what I did and disregard them.

The diner is run by a Greek man and his family, so that already wins points in my book. I went there pretty close to lunch and a bunch of old Greek fellas wandered in not long after me, and the place just erupted. The owner, his wife and a bunch of the waiters all started babbling away in Greek and it was really nice.

I had bacon, fried potatoes, plus poached eggs on 'whiskey down'. Uh, that's rye toast for those of us with no idea about waitress diner vocabulary. Even the coffee was strong and not your usually (ie horrible) American diner coffee. Delish. Not the easiest dish to screw up, mind you, but it was just what I needed on this cold Saturday morning.

And the fact that all this costs less than 10 bucks and is half a block from my house? Amazing.

Not Wacko Jacko

2011-12-03T09:40:00.004-06:00

I can't find my Playbill anymore and that is frustrating because I wanted to write down a lot about Thursday's amazing performance of Hugh Jackman - Back on Broadway. But let's just take a minute and marvel at the picture up there, shall we? Ahhh, that's better.

Hugh's show has a 10-week run at The Broadhurst Theater, which is a beautiful venue completed in 1918 that sits across the street from the iconic Sardi's restaurant. It's fair to say that I was in a magnificently bad mood on Thursday evening, and not being able to find a seat at any bar near the theater really annoyed me. I wanted to just sit somewhere, have a pre-theater drink, and try and prepare for an event that I was managing on Friday. But instead, I ended up walking the streets, blocks out of my way, feeling more and more like Joseph and Mary. No room at any inn. So I threw in the towel and wandered back to the theater to wait for K.

On the plan, our seats looked like they were in the nosebleed section. Three rows from the back or something. And I had resisted buying tickets for weeks because overall I thought they were just too costly to be worth it. As it was, our way-in-the-back seats were still $100 but I thought that was fair and besides, I really did want that one-night only chance to see and hear Hugh tread the boards.

The lights came up and the on-stage band kicked into gear and the show was on. And what a show! Hugh may not be the best singer in the world, but the man is the ultimate showman. He was magnetic on stage and he engaged with the audience, almost flirting with them at times. But best of all, he was himself. His stories were personal, his opinions were his own, and he delighted the audience with songs that meant something to him. He was all energy, all the time. And the audience lapped it all up. As K said to me at one point, "there are a lot of people here having some very intense experiences". At one point, one woman in front of us was sobbing.

I never got to see The Boy From Oz, but I know that confirmed Hugh's showmanship in a lot of people's minds - and it won him the Tony award. So it was fitting that after intermission, Hugh channelled Peter Allen and shimmied across the stage performing a medley of hits from the late songwriter. And then he slowed down a bit and sang my favourite, Tenterfield Saddler. I think K and I were quite grateful he didn't do, I Still Call Australia Home. I think we both would have cried. Stupid QANTAS choir - gets me every time.

My favourite part was the montage of hits from old-time Hollywood musicals. Singing in the Rain, Me and My Girl, Guys & Dolls and many more. It was a high-energy, song and dance number that brought the house down. Hugh never seemed to run out of puff and it was fantastic.

At the end of the show, as often happens on Broadway, Hugh took the stage to ask the audience to donate to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. I love this cause and have donated to them a bunch of times during the year, both at Broadway shows and not. And on World AIDS Day, which it was on Thursday, it was appropriate that Hugh would ask the audience to dig deep and help support the organisation's important work. So he started an auction to sell his sweaty tank tops.

They sold for $10,000 each. Right there on the spot. I couldn't believe it. For an additional $2,000 each, he would sign photographs with audience members and I have an easy time believing he would have made heaps more money off that. The audience was in his hands.

The show was fantastic and I would have no problems seeing it again, or seeing Hugh in pretty much anything else. I'm looking forward to his turn as Jean Valjean in the movie version of Les Miserables (Ann Hathaway besides - - eyeball roll). If nothing else, that role probably gives Hugh lots of opportunities to be grubby and shirtless. And that will sell movie tickets like nobody's business!

No Piles for this Princess

2011-11-30T19:23:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was the second Tuesday in a row that it decided to rain all afternoon. Not normally an issue of course, except I was supposed to have my third pre-season workout for the NYC Half-Marathon in Central Park. Where is the incentive to run outdoors when it's pissing down?!

Of course I talked it over with Flock and Flower, my two running companions from work, and we agreed to bail. It didn't take us very long to come to that decision. Then ten minutes before we were supposed to walk out the door, Flock decided we were going. So I caved. I called Flower's office but she was already long gone. Sensible woman, that one. So Flock and I changed into gym gear and trudged along to Central Park for our 6.45pm workout.

The rain had stopped but there was this annoying misty spit falling from the sky, which is probably more irritating than rain when you think about it. We exercised in the open air - skipping, hopping, jumping-jacking (aka star-jumping, for those of you playing at home on the other side of the world). Then we had to jog up and back along the walkway. I didn't die, but I was glad when it was over. I have no stamina for this running gimmick yet. Then we did a couple of ballet leg lifts and some bicep something-somethings, and as the heavens threatened to open we sought refuge back under the Bethesda Terrace bridge.

For whatever reason I decided to get indignant at this point. Physically I felt fine - the workout up till now had been fine and my body was feeling warmed up and ready. But when the trainer asked us to lay down on the cold, wet floor under the bridge, I just wasn't having it. High school flashed into mind, and Sister Maryanne's frequent warning against sitting on concrete floors ("you'll get piles, girls!"). I don't want piles. Who does?! So I stubbornly refused to do the floor-based exercises.

My protest would probably have been more effective had I not been the only one participating in it. I looked around and I was literally the only princess in the group. One of the happy-clapper trainers came over and asked me if I was doing okay. She probably thought I was injured or something. I just said to her that I wasn't prepared to lie on the floor tonight (subtext: or any night, lady!). Harrumph. The lady just smiled that giant grin of the righteous and chirped, "okay!!". I could almost hear both of those exclamation points in her voice. ARGH. I begrudgingly joined the group towards the end and did one plank for the sake of Pilates (plus I find them relatively easy for some reason), then we did some cool down stretches, and the workout was all over for another night.

Yes I know that I was being a princess last night and I achieved nothing by boycotting the abdominal exercises. But this has been my only act of rebellion so far in this whole half-marathon enterprise, so I'm not dwelling on it too much. Somewhere out there, Sister Maryanne is quietly proud of me.

A Little Bit of Give

2011-11-27T10:48:00.002-06:00

I was up early this morning, before my alarm in fact, because I've signed up to another block of four Pilates lessons every Sunday morning from now until my parents come over. I love this groovy Pilates studio, the same one that I went to back in summer. Has it really been that long between classes?! I've graduated from beginner status though, and this morning I was ready and willing to get started on the hard stuff.

I must have put rocket boosters on my sneakers because I walked the 14 blocks to the studio in record time. There were a lot of crazies out earlier today, scavenging bins and screaming at threats only they could see. Scarier still was the handful of hungover souls doing the walk of shame. No judgment.

The instructor we had this morning remembered me from a previous class, which I thought was really nice. She took us through the usual bendy-stretchy routines on the tower, swapping springs and straps and all manner of tools designed to strengthen and lengthen our muscles.

But the total kicker for me came when we had to lay on our backs, keeping our legs straight and our thighs and feet together. Using our abdominals we had to raise and lower our legs as much as we could. Sounds easy but it's a bit of a killer, trust me.

The instructor told us to squeeze our thighs together, and pretend we had a piece of paper in between them that we didn't want to lose. Coming over to check that I was maintaining neutral pelvis (not as kinky as it sounds), the instructor said, "keep your thighs together - don't let anything get between your thighs!". I snort-laughed; it was like all the nuns from high school were back in the room again!

The instructor just smiled and I kept leg-lifting. That imaginary piece of paper didn't budge.

Hangovers and Leftovers

2011-11-25T08:56:00.002-06:00

I am so glad that this blog does not come with a webcam because today is Black Friday and I'm going to recline in my pyjamas for as long as I can without grossing myself out. I'm going to enjoy copious amounts of strong coffee, lip-smackingly hot buttered toast, and a TV line-up that is so ludicrously crappy that I can scarcely believe it.

Black Friday is the biggest shopping day in the US and it comes the day after Thanksgiving. I did not have a big Turkey Day this year, but even I'm having trouble moving too far, too fast. How gluttons heave themselves around the department stores on this capitalist delight's special day is totally beyond me. Maybe they secretly did what I did this year, and got up early to shop online. With the exception of one person, my Christmas shopping is now totally done. And I didn't have to leave the apartment to do it. Score!

The best thing about being a sloth on Black Friday is it allows you to reflect on the day before. Turkey Day, Thanksgiving - whatever you call it - is a day to stop and give thanks for the good things in your life. I've had some amazing Thanksgiving meals in my US experience:

The first time, I went to an old friend's place in Chicago when the weather was ridiculous;
The second time, I tried to host an orphan's Thanksgiving and one by one, everybody bailed. So in the words of Forrest Gump, "that's all I have to say about that";
The third time, I went to the Trade Commissioner's house and had a huge roast lunch;
The fourth time was actually my first truly American Thanksgiving, hosted by a Chicago friend at her gorgeous apartment;
The fifth meal I cheated and hosted it in June, to celebrate my Aussie friend's visit;
The sixth and seventh meals were, if you can believe it, both on the same day, this time in NYC when I flew in to visit K. We were more stuffed than the turkeys by the end of that day; and
Now of course it's Thanksgiving Meal #8 and despite my fancy cooking class, I wimped out and did the heat-and-eat option.

I actually thought I had Thanksgiving plans this year, but friends who had initially talked about coming to NYC for the weekend ended up changing their plans. Quite separately, I was also invited to have an orphan's lunch at a friend's place but with the idea of hosting my own friends in town, I had to decline. Nothing was a big deal in the end of course, because the food I bought freezes really well. So I kept out the pre-cooked turkey breast, cranberry & herb stuffing, mashed potatoes and turkey gravy, and I managed to cobble (gobble?) together some steamed vegetable side dishes to go with it. I sensibly froze the apple crisp dessert because I think that if I'd left that out, I would have scoffed the lot. As I polished off the plateful of almost-homemade deliciousness, I had a couple of glasses of red wine and watched "Ghostbusters" and "National Lampoons Christmas Vacation". It was a pretty good day, for sure.

And the only hangover I have today is a food-related one. Waking up from a turkey coma is always a bit rough. Online shopping and strong coffee has helped revive me somewhat, and I'm ready to face the day dealing with leftovers. I'm thinking that a turkey chilli is on the menu, for which I shall be truly thankful for days to come.

Pain lets you know you're not dead yet

2011-11-23T06:28:00.002-06:00

Last night was pre-season workout number 2 in Central Park. I'm quite ashamed to say that even though I'd put in some treadmill time on Saturday, Sunday and Monday - my thighs were still a bit dodgy after last week's session. I was a bit nervous about how much effort I'd be able to put in to the cross-training, stretching part of our weekly workout. I had already decided to find the 70 year old lady who was there last week and stand close to her.

My nerves about session two were somewhat eased by the company of Flock, one of the girls from work who I'd somehow managed to convince to do this half-marathon with me. And like me, Flock is not a runner (yet?), and she's equally dubious about her body's ability to get through this 13.1 mile challenge in one piece. But as we've been talking about it together over the past few days, we've managed to keep each other motivated. Flock has even ramped up her fundraising efforts by feeding us all home-made sausage rolls this week. $1 for 2 of those delicious delights? A bargain, if ever there was one!

Rain fell for most of yesterday afternoon and I don't deny that I thought about bailing on training. But it was only the second week - and we're still only in pre-season. Training hasn't even started properly yet. Plus Flock was still committed, so I had to be too. By the time we got to Central Park, the sky was dark and the raindrops were there to stay. As we walked towards the Bethesda Terrace meeting point, I was carrying on about how the trainers couldn't possibly expect us to run in the rain...we'd catch our deaths of cold....I'd surely slip on wet leaves....I'm wearing all black; I'd get hit by a car for sure. Bla-di-bla-bla.

All this melodrama came to nothing though really. Our trainer didn't expect us to run in the rain at all. We stayed underneath the Bethesda Terrace bridge and did our workout under there. We jogged, we skipped, we kicked our legs. We squatted and planked and pushed up. I tried to lunge (and thought better of it), and did a couple of half-ass curtsies before my thighs decided enough was enough. I was relieved when we started the cool-down stretching parts and when I leaned over to do a calf/hamstring stretch, I was quite proud that I could put both of my palms flat on the floor. If I had done that same stretch after last week's training, I probably would have cried.

After our workout, Flock and I parted ways and I walked to the bus stop with one of the other girls from training. Yep, I made another new friend. This is getting to be a bit of a pattern, kids. This new friend is a first-time marathoner and non-runner too. She works at Penguin books, so you can imagine the geeky conversations we had as we walked together. Penguin is actually sponsoring a team of her colleagues to do this half-marathon and they're matching donations dollar-for-dollar. Isn't that wonderful? I was too busy chatting to notice how cold it was and how rained-on I was getting, despite my umbrella. When I got to the bus stop and tried to put on the hoodie that I'd left in my backpack, I realised that my bag is not as water-tight as I'd hoped it was, and my hoodie - and most of my work clothes - were all damp. Nuts.

Within about 30 seconds of getting home last night, I was standing under a scalding hot shower and feeling immediately revived. A bowl of hot soup, a glass of red wine, and two episodes of "The West Wing" rounded out my night. I slept like the dead and it was wonderful.

What is also wonderful is the fact that I can actually move this morning. I feel better today that I did after last week's workout and I hope that this is just a good sign of great things to come.

Where Do You Keep Your Crazy Pills?

2011-11-21T19:39:00.003-06:00

There is a pharmacy up the street from us that K has decided to boycott because a few months ago they ripped out all their cash registers and replaced them with self-service machines. Given that I prefer as little human contact as possible in most retail situations, I was all for the automation and have continued to patronise the place. But after tonight's shopping experience, I get the impression there is likely to be an 8x10 photograph of yours truly posted up around the place. Good grief.

I was walking back from the gym, rocking out to my old lady radio station on my iPod and I headed into the pharmacy. I had only brought $20 with me, so I relied on my superior mathematical skills to instruct me when to stop shopping and cash out. You are already seeing my problem, aren't you? Arms loaded with stuff, I headed for the faceless automaton check-out and started scanning. Bleep, bleep, bleep - the purchases whooshed through.

Then we stalled. The scanner couldn't read the bodywash barcode. Or, more accurately, wouldn't read the bodywash barcode. The machine disputed that I had put it in the bag. "Incorrect weight", it kept saying. I took the bodywash out of the bag; I put it back into the bag. "Incorrect weight", the machine insisted. I tried to ignore the message and scan my Diet Coke instead. The machine was not having any of that. It had clearly dealt with humans trying to circumvent its authority before. I huffed and puffed, and made a none-too-subtle comment under my breath about the state of the universe when a machine won't even let you buy bodywash. And just at the point where I was going to squirt bodywash all over the machine's circuitry, a ridgey-didge staff member came over to help me. He possessed the magic credit card override thingy that told the machine to scan the freaking bodywash and get over it.

But the machine was not going to back down easily. As Human Being stood idly by, I scanned my extra purchases. The machine stubbornly refused to acknowledge my toilet paper, hand soap or chewing gum. One by one, Human Being swooshed his increasingly unimpressive credit card override thingy at the machine until (finally) all my purchases were in the bag. We looked at the computer screen.

The smug electronic bastard decided to charge me $20.95. I could almost hear it laughing; mocking me. As Human Being became absorbed in studying his shoes, or the ceiling, or anything else that wasn't me, I huffed and puffed some more and tore into my shopping bag to remove whatever item I could not apparently afford. Grabbing the first thing to hand, I hurled it off to the side and narrowed my eyes into slits at the machine.

Trying to salvage whatever suggestion of sanity I could, I thanked Human Being profusely for helping me defeat a smartass computer. Human Being did his best not to page the pharmacist.

It wasn't until I scurried off into the night that I realised that the item I'd surrendered was the toilet paper - the one thing I actually went shopping for in the first place.

If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad

2011-11-20T09:59:00.003-06:00

When friends come to town, it's usually a bloody good excuse to throw your sensible diet and lifestyle plans out the window - right? Hmm maybe that's just how I approach these things. Not that I don't mix in a little culture with my hedonism, mind.

So it was that at 8.30am yesterday, I met Courts on the corner of 58th and Why-The-Hell-Am-I-Out-Of-Bed-At-This-Hour, and we taxied to the American Museum of Natural History. As a member there, I had snagged a couple of tickets to the Museum's new "Beyond Planet Earth" exhibition which officially opened yesterday. We just got to see it before all the tourist hoards (and their bratty children) came charging through. The exhibit is quite small but it has some pretty fancy interactive displays and the gift shop even sells little sachets of space food. At this point in the day, I was fueled by only half a Whole Foods coffee, so even the dehydrated chocolate ice cream sandwich was looking pretty good. But I knew what was to come, so I resisted.

Rather than stay on at the Museum during its opening hours, we walked over to my fabulously favourite food emporium, Zabar's. I have made no secret on this site about my love for this place and I'm so glad that Courts liked it too. The average age of shoppers in there yesterday would have been about 300 but that's typical for this place and one of the reasons I love it. Little old ladies and their husbands shuffle around to do their weekly shopping, being jostled about by tourists and locals who (like me) just want to grab as many pastries and pickled products as they can and scoff them immediately. Okay maybe that's just me. I emerged with a loaf of signature rye bread and a giant pack of chocolate rugelach, both of which made me a very happy girl. When we left Zabar's I was heartbroken to realise that H&H bagels had closed its Upper West Side store. This upset was mitigated however by the smoked salmon & cream cheese delight and freshly-squeezed OJ that I enjoyed at Zabar's little cafe next door. Nom nom.

In fact, happiness through food seemed to be quite the popular sentiment yesterday. With our Zabar's purchases in hand, we took our full and caffeinated selves on the subway to the Madison Square Park. Across the street, in all its epicurean glory, is Eataly. I don't need to remind you how happy this places makes me. Lavazza coffee, creamy cakes, dried and fresh pastas, live seafood, charcuterie plates and wines, for the love of all that is holy. Eataly sells itself.

I took Courts up to the rooftop and we hung out at Birreria until CS joined us. We might have been ticking on a little bit by the time he got there, but such is the effect that two of the restaurant's delicious home brews will have on you. Retiring to a table, we enjoyed a delicious meal of assorted salamis; blood sausage and sauerkraut; pork chops; and portobello mushrooms. I know, right? Well look at the menu for yourself - you would have done just as much delicious damage! The meal and the beers and the location made all three of us quite happy and we were ready to face the Eataly market downstairs. Tasty treats made it safely into our shopping baskets, I can assure you.

Parting ways with Courts and CS, I wished them well for their delicious dinner at Mercer Kitchen and I headed for home. Laundry and episodes of "The West Wing" followed (Mark Harmon as a Secret Service agent, anyone? Hubba hubba). Then I made the fatal mistake of ordering Thai take-away and asking the restaurant to make it extra spicy for me. If I ever try and do that again, can you please karate chop me? Needless to say that the remainder of my Saturday night is best left forgotten. I was very disappointed in myself, but also for the fact that it meant I couldn't meet Courts & CS at Wallse after their dinner, for the much-anticipated tomato peppar cocktail (or Bloody Martini, in this case) that I had read all about in my New York Times cookbook. A story for another time, I guess.

After a 13-hour sleep, I woke up to a Sunday morning full of promise. Thai food was a distant memory and my legs even felt fit enough to drag me to the gym. A one hour workout cleared my mind and cheered me up immensely. As I walked home, I had to actively remember not to dance to my iPod music in public (I make an unfortunate habit of this). Lost in my thoughts, I got pulled back to reality by a truck-full of New York City firefighters, honking their horn and waving at me. At least I hope they were waving at me, cause I totally waved back. I'm only human, after all.

Feel the Burn

2011-11-16T13:05:00.001-06:00

So here we are the day after pre-season training and I woke up this morning feeling fine. I was secretly just grateful to wake up, to be honest.

I stretched my legs out in bed and nothing seemed to ache or pinch. Feet on the floor, walking was not only possible but quite normal. I got ready for work without incident and even managed to strut on the way in – not hobble along in a hunched-over state, like I feared I would.

As the day has worn on though, my body has become increasingly sore. My legs are not happy, and when I try and flex my thigh muscles my vision blurs. Okay, that is overstating things somewhat, but you know what I mean. My back is also sore, but I think it has just gone out in sympathy with my legs. I have developed a headache but I think that’s just biological rebellion. I am so out of condition. Who signed me up to this running gimmick anyway? Oh yeah, me.

On the upside, the fact that my legs hurt surely suggests I used them properly last night. That’s got to count for something, right? I’m sure it does, but right now it hurts to think about it.

The Acrid Stench of Death

2011-11-15T23:08:00.002-06:00

So tonight was the launch of pre-season training for the NYC Half-Marathon. I was so nervous as I made my way from the 68th Street subway station up onto Fifth Avenue and the few blocks into Central Park. The rain that had threatened to fall all day finally started to splotch everything as I stood at the 72nd Street entrance to Central Park, a full 15 minutes early for training.

In my anticipation, I texted my sister. I mentioned where I was going, and that I was early, hoping to inspire some last-minute words of encouragement. "You're early? Haha - nerd!" was the reply. Figures.

I killed some time fiddling around with my backpack and then made my way to Bethesda Terrace (well rehearsed after Sunday's reconnaissance mission). A small but growing group was already there. Coaches and mentors in shiny, sporty jackets were shaking hands and greeting newcomers. I hung around the back, smiling at people when they looked at me, but trying not to look maniacal and "late night Central Park-y" (think "Law and Order" for the type of menacing nutty expression I mean).

I got talking to a girl next to me and we discovered that we were both half-marathon virgins. In fact, neither of us had ever done anything like this in our lives, and we were still trying to work out how a promotional junk mail postcard (that we would normally never read) managed to suck us in this far. A kindred spirit if ever there was one. So we adopted each other and when the time came to go downstairs, drop off our bags and confess about our lack of running ability, we did it together.

Fortunately there were more first-timers there tonight than I was expecting. The vast majority seem to be non-runners, though tonight was not the time to divulge why we've all come together to do this thing. I suspect we'll save that for another night.

Tonight was about getting started. The head coach announced that we would run for 10 minutes. We'd run 5 minutes in one direction, turn around and then run back to our meeting spot. Before we knew what was happening, we were off. I actually ran. Body parts wobbled and wheezed. My head spun. But I did not stop. I ran the full 10 minutes without stopping. I talked to my new friend the whole way, even laughed a few times, and yet my legs and arms kept moving and propelled me forward.

By the time we got back to the meeting place I was knackered. My new Nike shirt was excellent at wicking away sweat, but my face was on fire and I thought I was going to die. And yet I didn't die - quite the opposite, in fact. I totally kept going. We did silly exercises back and forth, skipping and lifting our knees up, crab-walking and side-lunging, and then a grapevine type step that was quite easy until I started concentrating and then I nearly fell down.

After that we did some stretches and it's fair to say I was in my element at this point. Standing still and stretching is my forte. I did a good Pilates plank and held my form, though my core is not as good as it used to be and I can't wait to get back to my Pilates tower/reformer classes that start next weekend.

There was a lot of "woohoo" and "go team" and self-congratulatory applause employed tonight. At first it was a bit weird. I was waiting for someone to pass me a glass of Kool-Aid. But then I kind of relaxed into it and realised that it was actually a very supportive, encouraging environment.

My running and lunges and crab-walking will probably render me immobile tomorrow but I am so resolved to do better next week. I've arranged to meet my friend at top of the stairs next week (when her friends will also be coming along) and with safety in numbers, I think we'll all be fine to keep on truckin'.

Now, what do we say?

2011-11-15T09:41:00.002-06:00

I was running late for work this morning and I shared the elevator with a little boy from down the hall, all rugged up in his stroller. He was heading out for his morning constitutional with his nanny. I have seen this pair before and they are just adorable. While the little boy is cocooned under mountains of blankets, his little sneakers poking out the bottom, he chats away happily – mostly to himself, but occasionally to his nanny too. Usually he just stares at me. I poke my tongue out. He laughs.

We missed that little pantomime this morning because the little boy was having a late breakfast on the go. As his nanny leant forward to hand him the piece of buttered toast, she uttered that truly international phrase “now, what do we say?”. Obediently the little boy responded, “thank you”. Okay admittedly, his response was more a “fank goo”, but I’m giving him some leeway here.

It’s so weird that kids all over the world are schooled this way. We all get conditioned with “now, what do we say?” (thank you) and occasionally, “what’s the magic word?” (please). Weirder still is how we all start this way, but as our adult personalities develop and change, so too does our observence of basic good manners.

Old school etiquette put a lot of pressure on men – holding doors open for women, walking on the gutter-side of the street, standing up whenever women came into (or left) a room or a dining table. Those practices haven't entirely disappeared but they have slackened off - sign of the times and all that. But hey, good manners aren't just the domain of men. Women can just as easily hold doors open for people, give up their bus seats for the ancients, and cover their mouths when they sneeze. And when I witness these simple acts of kindness in my modern day life, I ask myself “now, what do we say?”, and of course I respond accordingly. You can't undo that sort of conditioning.

When I lived in Chicago I adopted the very American practice of writing thank you notes. Is this an American custom? It seemed so to me – I don’t recall Aussies doling out too many thank you cards on a regular basis. I do recall however that when I lived in Chi-town, Hallmark made millions from me. I had boxes of thank you cards of all different designs and whenever I attended dinner parties or birthday parties, or even if friends just did something nice for me, I’d send a follow-up note to formally acknowledge the kindness. It wasn’t even forced either. For me, it had become another US custom that I’d adopted and it was borne of a sentiment so sincere, that it felt good to be able to express it.

While I take care to remember my manners at all times, I have admittedly slackened off on the card-giving these days. But as my attention turns to the fast-approaching Thanksgiving holiday, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just reinstitute the practice. It won’t save me from the ghastly hand-holding, saying-what-you’re-thankful-for Thanksgiving lunch tradition, but it will be a nice thing to do. And let’s face it, it doesn’t really matter where you’re from – “fank goo” is always nice to hear.

And All That Jazz

2011-11-14T22:08:00.002-06:00

I don't know whether the gin was cold or if the piano was hot, but tonight I went to a gorgeous little wine bar in the East Village called Cellar 58. I listened to some very cool, easy-listening jazz and stuffed my face with amazing pappardelle and Sangiovese. I am quite easy to please when it comes to these things in life - give me music, red wine and pasta and I will be a very happy girl.

In her naturally exuberant way, one of K's friends violated my no-touch policy several times. But she was a "hugger" and there's not much you can do when "huggers" move in on you. You just have to roll with it and I think I dealt with it all quite well (particularly for a Monday). This probably means that the Sangiovese - and even the jazz - were doing their jobs; I was in good spirits all round.

We were there to celebrate K's room mate's engagement - she and her betrothed got engaged in Central Park just yesterday. I was only in Central Park yesterday so I know first-hand what a beautiful day it was there. What a gorgeous day to have something so lovely happen to you. And in such an iconic location. Sigh. See! Even fusty old ladies like me can be happy for people sometimes. Again, I blame the red wine and the jazz for my marshmallow attitude. What a pushover!

I even violated my own no-touch policy and voluntarily hugged everyone goodbye. Invasion of the pod people. Apocalypse a-go-go! So now I'm on a pasta and red wine hiatus and I'm mentally prepping for my first day of training tomorrow night (eek!).

No more pasta and red wine for a little while, but I'd definitely go back to the gorgeous wine bar any time!

The Accidental Tourist

2011-11-13T15:11:00.002-06:00

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I am not good at geography. I enjoy looking at maps because I can at least give the impression that they mean something to me. But I have the unique gift of always turning left when I should be turning right.

So today I should quite probably buy a New York lottery ticket because it was really was my lucky day. I found everything I went looking for today and did not get lost once.

I left home early this morning to make good on my pledge to find Bethesda Terrace in Central Park, where I will be meeting my Team in Training crew on Tuesday night. I had snuck a bit of a look at a map beforehand so when I set off on the bus from home, I at least knew the general direction I'd need to go to reach my goal. I caught the super fast bus up 1st Avenue and then switched to the cross-town bus at 79th St over to Fifth Avenue. This was a bit further north than I knew I needed to be, but I wanted to walk south along the edge of Central Park.

My mum would love this time of year in New York, and in Central Park in particular. The leaves are changing colour beautifully here and when they get tired of hanging around, they're falling off the trees left and right. Everywhere I looked today, little kids - and big kids alike - were stomping through piles of dried leaves, just clowning around. We were all a bit rugged up today because despite the sun, the cool air had come in and made everything a little crisp.

I cut into Central Park at 72nd street and headed down the hill, in the direction of where I hoped I'd find Bethesda Terrace. I nearly got run down by horse-drawn carriages, joggers, cyclists, roller bladers and bicycle rickshaws but it was all good. I found myself the "walkers only" lane on the road and stuck to it. Sure enough, as I rounded a corner and came over the crest of the hill, what did I see in front of me? Yep, the beautiful fountain and staircase of Bethesda Terrace. I did a little victory dance on the inside.

You'd recognise Bethesda Terrace from a bunch of New York movies and TV shows. My favourite of course? This scene from "One Fine Day", when George Clooney carries Michelle Pfeiffer through the rain puddle. Swoon. Naturally when I went here today, the place was swarming with tourists - and Gorgeous George was nowhere in sight. Pity.

Feeling deservedly proud of myself, I set off in search of coffee and I headed back up the hill and off to the left. Around a bend or two I found the iconic Central Park Boathouse which, it has to be said, has pretty good coffee for a New York restaurant. It was still relatively early by the time I got here and the brunch crowds hadn't yet arrived. So I got myself a coffee and a brownie, and relaxed outside - right along the water - and read my new book. Before I knew it, I'd lost an hour this way and figured I might as well keep moving.

I wandered back to Bethesda Terrace and back out of the Park the way I came in, confident in the fact that on Tuesday night I'll be OK to get myself back there.

Taking the N subway in the direction of home, I noticed that the last stop on my line would be Coney Island. Never having been there, and having all the time in the world, I figured I might as well go visit. I wasn't on the express train of course, but I was too scared to get off and switch lines, in case my brand new geography skills were just a fluke. So I sat where I was and let the train s-l-o-w-l-y take me through Manhattan, across into Brooklyn, and all the way out to the seaside.

Coney Island in autumn is as dead as a dodo. And I have to say, seeing the Boardwalk all boarded up and the amusement park rides all closed down is a creepy sight. But at the same time, I quite enjoyed being there - because there were hardly any tourists, or kids, or people riding roller coasters and screaming. About 40 people were braving the cool conditions along the Boardwalk today. The water was calm and the beach sand was clean and undisturbed. The fresh air put me in the mood for fish & chips but as I bought a couple of postcards for my grandmas, I remembered that Coney Island is home to Nathan's hotdogs, somewhat of an institution since it first opened here in 1916. Sure enough, I left the Boardwalk, rounded the corner and opposite the subway station was the iconic storefront. Even though I had to line up for it (almost out the door), the hotdog and Diet Coke really hit the spot and gave me the energy I needed to get back on the train and head for home.

I was all over the map today - Central Park and then far-flung Brooklyn - but I had success both times. If I could high-5 myself I totally would. My new sneakers also held up to all the walking around too, so I feel confident they will do the same in March next year. All good.

Looking The Part

2011-11-12T13:05:00.002-06:00

On this cool, crisp Saturday morning I set out for breakfast with K&N, who had come back to New York for a very brief visit.

Over waffles and coffee (for me, anyway) we chatted about a bunch of things, and conversation turned to the NYC Half-Marathon. N is an excellent runner and has done a bunch of endurance events already. K has been doing them too, especially lately, and the more they talked about the more convinced I got that I will be okay in March.

I was telling them how nervous I was about the pre-season training on Tuesday and how I was glad to be in that part of town, because I wanted to do a reccy mission and scope out Central Park to find exactly where I need to be on Tuesday night. Then we talked about what one wears when one runs in the cold weather. N told me all about the excellent running tights he has. $100+ a pair, but totally worth it. Compression tights that breathe but also hug your muscles and treat your legs right. I took mental notes.

After breakfast, K and I wandered around a bit, stopping into Tiffany's, The Apple Store, The Nike Store, Sak's and Rockefeller Centre (ARGH). The tree is being set up now and while there's not much to see, that doesn't stop the hundreds of tourists slowing down to get a good gawk. The ice skating rink is also chock-full already, but that does provide a bit of amusement. People falling down is always fun.

As I farewelled K&N for their long road trip back to Canada, I abandoned my Central Park plan (delayed until tomorrow) and instead I caught the subway to Union Square. I'd heard about Jack Rabbit, a great store to buy running, triathlon and yoga gear. I thought I would just have a look at the range of running tights and long-sleeved tops, all designed to "wick sweat away" (yep, scientific).

After a lap and a half of the place, I threw myself at the mercy of a sales lady and she helped me pick out a long-sleeved Nike top, a little hand-held drink bottle (with reflecto-strips), and some running tights. Um, the tights are very confronting. I tried them on in the change-room and they are like black Spanx; they suck you in and leave very little to the imagination. Sure, they contoured me, but I'm not sure I really want them to right now. Shudder.

Then I signed up to the shoe list and waited my turn until a fitting expert came to my aid. I explained what I had signed up to do and the sales man tried his best to care. I emphasised that I had very little interest in running this event (though I suspect the trainers & mentors might try and encourage me to). I told him I just wanted new sneakers that would be good all-terrain ones, and not leak, and not hurt my toes. I bought the first pair I tried on. Cha-ching!

Laden with my new athletic possessions, I walked home on the sunny side of the street.

Tomorrow I'm going back up to Central Park and find the training location for Tuesday. I refuse to start this new adventure by being "the Aussie girl who got lost". Then again, I don't want to be "the girl with astonishing tights" either, but I'm not sure I have much choice in that now.

Giving Thanks - a little early

2011-11-11T09:08:00.002-06:00

When I turned 21 again this year, K & P were kind enough to gift me with four cooking classes at Home Cooking New York. I took a look at the online class calendar (which changes each season) and there are so many tasty classes to choose from! Fortunately the teacher agreed to let me book my lessons individually, so I can take my time and choose carefully.

Home Cooking New York’s Manhattan location is a gorgeous loft property in Chelsea, all polished concrete floors, exposed beams and industrial décor. And somebody actually lives there, can you believe it? While we took over the owner's apartment for our class, she and her wire-haired Jack Russell terrier hid out in the bedroom and watched TV. It probably would have been awkward were it not so awesome.

For my first class, I signed up to a Thanksgiving Tutorial. Despite not liking turkey all that much, Thanksgiving is one of my favourite US holidays. I love the tradition of it – the smells, the flavours, and all the pomp and pageantry that goes along with it. Due to my no-touch policy, I tend to draw the line at the hand-holding part (where you go around the dining table and say what you’re thankful for), but from a strictly culinary perspective, I do love it. So my motivation for joining the class was just to learn a bit more about how to take the stress out of Thanksgiving and confidently prepare some of the main traditional side-dishes typical of the holiday.
Behold the menu for last night’s class:

Roast chicken with pan juice gravy (an appropriate turkey substitute)

Cornbread stuffing with wild mushrooms & pecans

Fresh cranberry-orange relish

Maple sweet potato puree

Pear tarte tatin

Our merry band of wannabe chefs included one instructor and eight students. I didn’t know anyone of course, and nobody made any effort to introduce themselves, which I thought was a bit weird. But we donned our aprons and gathered around the long tables in the kitchen, our knives and cutting boards in front of us, settling into casual small talk.

From what I could glean from the conversation around me, I was the only first-timer there last night. The other students talked about the classes they’d been to and I got the impression that the Indian (vegetarian) class was the most popular one by far. I made a mental note to look that up later on.

The class website encourages you to bring a bottle of wine (or equivalent) with you, because the idea is that you cook together and then you sit down to enjoy the meal afterwards. I had come prepared but because I couldn’t see any bottles of wine on the dining table or anything, I kept mine hidden in my handbag (as I so often do).

While the chef began his introduction and overview of the class, the two boys next to me went to the fridge and brought out their home-made infused vodka. It had some sort of wrinkly fruit swimming around inside it. They did not offer the rest of us any, but instead proceeded to pour themselves multiple glasses and talk amongst themselves – and to us – about how delicious it was. Well, we had to take their word for it, didn’t we? Another couple had bought a bottle of wine with them and again, they poured themselves glasses and put the rest of the bottle back in the fridge. I had bought a bottle of wine too but I was hardly going to pour myself one glass and screw the lid back on. So I offered glasses to the other students (and the chef) and felt better once we all had a drink in front of us. When the boys’ vodka ran out, they too cracked open a bottle of wine (again, without sharing any). For such a small class, I guess I was expecting something a little more collegiate, you know? A little more caring, a little more sharing...nope.

Anywho, once we were all boozed up, the class began and the chef took us through the menu, a shopping list, and the best ‘plan of attack’ for a stress-free Thanksgiving. He talked about the things we should do (up to 4 days before) and it was quite comforting to know that for such a seemingly-complex menu, so much could be done ahead of time.

In terms of confidence and ability, our class varied dramatically. One woman next to me was obviously afraid to even boil water. She wrote down everything the chef said and as he chopped, she picked up her knife and mirrored what he did (even though she was chopping invisible food). It was all a bit unusual.

We helped the chef prepare our meal, doing our share to dice fruits & vegetables, zest oranges, and season and stuff the chickens. Unfortunately the preparation part took so long, it was almost 9pm before we got to eat anything. Our stomachs were rumbling, all the wine had been drunk, and we were desperately ready to eat something…anything. Fortunately it’s the chef’s prerogative to eat while they cook, and while we got busy preparing the cranberry-orange relish, I got to taste my first fresh cranberry ever. It was very tart but actually quite refreshing. I much prefer them in their dried, sweeter form though.

Finally the time came to enjoy our dinner. The chicken was moist and tender, the two potato dishes we made were amazing and even though I’m not normally a fan of stuffing, it was delicious. My eyes were bigger than my stomach though and I struggled to get through all the meal. I couldn’t even face dessert – though the tart was a beautiful sight to behold.

I learned two really great things at the class last night. Firstly, I learned that all this time, I have been holding my kitchen knives incorrectly. I have been holding them by the handle (duh), but apparently that is quite bad because it puts strain on your wrist muscles and doesn’t give you the maximum control over your chopping and slicing. The trick is to hold the handle further down by the blade, so that your fingers are actually gripping the base of the blade itself. True enough, when I shifted my hand position it felt weird at first but then I realised I had much better grip and so much more control – it was great.

The second really useful thing I learned was how to chop an onion properly. I see how they do it on TV (cutting the onion cross-ways a couple of times to create a really fine dice), but I don’t even try that because I’m so afraid of slicing myself. When I chop onions, I usually send a lot of it skidding across the cutting board, or onto the floor (or both). This time the chef showed us how to cut the onion easily. Rather than slicing it across, you cut it in half and remove the skins. Taking half the onion, you first cut crescent-moon shapes, and then rotate the onion so you’re ready to dice it. But instead of cutting straight down (as I always do), you cut in a sawing motion following the contour of the onion. So your first cut is almost a diagonal one, and you keep following the shape of the onion around until you’ve sliced the lot. It is easy, and fast, and the onion stays put.

Oh and there was a third thing I learned. Even though I’m not a baker, I could TOTALLY make the pear tarte tatin that we had last night. Pears, vanilla sugar, a bit of cinnamon and some puff pastry? Dead easy, man. I just need a flat-bottomed cast iron skillet and I’m good to go. I wonder if Mr Le Crueset is feeling generous this Christmas?

Do or do not. There is no try.

2011-11-09T11:28:00.001-06:00

We’ve already established that during my blogging hiatus, I hit up the theatre, went to Chicago and watched an alarming number of episodes of “The West Wing”. Um incidentally and just as an aside, I’m still not sure if I have a bigger crush on Josh, Sam or the President (it varies from episode to episode).

But when I wasn’t blogging I was also walking miles on the treadmill, doing my best to make sure my work wardrobe still fits me for another season.

Naturally this focus on fashion-related fitness also left me vulnerable to a fundraising appeal I received in the mail one day. Before I knew what happened, I’d signed myself up to walk the NYC Half-Marathon in March 2011.

Do not adjust your computer settings – you totally read that right.

I am now dedicated to hauling my ass 13.1 miles to the finish line in support of the great work of the Leukaemia and Lymphoma Society. From now until March I will be under the expert tutelage of the LLS Team in Training, who have taken me under their wing and promise to help me achieve this new goal.

The Team in Training folks will host weekly training sessions throughout winter (Saturday mornings in Central Park!), and I meet my small group of fellow walkers to train and exercise together, and learn a bit about endurance along the way so that I don’t collapse during the event. Or worse, give up.

But as part of the event, I also need to raise funds for the LLS. I’ve set myself the rather conservative minimum goal of raising $1,000USD. The LLS has also set me up with a fundraising webpage, which I will gussy up shortly and then send out the link, to herald the start of the shameless but necessary cup-rattling and hat-passing. That’s where you come in, by the way.

So when the time comes, I would be really proud if you could help me reach – or even exceed – my fundraising goal. Plus if you have any tips for how I can stay motivated (and alive) on this latest fitness journey, I’m all ears.

I know how far 13.1 miles is, and I know that this half-marathon idea is a potentially crazy one, but I have to give it a go. Your support will give me the extra push I need to shuffle along.

A dinner that's all for SHO

2011-11-08T10:19:00.002-06:00

I have not been to all that many fine dining restaurants in my life but the ones I have patronised have definitely left a distinct impression. A couple of cases in point: I will never forget the meal we had at the Jules Verne in Paris for J’s birthday. A girl doesn’t easily forget dining 125 metres up The Eiffel Tower or her resolution to curl up and die inside the restaurant’s cheese cart, even with the smelly Epoisse for company. Likewise the degustation menu I enjoyed at Danny Meyer’s Eleven Madison Park, where I not only managed to gorge myself on some truly beautiful and delicious dishes, I experienced first-hand what exceptional table service is supposed to be.

Last night was another such memorable experience, this time at the 2 Michelin-starred SHO Shaun Hergatt in the heart of the Financial District and the gorgeous (but very confusing) Wall Street neighbourhood.

On the second floor of the impressive Setai Club and Spa, the restaurant boasts Asian-inspired décor that is uncomplicated, sleek and elegant. To get to the dining area, you walk through the most amazing wine cellar, displaying an amazing floor-to-ceiling collection of bottles all lit up and designed to impress. The centre of the hallway is decorated with what looks like a long black table with candles on top, until you realise that it’s actually a water feature – so gorgeous.

The dining area itself is quite unremarkable. The tables and chairs are comfortable and functional, no doubt so that the kitchen itself will remain the star attraction. A huge long (and soundproof) window allows diners to see right into the kitchen and admire the hustle-bustle ballet of chefs and wait staff. At first a spectacle, the kitchen blends into the background once the food service starts. Under the leadership of Executive Chef and Partner (Aussie) Shaun Hergatt, the kitchen is a constant hive of activity and an obvious example of organised chaos in living colour.

Fortunately (for me), the restaurant’s five-course dinner menu is set, so you just have to select one item from each course. As we perused the menu to make our choices, we enjoyed the amuse-bouche (aka fancy-pants hors d’oeuvres) that the chef had prepared. We had little foie-gras and potato balls coated in breadcrumbs dyed with squid ink; baby clams with sour cream sauce; and a ginger mousse creation that had a warm spicy aftertaste that I really liked.

Naturally there were multiple options in each course that tempted me but ultimately I enjoyed the following five dishes:

Chef’s Garden Beets Roulade
Little red and yellow beets with a hibiscus tuile (I don’t know either, but it had gold foil draped across it like a little blanket), horseradish marshmallow (a spicy pillow of awesome) and beet dust (yes, I stuck my finger in it).

Griggstown Farm Coxcomb
Veal tongue ribbons with chicken skin and an autum mushroom pave (I understand the mushroom bit, but not so much the rest). To be honest, the veal tongue was my favourite part of this dish. I’ve never eaten tongue before so I had to seize the opportunity. The meat was so tender – very much like carpaccio actually, and as long as I didn’t dwell on what I was actually eating, I could manage to really enjoy it.

Sous Vide Amadai
Next up was sea bass, with Blue Moon Acres baby turnips with a cockles-mollusc clarification. I really enjoyed this dish too, partly because leaning up against the sea bass was a crispy triangle of skin which was speckled and silvery and looked really pretty. The baby turnips were adorable and I had forgotten about the cockles – they were so tiny, they looked like pistachios on my plate. It was all so yummy.

Beef Cheek Wrapped in Iberico Ham
Course Number 4 turned out to be my hands-down favourite of the evening. The dish was served with baby leeks, and potato parchment (in the shape of a maple leaf no less) and a perigourdine (or truffle) sauce. The beef cheeks are marinated for 48 hours and the effect is incredible. Not only does the meat almost fall apart, the marinade is rich and decadent and almost jammy. It adheres to the beef so beautifully and the truffle sauce just adds to the earthy flavours. I am also a fan of miniatures so the baby leeks also appealed.

Black Mission Fig Vacherin
All good things must come to an end and I rounded out my meal with dessert, which included stewed, juicy black figs with Sicilian pistachios and Manhattan Rooftop honey. Perhaps this choice was inspired by Michael Moore’s figs & ricotta recipe I’d been reading about on the subway earlier, but it was totally the right idea.

The red and white wines that K selected complemented my dishes beautifully and with the complimentary petit-fours and strong espresso afterwards, I left SHO feeling almost buoyant. My wallet was quite a bit lighter so that probably accounted for some of the levity haha. But honestly, I don’t think I could fault the restaurant a bit. For my way of thinking, it’s not easy to navigate a fine dining menu when you don’t really understand 3 out of 4 of the ingredients in each dish. So for me, service is what I tend to remember the most. In our case last night, the service we had at SHO was exceptional. When I bumped into the hostess in the bathrooms at one point in the evening, I found myself raving to her about what a good time we were all having. As awkward as that was (for both of us), she was kind enough to pretended that she cared. Do you see what I mean? So nice.

SHO is certainly not the place I could go back to often, but I will certainly recommend it to anyone looking for a special dining experience in New York. The food was elegant, local and so creative and the service was excellent.

Please Sir, I want some Moore!

2011-11-08T06:52:00.002-06:00

I had to blush this morning when I realised that Al had suggested this site as one of her favourite light-hearted online reads. I was touched to learn that she enjoys stopping by but of course now the pressure is really on to keep up with the stories. Fortunately I'm finding that in this City at least, I never have to look too far for them. Take last night, for instance.

I signed up to attend the NY launch of "Blood Sugar", the latest cookbook offering from Australian chef Michael Moore with a special forward by the dishy Curtis Stone. By way of background for you I have to pinch the blurb from Michael's book because the inspiration for the project was quite something:

Michael Moore was busy running his restaurant, cooking on television, climbing the ranks of top chefs in the world and traveling the globe. He was already living with diabetes and for a top chef surrounded by great food, he faced the daily challenge of healthy eating. Then, one day out of the blue, he suffered a major stroke while he was out to dinner with his family, an event that changed his life and his outlook on food, forever.

The result of this life-changing experience was a 239 page, beautifully-photographed hardcover opus. As I took my copy up to get signed last night, I asked Michael whether I would need to buy new equipment or fancy devices to make these recipes. He was quick to laugh and assure me that his latest collection of recipes were all about simple, no-fuss ingredients and preparation designed to give maximum taste for minimal effort. To illustrate his point, Michael skimmed through the book and found me his wife's meatless lasagne recipe (yum!) and his own favourite, the Power Food Salad (salmon, beans, egg whites, pumpkin seeds and more - delish!). I was totally on board and Michael signed my book with a flourish. And PS, the event catering called in as a favour from NYC's Oceana restaurant was amazing!

I got on the subway headed for Wall Street after the event and I opened Michael's book for my first proper look. With each page I flipped, I became hungrier (naturally) but also more confident that I will definitely do my best to reproduce some of these dishes for myself. The figs & ricotta on toast is so damn simple I would be a dummy not to try it. I think the subway lunatic reading over my shoulder quite enjoyed the recipes too. He was muttering to himself most of the way, so I'll never really know, but I can tell you for sure that Michael Moore has made healthy eating look good - I am convinced it will also taste great!

But as for my own dinner plans last night, there's more to come....

No Blood or Guts? I'm outta here!

2011-11-05T08:00:00.007-05:00

So Broadway happened and then life returned to normal for a while. Sure I was still watching too much “The West Wing”, assuming of course that there can be ‘too much’ of that. Before I knew it, October was almost over and I took off to Chicago for Halloween weekend.

I need to put it out there that I do not like Halloween. Well that’s not entirely true, I just don’t dressing up for Halloween. I have never been into the costume party thing ever, and I just can’t make an exception for Halloween. I know it’s not a particularly popular stance but there you have it.

And the thing about Halloween is that it’s a bit like in that movie “Mean Girls” (which starred Rachel McAdams and Lindsay Lohan when she actually had nice red hair and looked kind of normal). Anyway like Linday’s character in the movie, I always thought that Halloween in the US would be about dressing up as ghosts and zombies and vampires – except now I realise that costumes for women here are “sexy ghost” and “slutty zombie” and “buxom vampire pirate wench”. I mean, really? They’re our options? The scariest part about Halloween for me is seeing grown women who have shoe-horned themselves into those ridiculous costumes that you’d swear are actually meant for kids. And do men have these options? No, costumes for men are normal size. Of course. Ugh. Okay I know I'm ranting and I know that my point of view is not a popular one. So I boycotted Halloween this year and instead chose to go to Chicago, scheduling my return flight to coincide with the Halloween trick-or-treating madness 37,000 feet below. Yes fine, I was a party-pooper, I know. And nobody cares what I think about this stuff - I know. Jeez, can we move on already? Yes!

Landing at O’Hare just after 8.30pm on Friday night, I was almost dead on my feet but I had promised to meet L&D for a couple of drinks. My taxi driver either sensed the urgency or else was trying to quality for Le Mans, because he drove foot to the floor the whole way. I made it to my CBD hotel in just over 15 minutes. I am not sure that’s ever been done before, not that I didn’t appreciate it.

I decided to stay downtown at the Marriott on Michigan Avenue. When I lived in Chicago I never even went inside the property so I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I bargained on the whole “a Marriott is a Marriott” thing and figured it would be okay. Can you please just click on that link and check out the picture? I mean, I should have known better - but I was in it for the price and the location, okay? Anyway, the first thing that told me I was going to lose my mind was that there is a giant bar in the hotel lobby. I knew that from the hotel picture online but that could not have prepared me for the real life experience. I heard the bar before I saw it – the shrieks and boozy cackling of women who, by this point in the evening, were no doubt regretting their 4” stilettos. Then there were the red-nosed tradeshow delegates sitting off to the sides looking at said drunk women and taking bets on which of them would fall down first. Then there were the out-of-towners, in Chicago just for the weekend. You can pick them because they’re the ones doing shots straight off the bat. Then there was me – awestruck by the human zoo in front of her, horrified by the casino-style carpeting and irritated that the website had advertised the lobby chairs as “private oases” when in fact they were in between the noisy bar and the toilets. Plus I couldn’t find the check-in counter, but geography has always been a problem, so nothing new there. Fresh out of king rooms, I was put in a room with two queen beds. Faced with such an expanse of space, you would think I’d spread out, right? Nope. I basically lived in a tiny corner of the room and only crossed over to the other side of the room to open and close the curtains each day. LAME. I clearly don’t know how to life the hotel lifestyle, do I?

Dumping my bags I went out to meet L&D for a drink and some nibblies at Rock Bottom Brewery. And after the long day, air travel, white-knuckle cab ride, hotel culture shock and a couple of jumbo beers (delicious house brews no less), I was done for the night. Well by then it was just after 2am, and for an old bag like me that was a pretty good effort.

Saturday morning came a little too quickly for my liking. I tossed and turned, debating whether or not I should get out of bed and go on the Chicago Architecture Foundation boat cruise. Reason won out and off I went, bee-lining straight for the Argo Tea at the gorgeous Tribune Tower for a peppermint tea as big as my head. Stupid local brew beers. I got stopped at the Du Sable Bridge (also known as the Michigan Ave Bridge) because sailboats were lined up to get out of the harbour for the winter season. So the City was raising and lowering the bridges all day to give them safe passage. I stood on the wrong side of the Bridge, watching my cruise boat just across the River, steadily filling up with tourists. Fortunately some out-of-towners were ahead of me and told Mr City Official Bridge Inspector Guy that they also had tickets on the 10am cruise. They asked him to contact the cruise boat captain on his walkie-talkie and ask him not to take off without us. Genius, and hopefully something I would have thought of, had I not been quietly dying of Local Beer Disease.

Once I was safely onboard, the boat cruise was as wonderful as I remember. I didn’t sit outside though, as the morning winds off the River were pretty fierce. I found a sunny spot under cover downstairs and polished off my peppermint tea and chocolate cookie. It always impresses me how knowledgeable these tour operators are – not just describing the buildings we could see, but they offer up juicy morsels of info about the architects who designed the buildings and how the buildings fit in (or didn’t) with the City landscape as it was at the time. Even in my hungover and jet-lagged state I could appreciate the architectural beauty of the City. Peering at it through squinty eyes through dark sunglasses, Chicago is still gorgeous.

The boat tour must have been quite restorative because alighting at the Michigan Ave bridge I almost bounded to the bus stop to go and meet R&L at their place for lunch. With two adorable kids now, I was so looking forward to spending some time with the family and just catching up - particularly on all the goss of baby sister's wedding and my not-so-new job in New York. We went to a great little Mexican place and I stuffed in a giant burrito (naturally). Relaxing, delicious and a long-overdue catchup, which was great.

R&L dropped me off at my hotel/zoo and I had a little bit of downtime before it was back into get-ready mode, to meet LH. We high-tailed it out of my hotel lobby and headed straight to PF Chang's for dinner. The poor restaurant was having some problems with its lighting and every so often, we got plunged into darkness. Great atmosphere, but rather confusing. But hey, we figured that as long as the dodgy electrics didn't impact the kitchen or the bar, we didn't care what was happening. After dinner we walked to The Peninsula where LH was kind enough to share with me a gift certificate she got for the hotel's 'Chocolate At The Pen' enticement. That it is a chocolate buffet does not do the experience justice. This was a pretty fancy, la-di-da buffet and the chocolates on offer were like little works of art. Mini tiramisu, little parfait glasses with delicately-crafted layers of chocolate, fruit and cream - all so dainty and single-serve and very, very rich. I always make the same mistake with buffets - I go in too hard, too early and I end up stuffing myself. I had a take a break half-way through the circuit and I wished I were wearing elastic pants rather than my little black dress.

After this we waddled out to Michigan Ave and took the bus out to our old neighbourhood, to a dive bar on Broadway called Jaqueline's. In the four years I lived in Chicago I never went into this bar, but I'm the poorer for it I have to say. The bar IS a dive, sure (tacky Halloween decorations, dart board, scary toilets - but it's also a bit of a blast. We had parked ourselves right by the jukebox and subsequently took control of the musical entertainment for the evening. I probably spent as much money on music as I did on drinks, but at least I ensured that my terrible musical taste was experienced by as many people as possible. And fortunately our fellow patrons were on the right side of sober to seem like they were really enjoying our musical offerings. It was great fun!

Sunday morning came, as Sunday mornings often do, and I was actually feeling really good. I put myself on the train to J&D's house, where we had a couple of mimosas and then hit the Chicago Brauhaus for lunch. OMG how long had it been since I'd enjoyed a schnitzel?! Too long I think. A couple of beers, a delicious schnitzel with fried potatoes and green beans, and I was a very happy girl. It was a shame that the full oompah band wasn't starting until later in the day (when we would be long gone) but there was one little old man on the stage playing his keyboard and at least filling the place with some musical vibe. On a soppy note I really thought it was amazing how grown up people's kids get when you're not watching. J&D and A&L have such gorgeous, well-behaved kids and it's so funny to see what little adults they have become in just a few short years.

Monday morning was another early start because I wanted to spend the day at the Adler Planetarium, another place that I had never been when I lived in Chicago. Along with the Shedd Aquarium and The Field Museum, the Adler is part of what Chicago calls "Museum Campus", and it enjoys prime lakefront real estate. If you worked at any of these places, how do you not stare out the window all day at those amazing views? I have no idea. But I digress. On my trip to the Adler, I dragged L along with me so we could geek out together. We sat through a couple of really impressive video displays about our solar system and learned about our sun and the Milky Way and what will happen to the earth when the sun finally burns out. Sure, this is not likely to happen for another 4 billion years, but it still gave me the creeps. There is still so much I need to get done. I love chatting to L because he doesn't think I'm a weirdo for being addicted to "Ancient Aliens" on the History Channel. I was telling him all about the ancient astronaut theories and how I used to think they were crackpots but now I think they're onto something. L is a HUGE fan of Ancient Egypt so he (kindly) listened with interest as I talked about the idea that aliens helped the Egyptians build the pyramids so precisely aligned with the constellations. As we gazed up at the planets and stars around us at the Planetarium, I think we were both wondering what else was out there in that huge expanse of outer space. That of course led us to talking about religion and the meaning of life, which we could only do properly once we were in the cafeteria, stuffing in paninis and potato chips.

Before long it was time to get back to the hotel, collect my luggage and get back out to O'Hare. Whenever I visit Chicago I run myself ragged but I always have a really great time. This visit I did things and went places I had never enjoyed before - but it was so much fun. I was exhausted on the plane home, and almost dead on my feet by the time I got back to the apartment. Despite our best efforts to be welcoming to the little trick-or-treaters in our building, K said we only had two kids visit. Now we have a whole stack of horrible candy left in our apartment that neither of us want to eat. I'm sure it will keep until next year...

Giving Regards to Broadway

2011-11-04T11:35:00.002-05:00

Yes I know, it’s been a very quiet couple of weeks here and once again I only have myself to blame. Actually, I have the cast of “The West Wing” to blame, because I bought the DVDs and have officially become addicted to that show. Even as the clock ticks 1am I hear myself saying, “just one more episode” and next thing I know the alarm is going off to herald another work day. Oi vey.

But when I’m not watching DVDs or going to work in a zombie-like trance, what have I been doing? I know you didn’t ask, but you were thinking it...

Well, Broadway beckoned a couple of times during my blogging hiatus. I dragged myself to a Sunday matinee to see Samuel L Jackson & Angela Bassett star in the production of “The Mountaintop”. I thought the play was fantastic, but after an amazing run in London it has been getting quite mixed reviews. You can read a synopsis of the play here.

My seat was almost in the back row of the theatre, but by happenstance I was sitting with a bunch of African-Americans and I could see a white family across the aisle from me. I don’t know why, but the white family didn’t find the play half as funny as I did. Sure the play touches on racial tensions, but they are the racial tensions of Dr King’s time. The characters debate about “what should be done about the whites” but it’s light-hearted and conversational and not at all intended to inflame white audience members. I mean how could it? Dr King was all about peacefully acknowledging the sameness of people, not violently magnifying their differences. Anyway for what it’s worth I thought Jackson & Bassett gave really powerful performances and I have been recommending the play left and right. It was just such a different interpretation of what happened at The Lorraine Hotel, the night before Dr King was assassinated.

A week or so later I went along to see “Venus in Fur” (again, with synopsis here). Starring the adorable Hugh Dancy – aka Mr Clare Danes – and the amazing Nina Arianda, the play is promoted as being quite erotic. Maybe I am just not sure what that word means, but for me the play was a smart study in human psychology, with a bit of Greek mythology and mysticism thrown in. The production was all about power plays (not exclusively sexual), and examines whether you actively or passively surrender your power to another person. I mean, how much control do you really have over your own emotions – or over somebody else’s? Sure it’s a sexy play (Nina rocks a bustier and stockings for a fair amount of it), but I thought it was so cleverly written and wonderfully acted that the sexy part was secondary to the intellectual battle raging between the characters. The oldies around us in the audience squirmed in their seats and coughed uncomfortably when the action on stage took a more, um “intimate” turn, but let’s face it, that just adds to the humour really.

Been Hoarsing Around

2011-10-16T09:06:00.002-05:00

Once again I have been neglecting this blog but I've been holed up the last week or so with yucky laryngitis and generally feeling a bit flat. I also chose this time to lose my US healthcare cards, and my doctor won't see me without one. So I've had a great time self-medicating on over-the-counter meds to stave off any further germ infestations until my replacement cards arrive (they still haven't, by the way). In the past week, my voice has disappeared and come back again a number of times. Unfortunately for me, it's been more 'pack-a-day drag queen' than 'sultry blues singer' - sigh. Oh well, at least I'm on the mend now and can resume more normal activities (like the gym) soon.

During my blogging hiatus and my icky throatness, I had a great visit from KH who had come down from Canada for work. We had a great night out, enjoying a pre-dinner drink at The Bowery Hotel and then across the street to dinner at the gorgeous new restaurant, Saxon and Parole. The food, cocktails, service, decor - it was all fabulous. Our reservation was at 8.45pm, and we left as the restaurant was closing. We weren't rushed, we were well looked after, and it was just wonderful to soak up the atmosphere. A quick nightcap at The Campbell Apartment (and to admire its stunning decor) was in order and then it was time for bed.

Sunday morning I was up really early and struggling with almost no voice at all. But physically I felt absolutely fine, so I was out the door and off to meet KH for brunch. I dropped the ball a bit on this at first, cause I'm not good at finding brunch venues in New York yet. I am good at coffee though, so I took KH to Culture Espresso for a restorative jolt of caffeine - it was well received, particularly so when we enjoyed it in the sunshine by the fountain at Bryant Park. And it can't be faulted that Culture is so close to Lord and Taylor, so we whipped around the handbag and shoe departments in there too. Emerging empty-handed, we set off again in search of food.

We were talking about hairdressers and I was telling KH how much I love my new salon (even though my hairdresser has just recently been written up in the NY magazine Weddings section as one of New York's best bridal hairdressers so she will probably be booked out till Doomsday!). But the salon is right by the Flatiron Building, which is right next door to Eataly, the fantastic Italian food emporium and I was adamant that KH see it. So on the subway we went, headed in entirely the opposite direction from where we were and in no time at all we were in Italy (well, almost).

Taking a bit of a punt, we headed upstairs to Eataly's fantastic rooftop beer garden/restaurant, La Birreria. The place only opened in summer and has been pretty consistently booked-out every time I've come to Eataly. Still, we managed to snag a beautiful table in a shaded spot after only about a 20 minute wait. It was lovely just to sit still on the rooftop and enjoy a cool beer and a really light, tasty and healthy fish and couscous dish (plus cheese plate and wood-oven bread/olive oil yummmm).

Eataly was getting nuts by this point, so we set off on food up Fifth Avenue in the direction of Tiffany's (just because it's there). We called into The Museum of Sex and looked around the gift shop. I read a few days later that the Museum now has an exhibition of dirty Disney cartoon strips. What the?! I am not sure whether I need to see those. Or do I?!

The walk up Fifth Avenue is a beautiful one, if you can stomach all the crazy crowds. We wandered past the NY Public Library and like always, I reminded myself aloud that I must go in there someday.

Before we knew it, we were up at Tiffany's and what can I say about that store that I haven't said already? All manner of sparkle, shimmer and silvery shine. I was so happy just browsing though admittedly I did see a few things that probably need to come home with me someday.

By now the afternoon was getting on a bit and we both agreed a nana nap was probably in order. Mind you, the rest was brief because I was back at KH's hotel about an hour later to pick her up for our evening Broadway show. Sensibly though, we took a cab to Times Square - still all hustle-bustle, even in the early Sunday evening.

"Rock of Ages" was a fantastic production - it was silly, campy and chock-full of 1980s rock ballads. I had no voice whatsoever by this point but if I had, I would have helped belt out the tunes - Journey, Whitesnake, Europe - just classics. Plus the show was really funny, and the audience really got into it. My heart does hurt a little bit that the show is now being made into a film (with Tom Cruise in an entirely unsuitable role, as far as this little bunny is concerned). But hey, we all know I'll still see it.

After the show, and despite my squeaky protests that I'd never do it, we bought some falafel kebabs from a street vendor not far from Times Square. It was delicious at first, but then tasted of regret as I battled stabby stomach pains on the way home. I blame the hot sauce. Still, it is always a pity when such a fantastic weekend leaves a yucky taste in your mouth through no fault of your own!

Playing Tourist

2011-10-04T16:08:00.002-05:00

I have been coming down with a cold over the last day or so and at first I wondered why that might be, but now I figure it has to do with two things. Firstly, there has been quite a rapid change in weather lately. I’ve had to bring out my opaque stockings and leather jacket already – not that I’m complaining, but a sudden change in temperature usually stuffs my immune system around a bit. And secondly, I have spent the last couple of days playing frantic tourist and I suspect that keeping up that crazy pace is equally to blame.

With LH and BK in town from Chicago, I had a day off on Friday and tagged along on a bunch of really fun sightseeing and tourism adventures.

Our day started early, with a two-hour Circle Line boat tour. The day was clear and sunny, and it was wonderful to appreciate the beautiful city skyline from such a relaxing vantage point. Our guide pointed out key architecture and cultural icons along the way, and as we cruised past The Statue of Liberty, I thought the boat might tip as tourists clambered over each other to lean out for premium photographs.

Returning to shore, we took the bus to the NBC Studios in Rockefeller Center (the infamous "30 Rock"), to collect our tickets for the Late Night with Jimmy Fallon TV show. I have a thinly-disguised crush on Jimmy Fallon, so I was all colours of excitement that day. Where would we be sitting? Would we meet him? What would I say if we did? In the end, all that came to naught. Though we had been giving almost poll position in the line-up for tickets, we ended up seated close to the back of the TV audience. Though the TV program screens after midnight during the week, filming actually took place from 5.30pm (after which time the content is edited for later screening). Jimmy’s guests when we were there included Clare Danes (to talk about her new Showtime TV series, “Homeland); Jeff Musial - a crazy animal handler guy who freaked us all out by bringing onstage a massive python that shed its skin everywhere; and the Reverend Al Sharpton, whose previous appearance on SNL had made Jimmy almost laugh himself off the chair. When the Jimmy episode screened later that night, it also featured a musical performance by Pearl Jam; but in reality they had taped their part a few weeks before so we didn’t get to see them. We still had to erupt with applause when Jimmy introduced them for the show, so we all got drawn into that TV illusion. For my part though, the best bit of the production was Jimmy’s in-house band, The Roots. They are so talented and entertaining and they had us all grooving along. How one guy ran up and down the stairs carrying a tuba is totally beyond me – it looks like it weighed a ton!

Once we got out of the taping, we headed upstairs - 70 floors upstairs - to Top of the Rock, to get a birds-eye view of Manhattan. The sun had gone down, and the City looked so beautiful with all its twinkling lights and traffic down below. The neon lights of Times Square looked particularly impressive from where we were. In the blackness we could also trace the dark outline of Central Park, the centre of which was flashing up nice and bright with the concert lights of the Black Eyed Peas. We could hear a bit of the music too, but only muffled noises – it was pretty cool.

The next morning (Saturday) was another early one. We were at Battery Park by 9.15am to take another boat cruise, this time over to Liberty Island and Ellis Island. I’d done this cruise once before, but not for a couple of years and so I was glad I got to take the trip again. Even though it was bright and early, there was a substantial line-up already and the airport-quality screening processes are quite intense. We had tickets to go inside the Statute of Liberty – which I hadn’t done before – but only up to the Pedestal level, not all the way to the crown. The Statue closes at the end of October so that they can install another stairwell inside, so we were very fortunate to get our tickets now.

Ellis Island was equally crowded and admittedly I didn’t see much of the Museum this time around. I closeted myself in the gift shop and found some truly ugly postcards for Granny (and a couple of nice ones too). Before I knew it we were back on the boat to Manhattan.

Docking at Battery Park again, we made our way to Lombardi’s, a city institution that lays claim to having invented NY-style pizza. I don’t know if that’s entirely true or not but I have to say, their pizza is sensational (and the simple yet satisfying margherita pizza really hit the spot).

By now the weather on Saturday had started to take a turn for the worst – grey skies, splotchy rain – it wasn’t looking too good. But we had a couple more stops on our tourist adventure remaining.

We took the subway over to the 9/11 Memorial and I was very taken with it. Tickets are free but you need to book them well in advance – they are currently booked out until the end of October. As we walked around the sombre memorial, it seemed somewhat fitting that light rain fell solidly the whole time. The gift shop needs a bit of work in terms of stock variety, but every purchase made helps to fund the upkeep of the memorial, so it’s well worth the look.

By this point in the day I was starting to fade, but we had one last stop to make – The Empire State Building Observation Deck. Given that the monolith is literally down the end of my street, I soldiered on and went right to the top. I’m not sure which view is more impressive – the Empire State or Top of the Rock. Perhaps they are equally beautiful, though the Empire is 16 floors higher up. Let me just say with certainty that The Empire State Building gift shop wins hands-down. So many trashy postcards and glittery souvenirs – I was in heaven.

Being Aboveground

2011-09-25T17:21:00.002-05:00

This past week was the UN's 66th General Assembly session, but it was my very first one. I had been warned about what this week would be like (busy diplomats, clashing meetings, no sleep, grouchiness) so for the past few months I had been mentally prepping myself for what the past 7 days would bring.

Let me tell you that from what I saw, Australia should be really proud of its New York team. I am not saying that to be up myself at all, but I was stoked at how well we all worked together - sleep deprivation and all - to get out of this week alive. I mean, despite the odds, we ended the week with a zero body count. Amazing.

And I loved UNGA, as mad as that obviously makes me sound. I really enjoyed the energy, the camaraderie and the feeling that I actually made a tangible contribution to the week that was. I didn't get to hear any of the meetings or debates, but I stayed behind-the-scenes (where I was happiest) and sourced last-minute documents, shuttled delegates around to non-stop meetings, and just generally fought spot-fires wherever I found them.

All that aside, UNGA really was as frenetic and nuts as my colleagues had suggested it would be, so I'm glad it only happens for one week a year. I don't think I could maintain that cracking pace for too long. But I do hope that the bosses were proud of us and that we did good work for Australia.

So in my post-UNGA lull, how does my body recover? Sleeping till lunch time, that's how. It was absolutely blissful to wake up this morning (uh, this afternoon) without an alarm screeching at me. Then I busied myself with dish-washing, laundry and the general tidying up that I had been neglecting, or just totally ignoring, all week. And as Sunday draws to a close and the rain clouds roll in, I've set myself up in the kitchen to make Jamie Oliver's minestrone recipe - delicious!

Remembering

2011-09-11T16:44:00.006-05:00

9/11 will always be one of those days that make people say, "Where Were You When...?". For my way of thinking, it's up there with the JFK assassination, the death of Elvis, the wedding of Charles & Di, and then the death of the Princess sixteen years later.

I remember the events of September 11, 2001 really well. I was house-sitting for a friend back home and I had been out late that night (dinner or something I guess) and I figured that while I was getting ready for bed I'd put the news on. TV noise in the background - good distraction, and whatnot. When Sandra Sully told me that the first plane had hit the World Trade Centre I, like everyone, thought it had been pilot error. I remember thinking to myself, "That Tower was huge - how could he have hit that?!". So I forgot about the pre-bed routine and sat down to watch the story unfold. I remember Sandra periodically looking off-camera as the news came in, almost as if she too could scarcely believe what the teleprompter was telling her to share with us. And as the live cameras rolled, I stared open-mouthed when the plane hit the second tower.

The phone rang. I picked it up almost immediately and managed to squeak a barely-audible greeting. "Are you watching this?", was all my mother whispered. I was so glad to have somebody with whom I could share this unbelievable tragedy that seemed right out of a Hollywood disaster movie. We stayed on the phone together that night, both of us watching the same TV news, not daring to talk lest we miss vital developments. When Sandra told us about the plane hitting the Pentagon, and the crash of fourth plane in Pennsylvania, Mum & I knew that terrorism was the only explanation that made sense - and I think it spooked us both pretty well and proper.

Over the next few days, I was glued to CNN - it almost got to be quite unhealthy I think. I just couldn't look away. I wanted to know all about these terrorists - who they were, what they wanted, and why they would hurt a bunch of innocent people who were just going about their daily lives on an otherwise normal morning. The news saturation didn't answer all my questions, but I think it did help wake me up a bit to the very real fact that sometimes, bad things happen to people who don't deserve it. And even though I wasn't in the US on September 11, the impacts of that day are felt every time any of us go through an airport. None of us get to escape what happened that horrible day.

So here we are 10 years on and I promised myself I wouldn't overdose on anniversary footage. I did cheat a little though, and read some amazing articles in The New Yorker and my New York magazines. One article helped me cement how I would personally approach the 10th anniversary of 9/11 when it said that the day is a chance "to remember the dead and, with them, the survivors, the firemen and the police, the nurses and the doctors and the spontaneous, instinctive volunteers, the myriad acts of courage and kindness".

And so in that spirit, I could barely sleep last night and was out the door by 7am to have breakfast at Sarge's Deli, not far from my house. A pastrami omelette with a toasted bagel and bad coffee seemed as good a NY tribute breakfast as any. Afterwards at the gym I got through some of the 9/11 memorial ceremony on TV, but I didn't have the stomach for the reading of the names part, so I had to turn it off.

Enough has probably been said about 9/11 and what it means to people is a personal thing anyway. As a new arrival to NY I can't possibly imagine what that day - and its aftermath - must have been like. But the New York I know is gritty, resilient, stubborn and relentless. I guess all signs point to a concrete jungle on the mend.

Reality Bites

2011-09-11T02:48:00.003-05:00

Early Saturday night I joined some work friends at 230 Fifth, a fantastic rooftop bar with some amazing views over New York City.

In a way I was a bit disappointed that the weather was so good, because when it's not you can wrap yourself up in one of the bar's Snuggies and stay outdoors to sip your cocktail. I've never worn a Snuggie - I suspect I'd look like a Druid (or Yoghurt from Spaceballs) - but I really like the idea that the bar doesn't let the cold weather stop its patrons from enjoying the atmosphere. Then again, it's probably rather tricky to look "NYC cool" when you're draped in burgundy felt...right?

Anyway, we took advantage of the warm evening air to have a couple of martinis on the rooftop, and we chatted about everything from the anniversary of 9/11 to the pros and cons of reality TV. In the interests of levity, the latter subject got me thinking about what reality show might I be on, if I could have the choice?

I don't like watching reality TV shows, so I doubt I'd ever stick my neck out to be on one. I just don't think they're very real, as dumb as that sounds. So that people keep watching, situations always seem trumped up for the cameras, and the vast majority of reality TV "stars" are the sorts of people I'd never EVER want to know in my real real life. So I don't think I could ever put myself through reality TV - not even for the cash & prizes. For now I think I'll stick to writing this blog and remain a reality commentator, rather than a reality star!

Of course, there are times that I do admire the people who volunteer to stand in the spotlight and put themselves up for public scrutiny. Because every so often, someone with actual talent does it and it makes all our realities much more interesting. Take my friend Caskey, for instance. This week Caskey bravely launched his web-based series called Fat Guy and Episode 1 is available for viewing here. This isn't reality TV per se, but the series is inspired by stories from Caskey's real life (and rich imagination) so I think it is deserving of some real praise and admiration. Caskey has put himself out there for the world to see and I'm really proud of him and the talented cast of characters he has assembled. Here's hoping that the right people (the powers that be) can stop watching Jersey Shore or Real Housewives for a second, and recognise Caskey's obvious talents. Stop rewarding the train wrecks and give real talent a boost!

And if anyone needs me, I'll be curled up in a Snuggie somewhere, nursing a french martini.

Life's a Beach

2011-09-10T07:01:00.004-05:00

While I've been away, my parents made the impromptu but excellent decision to purchase an onsite holiday van at Victor Harbor, a beautiful beach-side town on the Fleurieu Peninsula about 90 minutes south of Adelaide.

I hadn't been to VH in ages, but we agreed to take a day trip there when I was home so that I could see their new holiday site. Naturally, our faithful canine companion Annie-bot was not going to miss out on this one!

Piling into the truck, we drove through the southern suburbs of Adelaide and at my insistence, stopped at the picturesque country town of Mount Compass. Now like me, many South Australians will tell you that no road trip to Victor is complete without a stop-off in Mount Compass. This is simply because the Country Picnic Bakery in Mount Compass has hands-down THE best venison pies on sale, anywhere. Ever. They're handmade, they're meaty and flavourful and the pastry is golden and flaky - and the homemade sauce served alongside is paired perfectly - mine was a tart plum & port creation. At a roadside country cafe, people! Where else do you get this sort of treatment?!

Bellies full, we kept driving on to Victor and I had to contend with Annie-bot sharing the backseat with me and panting in my face, whimpering every time we braked because she thought (or hoped?) we had arrived at our final destination.

Not long after Mount Compass we drove past the "Welcome to Victor Harbor" sign and I couldn't believe it. The Victor of my memories was nothing like the real Victor. Sure the clapboard houses are still there, giant pine trees dominating the front gardens. But now those beachfront shacks stand alongside fancy B&Bs and gourmet restaurants and hairdressing salons! I know people have always lived in Victor - I mean, it's never just been a holiday destination, but to my mind the present-day Victor is really thriving. And it's honestly beautiful. It's bustling, it's crowded, it's commercial - the city slicker in me was thrilled. And yet it's so different to how I have always thought of it. But I have to remember what Bill Hesslop of Porpoise Spit always said, "you can't stop progress".

Pulling into the Victor Harbor Beachfront Holiday Park I felt like I was miles away from the cosmopolitan town we'd only just driven through. Looking around, the Park has all the standard elements - playground for the kids, BBQ area for the bigger kids, public toilet & shower blocks, and the usual collection of campsite options. But this Park also has beautifully-manicured lawns and giant eucalyptus trees populated by the noisiest collection of native birds you'll find anywhere. On the day we visited, rainbow lorikeets and Piping Shrikes (magpies) were engaged in a screaming match up in the high boughs that prompted us to shout and shake our fists up at them. My parents have their onsite van right next to a tree housing the noisiest of all the birdbrains - but I suspect that after a while, you wouldn't even hear the din anymore. It's a perfect place for a weekend getaway, and no mystery why my parents love it.

A short walk through the Park takes you through a small gate and over a sand dune, to the calm beach below. You can swim there if you wish, and Annie-bot sometimes does, but we just wandered along a bit and threw the tennis balls to her. A short distance away, we could see Granite Island, home of Victor's population of fairy penguins. So from the beach it's easy to see just how close to the centre of Victor you really are - Mum was saying that it's an easy 15 minute walk along the sandy shore into the centre of the town for a lovely cup of coffee. Now isn't that the sort of restful holiday you want?!

Time marched on and before we knew it, we had to be back in the truck and heading for home. Leaving the clean air and noisy birdlife behind, we wound our way along the quieter route to Adelaide - via the lovely, green-hilled town of Strathalbyn. I hadn't seen so many trees in a long while!

Moving and Shaking

2011-09-09T19:22:00.003-05:00

In the lead-up to the trip back home, I was trying really hard to eat well and exercise at the gym. I even made valiant attempts to stick to the crazy weights regimen that my personal trainer had set for me, but to be honest I mostly just stuck to the treadmill, bikes, and my ballet Pilates class.

Fortunately that effort paid off, and I was proud that my bridesmaid dress had to be taken in before baby sister's wedding! I had more energy, I felt stronger, and I was ready to enjoy my two-week holiday at home. In the week leading up to the wedding, I even did a couple of classes at a studio near where I went to high school and a couple of workouts at a gym close to Mum & Dad's house. I was on fire!

After the wedding of course, all that went out the window and I got stuck into pursuing the hedonistic pleasures of being amongst friends, family, and all the food & wine that I have missed. While I missed out on Haighs chocolates, excellent Thai food, and pies & pasties on this trip, I did indulge some other Aussie pleasures (some, but not all, of which I can get in the US - but they just seem to taste better back home):

Farmer's Union Iced Coffee
Fruchocs (the regular AND giant sizes)
Crown Lager
Coopers Pale
Kraft Peanut Butter (Smooth, of course)
Pub schnitzels & fat chips

Now of course I'm back in NY and on the treadmill, attempting to right the dietary wrongs of a holiday well-spent. Easier said than done, perhaps?!

The Blog Less Travelled

2011-09-09T12:04:00.000-05:00

Okay so it’s been a long time since my last blog entry and I’m not even going to try and excuse myself. By way of explanation though, I was back home for baby sister’s wedding (awesome) and catch-ups with family (ditto), so the idea of sitting at a computer to write about seemed a bit silly. But I’ve been back in New York for almost a week now, so I can slowly reflect on the weeks that were and begin to share some of the standout stories with you.

I’m not one to tell tales in chronological order at the best of times, so this post is devoted to stories of coping with air travel – before, during and after.

Thanks to business class work trip to Australia back in May, I had some healthy frequent flyer points in my back pocket for the trip in August. In fact, I had enough points to upgrade myself to business class on at least one leg of the international journey. Unfortunately Australia’s national airline had other ideas, and wouldn’t let me upgrade myself – apparently my cheapass airfare precluded me from reclining in the lap of business class luxury. I even tried the “but it’s my birthday” sob story (which it was), but the airline was heartlessly unmoved.

The flight over to Australia actually turned out to be OK, all things considered. I didn’t sleep on the NY-LA flight (which was my plan anyway), so that tired me out for the LA-Sydney leg. I managed to score a bulkhead seat on that long flight too, so I had a bit more legroom than usual, and was able to curl up next to the window and get about 7 hours of sleep in between half-watching some rather average movies. [Just as an aside, why has QANTAS included “Snowtown” on its in-flight entertainment package?! Surely 37,000 feet above sea level is no place to be distressed by a horrible true story about Australian psychopathic killers and bodies in barrels?!]

Fast forward now to the return journey to NY, and our national airline AGAIN refused to upgrade me but this time they said it was because business class was entirely full. You can’t really fight that explanation, can you? On the red eye Adelaide-Sydney leg, I sat alongside an Australian national hockey player (wearing his regulation green & gold tracksuit no less). Mr Hockey Man fell asleep before take-off and snored the entire way to Sydney! It seemed that sleep, at least for me, would prove elusive on that flight. The aeroplane coffee I chugged didn’t even touch the sides, but it didn’t help improve my mood either. On arrival in Sydney, I had to almost run through immigration in order to make my international connection. Fortunately it is easy to rush through airports when you’re travelling alone, darting around half-asleep travellers and foreign visitors with no idea how to stand in a queue. So there I was on the Sydney-LA flight and surrounded by young parents and their children – the worst seating assignment EVER! Now I do spare a thought for parents with young kids on a plane. Nobody can blame the kids for their behaviour on takeoff and landing; their poor little ear drums are popping and they’re not yet old enough to know how to deal with it – so they just cry and cry, and I can totally deal with that. But during the flight itself, surely parents can do something to manage their child’s behaviour. The child in my row was an absolute darling, but she would not shut up. She jabbered away to her Mum incessantly, and stubbornly refused to sleep. I am sure her mother was as exasperated as I was, but I worked really hard to control myself. I self-medicated with three little bottles of wine, two bad movies, and an eye mask, but STILL my senses refused to be dulled. As a result, I was wide awake the whole time. On arrival in LA, suffering what can only be described as delirium by this time, I tried to distance myself from the kids, only to realise that they were all following me to New York! ARGH!! I escaped the chatterbox kid, only to be seated behind 4-year old twin girls who fought over their personal DVD collection for the whole flight. While their parents slept through it all. Where’s the justice?!

Landing at New York’s JFK Airport on Monday, I was so pleased to be back – and only a short taxi ride from my own bed. Because it was a public holiday here, the taxi driver got irritated with me when I told him I couldn’t pay in cash. “But it will take me days to get my money from the credit card company,” he moaned. Tough bikkies, buddy – I was over it, and I flatly refused to let him stop at an ATM so I could get money out for him. Naturally I had the whole taxi ride to feel guilty about my inflexibility, so I tipped him way too generously. I am such a bleeding heart sometimes.

The jetlag has hit me pretty hard this time around, no thanks to me sleeping the whole day at home on Tuesday (rather than keeping myself busy during the day and only sleeping at night). As it is this week, I’ve been going to bed at 9pm, and waking myself up at 4am – unable to get back to sleep again. It is quite frustrating. You would think that given the number of flights I’ve taken in my life, I would be quite accustomed to jetlag and how to deal with it. I’m hoping that if I have a quiet weekend, I’ll be able to regulate my sleeping patterns a bit more so that by next week, things will be back to normal. Well, that’s the plan anyway. All that aside though, I bet I would not have had any of these problems in business class!

A Donald and Daisy Day

2011-08-14T13:55:00.002-05:00

If you're a duck living in Manhattan, today would have been your ideal Sunday. The rain started late last night, continued while we all slept (though admittedly was broken up by some delightful thunder claps), and then proceeded to fall sans cesse during the daylight hours.

As we all know, I am not a duck and therefore today's weather pissed me off.

Okay let's be fair about this. I love rain and after the hot weather we've been having I guess on one level I was actually pleased to see the drop in temperature and the cool raindrops falling. But I don't own gumboots and the universe should know this. The universe should also be well aware that my jeans are perfectly hemmed so they almost - but not quite - touch the floor when I'm wearing flat shoes.

So Universe I ask you, why could you not just stop the rain for the 30 minutes it took me to get to the Museum of Modern Art (by bus mind you, because no friggin' cabs would stop for me)? But noooo - Mother Nature had to keep the drops coming! I got all the way to the front door of the MOMA too, only an hour after they opened this morning, but the line was already almost around the block. And my shoes were squelching and my jeans were literally soaked three inches from the ankles. I was so disheartened. So I did what any sooky baby would do and hailed a cab from outside MOMA to take me back home. Cause I had no trouble getting a cab there did I, Universe? You sick bastard.

My mood lifted somewhat once I got home and took off the wet clothes, stringing them around our apartment/Chinese laundry. Looking at my gym timetable, I realised there was a Pilates class starting in an hour, and I felt confident that would buoy my spirits too. Gym clothes on, and out the door, dodging the fattest raindrops and up the street to Club H.

I don't know what it was but I was terrible in today's class. This was a traditional Pilates Mat class so we did all our exercises on the floor. Lots of leg lifts, ab work and resistance with the Pilates ring. I just wasn't coordinated today and my hip joint kept popping and then my leg went dead at one point. Something was just off. I looked around the class (always a mistake) and off to my left was this woman who I'm sure was the New York Pilates Champion 2011 - all taut muscles and expert Pilates ring control. Bitch. Me, on the other hand, I struggled to remember to breathe (a sure sign I am distracted) but I did some good sit-ups and the instructor told me I had a "nice line" (I don't know what that means either). The hour lesson was over pretty quickly, but I was still not cheered. Some treadmill and weights work helped (ditto filling my head with the "Empire Records" soundtrack), and so when I left after about 45 minutes, the gym was starting to fill up and I was too tired to be grouchy anymore.

The rain however, had not changed a bit and I got splotched the whole way home. I'm looking outside at dark skies and rain that is falling straight down, and showing no signs of stopping. I'm not in a bad mood per se, I am just disappointed that the day turned into such a wash-out. Why can't it be like this when I'm cooped up in my office five days a week?!

Dames and Dresses

2011-08-14T08:40:00.004-05:00

While my mouth was recovering from its peroxide treatment yesterday, I took myself to the Westside Theatre to see "Love, Loss and What I Wore", the new play by Nora Ephron ("When Harry Met Sally", "Julie and Julia") and her sister, Delia Ephron ("The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants", "You've Got Mail").

While I waited for the show to start, I looked around and realised that the average age of theatregoers yesterday was about 80. Not surprising for a matinee perhaps but it still made me smile (which didn't hurt my face). I could see mothers, daughters, grandmothers - generations of women were spending the day together and I just thought it was really nice.

The stage was set up very simply - just five barstool chairs, some music stands to hold script folders, and a clothes hanging stand.

In addition to the simple staging, the casting of this play is really smart. Every show has a cast of amazing female actors who play the roles for a month, and then a new group of actors comes in for the next month.

For my performance, the five actresses were Marylouise Burke, Emmanuelle Chirqui ("Entourage"), Ann Harada (who played Christmas Eve in "Avenue Q" - you must see this video clip), Rosalyn Ruff, and Yeardley Smith (yes, THE voice of Lisa Simpson).

The play itself doesn't have a plot so much, but it's a collection of really great stories about women and the clothes that have influenced their lives. Running through these stories is a common thread of Ginger's story - and how she remembers the dresses and outfits that she wore in her life from childhood, through her marriages, and into the dress-up box that her grand-daughter loves to ransack.

It's funny though because despite the age-range in the audience, I found myself laughing at just the same parts of the show that the 80 year old woman next to me found amusing. We all cringed at the story of the first bra, or the one about buying so many clothes in black - and I particularly liked the stories that involved all the actors, where they all pitched in and told the story together.

Even though the actors never even got off their chairs, I was still really transfixed by the stories and their performances. I wonder what energy the other actors would bring to these same stories - I get the impression that even though the actual script was the same, each group's performance would be subtly different. A really cool idea.

Champion Chompers

2011-08-13T16:05:00.011-05:00

Whenever K goes out of town on a netball or business trip, I get these grand ideas about exploring the city on my own. I develop weekend itineraries that encourage me to set off early, roam the city, and return to the apartment utterly exhausted but a little better acquainted with New York than when I left that morning. Two or three days before these adventures however, I start to second guess my own abilities and so I go online and print out detailed maps and WALKING DIRECTIONS (for pity's sake) so that when I charge out my front door on the Saturday, I can look and feel confident.

To set the scene for this weekend's adventure, it's important to mention that I could hardly sleep last night. I am so excited about going home this coming Thursday, to start the celebrations for baby sister's wedding on August 27. I have been eating properly, kicking ass & taking names at the gym, and I have even scheduled a cut & colour with a celebrity hairstylist the morning that I fly home. See? Who can possibly sleep when there is such anticipation in the air?!

This morning I had an appointment in Greenwich Village to have my teeth whitened. Obnoxious, I know. And I probably never would have come up with the idea myself, but when I logged onto my email a few months ago, there was a Groupon certificate for two whitening sessions at Magic Smile and I figured I had nothing to lose. Plus I knew that with all the photos I'll have to be in at the wedding, a shiny white smile would certainly be a lovely accessory.

I chose the store/clinic in Greenwich Village because the other one is on the Upper West Side about a block away from my beloved Zabar's and I didn't want to go up there lest I be tempted into buying cinnamon rugelach or other goodies that I knew would not be part of my eating plan (always thinking, me).

So I left home this morning in plenty of time, walked up the hill to the nearest subway station, only to find that the Downtown route was shut and I would have to go Uptown to Grand Central and change from there. I did exactly that but managed to get myself completely spun around when it came to switching subway lines and given that time was ticking on, I gave up and grabbed a taxi. Catching every red light along the way, the taxi driver dropped me about 4 blocks from where I needed to be and I almost ran down Bleecker Street to my appointment.

Arriving hot, bothered and breathless 10 minutes late, I strapped myself in to the chair at the "surgery", the "nurse" explained how the procedure was going to work and made me sign a very long waiver to absolve Magic Smile of any liability should my teeth fall out, or I go blind, or my gums get dyed weird colours or whatever (I don't know - I skimmed it). I had to wedge a weird mouth guard into my face that did not feel good. It didn't look good either. I looked like my lips had been peeled right off leaving my teeth and gums totally exposed. Nursey then put a paper bib on me and began to paint my teeth with the whitening agent. I tried to concentrate on the Cooking Channel playing on the TV over my head, ignoring the tingling and kinda painful sensations going on in my mouth. Did the waiver cover this? Probably.

Just as I had acclimated to the tingles and pain, the slobbery spit started. Let's just say that it is very hard to remain ladylike and discrete when you have great gobs of drool sliding out the corner of your mouth, plus a mouthguard wedged in your face that makes it impossible to call out for help. Nursey heard me whimper and suspended one of those dentist spit-sucking things in the corner of my mouth to syphon the dribble away, but a fair portion of it slid down my chin and onto my bib anyway. So gross.

Donning a pair of pink sunglasses that were definitely not a fashion statement, Nursey wheeled over the UV light and stun-gunned my mouth for 15 minutes. It's not just a matter of lying there passively while all this business is going on either. You have to will your lips not to move. You have to make sure that your tongue doesn't lick your teeth (peroxide does not taste like toothpaste - trust me). You have to try and half-swallow drool that the spit-sucky thing can't get to, but not swallow so hard that your mouth involuntarily wants to close, which might make you gag or choke. All that concentration is exhausting!

After 15 minutes, Nursey asked me to rinse & spit and then we repeated everything for my second procedure of the day. By now I was an old hat, so to speak, and the second 15-minute bleaching exercise went very smoothly (and quickly).

I never did get to see the end of the schnitzel & potato salad recipe episode though.

As I readied to leave the surgery Nursey gave me a one-page list of instructions including all the things I should NOT eat in the first 24 hours (dark foods, fruit & vegetables, alcohol, coffee etc) and the things that ARE okay to eat (rice, pasta, bread, potatoes) are all the things I've sworn off on my eating plan. So typical.

All this aside, I have to say that I'm really fine with this food inconvenience because my teeth are now 4 shades whiter than when I went in this morning. I am really happy with the results and even though I have a splitting headache and major teeth sensitivity, I'm hoping that these symptoms will pass soon. My headache horse pills and Sensodyne toothpaste will help, I'm sure.

Wrong Tracks, Three Rats, Hip Cats

2011-08-10T22:16:00.003-05:00

A lot of people say that the best nights you have are the ones you don't plan. I'm a bit of a planner - okay, I'm a lot of a planner, but combine that with my dodgy geography and you usually get a choose-your-own-adventure sort of evening. Case in point: tonight.

I have a membership to the gorgeous American Museum of Natural History. I can say it's gorgeous because I have looked at it extensively online. I have never once set foot inside its doors. So when I scored two membership tickets to the Museum's almost-closed Brain: The Inside Story exhibit, I was excited to finally get down there and check the place out.

Starting the journey from the Bryant Park subway station (not far from my office) was simple enough. The tunnel to our platform smelled like most subway tunnels in the City (or anywhere in the world for that matter). Taking the B line would get us directly to the Museum's front door. Only the D train came along first. "Can we take that one?" asks PL. "Sure," says I - after a rudimentary scan of the adjacent subway map. B was next to D on the map, so why not?

Friends, let me tell you that the D train does indeed go to the Museum; it just doesn't stop there. Oh no, it goes shooting past the Museum at lightning speed and catapults you an additional forty blocks beyond it, ultimately depositing you in Harlem. Silence from PL - he is totally used to this with me. I just laughed - what more could I do?

Alighting at Harlem, we got on the Downtown platform and waited for the B train. I looked down to the tracks where PL was pointing and saw not one but three rats just going about their business. Up to this point, I had never even seen one rat, so three was a real (creepy) coup! Judging by their size they weren't particularly well-fed rats but I got a good enough gawk at them anyway.

The B train came along in a few minutes and got us back to the Museum smack at the time we were supposed to start our behind-the-scenes guided tour. Much to our chagrin all the obvious Museum entrances were bolted shut and entirely unattended. It became clear that we were not going to see the exhibit after all. Sad.

But as Reverend Mother used to say, "When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window". And so it was that I suggested to PL that we head over to Broadway and check out my favourite, Zabars. I had been nagging him about this store for weeks. "Now then, which way to Broadway?" I asked, only somewhat rhetorically. We both pointed in opposite directions. Again, neither of us were surprised.

Doing gourmet foreign food shopping works up quite an appetite, so we walked Downtown past Lincoln Center and through Columbus Circle, and headed to Guantanamera where we cashed in one of my Groupon vouchers for dinner.

I remember buying the Groupon because the restaurant sounded so cool. The online menu looked great, but I was quite taken with the promise of a live band and cigars. The latter only appears on Friday & Saturday nights, but the band was on from 8.30pm tonight and they were fantastic. Reminiscent of the Buena Vista Social Club album that I love so much, the band had energy and talent to burn. The seafood stew and warm chocolate cake & ice cream dessert that I stuffed in were probably not on my eating plan but did I care? Hell no.

On the plan, tonight was supposed to be good but geeky. Instead I went to Harlem, saw my first NY rats, and escaped to Cuba through music and food. Who can complain about that?

Death By Reps

2011-08-09T19:42:00.004-05:00

I had my first workout with a personal trainer tonight. I am blogging about it immediately afterwards because I fear that come tomorrow morning every muscle in my body will have seized up and even blinking will cripple me.

Years ago when I did Weight Watchers, the instructor (?) told us that when you go walking, you should be able to talk but not sing. I know that sounds really dumb but it's true and it has always stayed with me. So tonight while I was exercising, I was really conscious of working hard enough to talk to my personal trainer, but not serenading her. We solved all the world's problems tonight - wedding speeches; famine in Somalia; riots in London. No subject was off-limits and we got along really well.

Bearing in mind that I'm new to this weights game, some of these measures may seem sissy to you, but I really felt them working. My trainer reckons if I do this workout even twice a week (though three is better), I will see results.

Leg Press at 40lbs - 3 x 15 reps (not too tough, just need to remember to push from my ankles and not my knees, or I can forget about a Riverdance career);
Tricep Push at 10lbs - 3 x 10 reps (piece of cake at first, but gets a bit harder as you go along);
Side Cable at 10lbs - 3 x 10 reps (works the obliques and you need to be careful that the cable doesn't twang back and rip your arm off);
Bicep Curl at 7.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (I didn't know I had biceps. Enough said);
Fish Tails (an abdominal exercise working the obliques where you lay down on your back and twist your body so you reach down and tap the side of your ankle. Manageable);
Step Ups at 15lbs - 3 x 10 reps (a basic step-up, step-down exercise while you hold onto some hand weights. A very natural motion for anyone's body but mine. I have no balance and need to concentrate on this one. Shameful);
Rowing at 12.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (otherwise known as the "boobs out" exercise to maintain posture and stretch your shoulder blades. I am awesome at this one. Figures);
Leg Lifts - 3 x 10 reps (from the seated position, lean back and raise and lower both legs to 45 degree angle to work the abdominals. Again, I've got this one in the bag - thank you, Pilates);
Chest Press at 7.5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (tricky, complicated by the fact I am perching my head and shoulders rather precariously on a medicine ball, AND trying not to drop weights on my face at the same time);
Ball Between Legs (about as humiliating as it sounds. On your back, put your legs up in the air and the medicine ball between your calves, squeeze slightly and then reach up to tap the ball. Oddly enough - or not - I am good at this one);
Wide Squats at 5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (last week I squatted prodigiously but this time I was also holding weights and had to squat down far enough so my elbows touched my knees. And I had to remember to gawk at myself in the mirror at the same time, lest I fall forward and humiliate myself. Awkward);
Front-Side Laterals at 5lbs - 3 x 10 reps (arms were jelly at this point. Lost interest in talking to my trainer and just glared at her menacingly until even my eyeballs started to hurt);
Elbow to Knee Crunches - 3 x 10 reps (invented by sadists. Basic ab crunches except your knees are up at 90-degrees and with your elbows behind your head, you pull up so that elbows reach forward and touch your knees. Biologically impossible for me at this point but I did them all. Didn't complain because I couldn't form the words.)

After the workout my trainer stretched me and I had to lie on one of those massage tables in the middle of the weights area, looking like a proper athlete and everything. Pretty sweet.

I know I wasn't the most coordinated person in the gym tonight but I feel like the exercises we did are things I can do for myself and I'm just so proud I didn't die. Or worse, give up.

Let's see what tomorrow brings, shall we?

Meeting Mr Right On(line)

2011-08-08T22:24:00.002-05:00

I am not sure if it is pretentious to subscribe to the New Yorker magazine, but I do. Admittedly I don't understand some of the articles - they rely a lot on the reader's local knowledge and awareness of City politics, art and culture. But I value the weekly magazine for its restaurant and theatre reviews, feature articles, amateur fiction efforts, and the silly caption contests. Simple pleasures.

In the July 4th issue I read an article about online dating. I thought it was quite amusing at the time that the magazine had put the feature in the "True Romance" department. Perhaps the New Yorker is an optimistic periodical after all, I thought. But as I read on, I realised that its author is not only a happily married man, he's never done any online dating for himself - other than the tinkering he did to research his article. So what I'd hoped was an article about a man's search for love online was really a study in the hardcore business, maths and science of online dating. And the article really got me wondering whether the internet has sucked the life out of romance, or whether romance itself was entirely overrated to begin with. Read the article for yourself here - and you can decide.

On the back of this feature article the New Yorker decided to focus its monthly Big Story event on the subject of internet dating. I dragged SK (a fellow romantic cynic) along for the ride.

We steeled ourself with a lovely dinner at the Chelsea Market first and shared stories about friends - and friends of friends - who had enjoyed success or otherwise in the online dating world. Never having done any online dating ourselves, it was interesting to compare stories with SK about why we've hitherto avoided it. I think we were both quite intrigued about what the lecture panelists might say and whether we'd ultimately be convinced to give online dating a try.

The event was held in cabaret-style format at the Highline Ballroom, and was actually pretty cool. Extremely well-subscribed, the night attracted people of all ages. The panel was moderated by the author of the New Yorker article and he was pretty terrible. I just don't think he had the charisma to engage his panel or generate sufficient debate on the pros and cons of online dating. Complicating matters was the fact that three of the four companies represented on the panel (Match.com, Chemistry.com & OKCupid) are all owned by the same person. Biased much? The woman representing Chemistry.com is also a Professor of Biological Anthropology at Rutgers University and she contributed some really interesting insights into what men & women are really looking for out of the dating experience (either online or in 'real life'). The fourth panelist was a woman who had been dating online for 11 years, with varying degrees of success. But by the very fact of being up there, doesn't she just demonstrate that despite all the mathematical matching and personality profiling involved in online dating, the system doesn't always work? It took balls for her to be up there, that's all I can say.

One of the other trends that stayed with me from the lecture was prompted by a question from the audience. I guy got up to say that he had subscribed to OKCupid and he was enjoying their new smart phone app. You log on via your phone and the website will use your location to flash up potential matches based on your geographical location (by zip code). So the OKCupid guy says that if you're standing in line at Starbucks, the app can tell you which of your fellow customers would be a good match for you, assuming the ladies are also registered on the site of course. I don't know about all that. I figure if you've got your eyeballs glued to your smart phone, aren't you missing the potential to lock eyes with someone on your own? If we're attracted to someone first and foremost by the way they look, why do we need a smart phone app to tell us when to look up?

Or am I too much of an old fuddy duddy and I should really just shut up and get with the times?

When Life Imitates Art

2011-08-08T15:00:00.002-05:00

I probably should have been suspicious about Saturday, simply because of how well it started out. Any sunny weekend day that begins with a sleep-in and a couple of chapters of John Grisham, followed by a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, mushrooms and asparagus can surely only go downhill, right? Dude, you have no idea.

Well-rested and with full bellies we walked to Grand Central Station (which is always manic but beautiful) and bought our tickets for the 1.45pm Metra North train to Cold Spring, New York. This was the train line to Poughkeepsie, which incidentally is a lot of fun to say (and I love saying things that are fun to say – huevos rancheros, anyone?). Anyway we were going out to Cold Spring because we had tickets to see William Shakespeare’s “Comedy of Errors” in a beautiful outdoor theatre, as part of the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival.

Meeting up on our carriage with Churley and Witt, the train pulled out of the platform and we settled in for the 80-minute journey to Cold Spring. K made some off-handed remark about wishing she had remembered the playing cards and/or iPad. I bemoaned not buying snacks. All timely regrets, as it turned out.

We made it about 3 minutes down the line, and were still in the tunnels, when the train stopped. Not only did it just stall, but the engine stopped and the air-conditioning went out. We all looked around at each other, not quite sure what was going on, but nevertheless grateful that the lights remained on.

After a couple of sporadic announcements, the conductor confirmed that we had lost power and would have to wait for another engine to come to our rescue and tow us back to the station. Groans all round, but mostly from me.

For the next hour (yes, a whole hour!), we poached in the near-airless train carriage, speculating on what was taking the engineers so damn long to reach us. I prayed aloud for the SWAT team or the NYPD, more out of perversity than practicality. Neither of them materialised. Nuts.

Just when I thought our carriage was going to descend into panic, cannibalism, or panic-induced cannibalism, the MTA Police appeared like guardian angels. They kicked us all off the train onto a narrow metal gangplank alongside, and shepherded us up a ladder, through a manhole, out onto Park Avenue. Like little urban voles we blinked at the afternoon sun, getting our bearings and cursing the train for only taking us 16 blocks from the station (we also quietly high-fived the idea of crawling through a manhole. So cool!).

A few minutes later, the MTA put we intrepid adventurers back down the manhole, back onto our broken train, and the replacement engine towed us back to Grand Central. Once at the station, we boarded our new train on the opposite platform and pretty soon, we were off and racing. We were almost 2 hours behind schedule.

The train journey along the Hudson River is actually really beautiful. Once you get across the bridge and off the island of Manhattan, you’re greeted with leafy green parks for cyclists, and the gunky but peaceful Hudson for the kayakers and jetskiers.

We pulled up at Ossining train station and saw an ugly grey building surrounded by rolled barbed wire. Thank heavens for Google and smart phones, because we determined that was Sing Sing prison (where Holly Golightly visited Sally Tomato each week, and then gave Mr O’Shaughnessy the weather report). Audrey Hepburn sure made it sound a lot more exciting cause in person, the prison – and the people visiting it – just looked rather sketchy. Well I guess maximum security penitentiaries aren't meant to be cute, are they?

A little further down the track, we could see the imposing US Military Academy at West Point, across the River from us. I thought it looked like the scary mental hospital in Shutter Island but perhaps I was a bit delirious by that point. I had given up seeing any men in uniform.

Ever so gently the train pulled into Cold Spring and the four of us piled out onto the platform, noting with some disappointment (though zero surprise) that it had started to rain. At any point I was expecting the locust plague to arrive and devour us all, but no such luck.

Weather aside, Cold Spring is a really charming little place. It’s very quiet, to be sure, but the lovely weatherboard houses with their wide porches and heritage-listed status give you the real impression you are 100 light years from Manhattan, not 100 miles. The air is cleaner there too – obviously, and I don’t know about the other girls but I know I really relaxed when I got there.

We walked down Main Street towards the River lookout and the gazebo, but by then the fat raindrops had started in earnest so we sought ‘restaurant refuge’. So we headed under the train station underpass to the other side of Main Street, past the almost-closed antique and jewellery stores, to see what food options were on offer.

As the rain fell heavier, we retreated into a little pub/restaurant where I think we all discovered we were hungrier than first thought. I even left enough room for the frozen yoghurt afterwards, which seemed an odd thing to eat while wearing a rain coat in steadily greying conditions.

By the time we got back to the station, our Lincoln town car had arrived to ferry us to the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival venue. Our driver was kind enough to stop off at a liquor store so we could equip ourselves with the necessary libations to see us through until the 8pm “curtain up”. A few minutes uphill and the car turned into a verdant sixty-acre estate called Boscobel.

The rain was falling heavier now but we were not going to be deterred. We found a spot underneath the sprawling boughs of a huge tree and set up our temporary drinking camp while we waited for the theatre/marquee to officially open.

A little before 8pm, we hustled into the theatre and took our seats. I quickly skimmed the program to refresh myself on the “Comedy of Errors” plot (a summary of which can be found here). Our play opened with the Duke of Ephesus in head-to-toe leopard print, with a black cape and gold crown. It was totally farcical and I loved it immediately.

My heart really went out to the actors, who almost had to shout their lines in order to be heard over the relentless, pounding rain. It seriously did not let up for the entire performance. But their energy and their perseverance really engaged the audience and we were all invested in the production. This was not a traditional Shakespeare play at all – the script was authentic of course (except for the insertion of songs like “Sea of Love”), but I thought those departures were so creative and they really made the production work.

I think that keeping the energy high like that was helpful to keep the young kids in our audience engaged too – they enjoyed the over-the-top costumes and the often slapstick comedy. Much like the groundlings in the Bard’s time would have, I suspect. The thunderous applause at the end of the show certainly suggested that everyone had a really good time.

Because the play finished at 10.15pm, we just missed a train back to the City, so we had to wait around for an hour until the next one came. Still, the rain did not let up. Again, I whined for my lack of forward-planning to purchase any drinks or snacks for after the show, and while waiting for the train I mumbled incoherently about the lack of vending machines on the platform.

Given how our day had transpired, “Comedy of Errors” was not just a play at all; it was our life! Crawling into bed just after 2am never felt so good.

The Numbers Don't Lie

2011-08-03T20:02:00.002-05:00

For the past few weeks I have been doing really well with my eating plan and have abstained from alcohol and caffeine for longer than ever before - in my whole life! I've been doing Pilates on the weekend (which I love) and I've joined a gym where they do Barrelates (ballet Pilates) and cardio work. As I stare headlong into baby sister's wedding I feel like I'm doing the right things.

So I was feeling nervous but optimistic about tonight - my first appointment with my personal trainer. I get two complimentary sessions as part of my gym membership, and tonight was just about taking vital statistics and doing a couple of strength and endurance tests.

Fortunately I was honest when it came to answering questions about my health and fitness history and habits. We talked about my problem areas and my short and long term goals. The trainer was happy about my Pilates work, as she is a certified instructor herself. She said my posture was great and the exercises I do in the classes will help with core strength, but I would need to supplement them with weights training. Fair call, no worries. So then we retired to the little room out the back to take measurements. Du-du-duuuuuuuuuh.

Quicker than I could say "I don't really feel fat, I just want to tone up", I had the results of my Body Fat Index test. Silence from my trainer and then she finally said "Yeah, we'll work on that - it's fine". Oh man.

Stepping on the scales, the numbers went up, up and then up some more. Deducting some pounds for my sneakers and the fact that at the end of the day we're all a bit puffy, the numbers were still higher than I would want. "Something we'll work on?" I asked, quietly. My trainer nodded.

As anxious as I was by this point, I aced the blood pressure test and then I got my body circumference measurements. I believe we will be working on my 36-24-36 body for a little while.

Then we went over to the floor to do some strength and endurance tests. We determined that I can squat prodigiously, and I'm a very good walking lunger. Thanks to my Pilates, I am also very good at abdominal crunches and can do the arm-chest-pulldown-thingy pretty well too.

After our floor workout was over, I agreed to meet up with my trainer for my proper workout next Tuesday. She left me doing some cardio work on the eliptical. I had no idea how to work the machine so she showed me and I was COMPLETELY uncoordinated. I felt like I was walking on the moon - and then when I thought about that, my legs got self-conscious and refused to work together.

Having spent 7 solid minutes on the eliptical, flailing around like a frog in a blender, I daintily alit the machine and headed for home - knowing full well that I have a lot of work to do.

Paris En Rose

2011-08-02T20:43:00.002-05:00

So I finally got around to seeing "Midnight in Paris" tonight and I can honestly say that in my humble opinion, neither Paris nor Owen Wilson have ever been better.

I can usually take or leave Woody Allen but he made the City of Lights appropriately luminous - it leapt off the screen in colour and energy and if I could have closed my eyes and clicked my heels together, I would have given anything to be transported there (minus the guy who was periodically kicking the back of my seat).

Owen Wilson plays Gil, a successful screenplay writer in Hollywood whose aspirations of writing a breakout novel are frustrated by writers' block, disillusionment and anxiety. These stressors are compounded by his fiancee, Inez (played by Rachel McAdams) who can't help but point out Gil's flaws - whether he is in the room or not. The movie obviously starts at a point where the relationship between Gil and Inez is strained, though neither of them will openly admit it. At midnight, when Gil takes his walks through the quiet backstreets of Paris, he is transported back to the City in the 1920s, the time that Gil feels Paris was truly at its most inspirational.

Through Gil's time travels, we meet artistic luminaries like Cole Porter, Gertrude Stein, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, Hemingway and others. It doesn't take much to be envious of Gil's adventures and to secretly wish to have been a fly on the wall at some of these riotous late-night creative gatherings.

The movie did get me thinking though, about what time period I would like to live in, if I could cherry pick such things. When I was a little girl, we used to visit Australian colonial settlements to see what life was like "in the olden days". I remember my cousin and I desperately yearned to live back then - to go to school and write on slate, ride horses, and wear those full skirts with aprons. Clearly the lack of sanitation, medicines and equal rights for women had not come into our thinking then.

Now if I had my choice, I'd be hard pressed to know when or where I'd like to quantum leap. I love the idea of old time Hollywood - the glory days of Marilyn, Bogart & Bacall, Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant. Or the early years of my parents generation - with the Beatles, Elvis and the Stones in the charts and people went "necking" at the drive-in and to dances (in gloves!). Plus sanitation, medicines, and equal rights for women. Hmm.

If there was a moral in the Woody Allen film, I think it's more about the fact we're never completely satisfied living in our present. There is always something we'd change if we could, and other times and places can somehow seem more attractive than the reality we're currently living.

Still, for my money, tonight's reality of emerging from 1920 Paris into 2011 New York ain't half bad. I think I'll keep living that present for the time being, if you don't mind.

Svetlana's Elephants

2011-07-24T16:00:00.002-05:00

After a very tasty brunch at Ristorante Asselina at the Hotel Gansevoort Park Avenue, I went on a bit of an experimental journey to Soho. Mapless and therefore clueless, I boarded the N train Downtown and got out at Prince Street.

Now fortunately Prince Street is a block from Houston (entirely where I wanted to be) but then I walked in the wrong direction for three blocks - in high heels and in extreme heat. Not pleasant. Spinning myself around, I got on the right track but ultimately realised Houston is a very looong street, and I was at least 8 blocks out of my way. I could feel the blisters forming on the underside of my toes; it was all very gross.

With confirmation from a gaggle of Soho firefighters that I was indeed headed the right way, I almost belly-flopped into the cool and welcoming arms of S.O.Bs, a neat little bar/brunch venue with a live band playing mellow Latin American tunes. I only wanted to cool off and have some icy cranberry juice & soda, but the live music was an added bonus and I made a mental note to come back there another time.

A little before 1pm I rounded the corner and headed into Film Forum, the premier independent movie house in New York City. I was cashing in a Groupon certificate I had bought (naturally) for a year-long membership to the cinema. When I was in Chicago I was a real devotee of The Gene Siskel Film Center, and I figured that Film Forum seemed to be NYC's equivalent. Film Forum has been around since the 1970s and though the screening roster is not large, it offers a lovely collection of American and foreign films, documentaries and even throwbacks the golden oldies.

Today I went to see "The Woman With The Five Elephants", the story of 87-year old Svetlana Geier who has translated the five major works of Dostoyevsky from Russian into German. She is widely considered the most masterful translator of these works in the world. Screened in German with English subtitles, the film tells the story of Svetlana's life and her family, from growing up in the Ukraine and then as a young girl being forced (by wartime circumstances) to move to Germany and work for the SS as a translator. As time rolled on, Svetlana raised a beautiful family in Germany and honed her linguistic crafts. The film follows Svetlana as she returns to the Ukraine for the first time in 65 years, to deliver a series of readings and lectures about the art of translating.

I know a lot of people would yawn and roll their eyeballs at a movie like this, but I really liked it (or maybe Svetlana just reminded me a little too much of my own Granny). To see her wispy white hair, and her wrinkled hands smoothing her beautifully hand-made lace tablecloths, it was just really lovely. Her mind as sharp as a tack, Svetlana speaks fondly of friends she has made over the years, admiring them for being well-read, articulate and punctual. It was interesting to hear her speak about making a home for herself in Germany, knowing now (and even then) what the Nazis had done to people she cared about back in the Ukraine. Having worked for the SS, she only spoke of the kindnesses her employers had shown her. She found it hard to reconcile the bosses and colleagues she remembered with the atrocities that the regime had committed. I just thought that was a really astute and honest observation, not to mention a point of view I'd never considered before.

Having scratched my language and literature itches, I emerged into the hot sun and undertook more experimental train travel home. Remind me never again to take the train to Penn Station on a Sunday - I keep forgetting that people, lots and lots of them, still like to shop at Macy's. Ugh!

What would William Blake have thought?

2011-07-23T23:10:00.003-05:00

Today was another stinker in New York - lots of sun, little breeze and yet off I trotted to Pilates at 2pm, to strengthen my core and try not to scream obscenities at my teacher.

Let me tell you that I rocked the sh*t out of the class today. It was really different to last week - this time we really focussed on our Pilates breathing and finding our "neutral pelvis" (uh huh), and the instructor said "pubis" a lot, which gave me a fit of the giggles. I don't feel as sore this week, but I suspect my core is still in shock. Come Tuesday I will probably be paralysed again but at least for now I feel really good.

Tonight I went to a fabulous restaurant in Hell's Kitchen on 9th Ave (where there are SO many restaurants). I mean, if you can't find something to eat on 9th Ave, it probably doesn't exist and you should just leave town.

Anyway as I was saying, went to Ember Room and I thought it was great. I am still keeping up my good eating plan, so I had some grilled shrimp (prawns to us real people) and then for my main course I had a beef salad. Because of my Pilates efforts earlier in the day, I had a scoop of real vanilla icecream for dessert - it was delicious. And to drink? A cranberry juice and soda water. I know, it is TOTALLY not like me to do that and I have to be honest, I was dying for a glass of white wine but I am really taking this seriously and I'm trying hard to do all the right things. The food, the decor and the service were really great and I want to go back. Guess what I saw on the menu? If you give the restaurant at least 48 hours notice, you can order a whole suckling pig! I couldn't eat that all by myself of course but damn, that would be good. I will totally do that, after the wedding when I can slacken off this healthy eating regimen a bit.

So after the restaurant we wandered up the street to the Music Box Theatre to see the production of "Jerusalem". I'm still trying to work out what I thought of this production, to be honest. I'd seen the main star (Mark Rylance) back in London when he performed in "La Bete", and I thought he was fantastic. And then when I knew that he'd won the Tony this year for Best Actor for his role in "Jerusalem", I was all the more convinced I wanted to see the production.

The title of the play comes from the English hymn of the same name, adapted from the poem by William Blake. In my Playbill book, the Director's Notes suggest that the hymn's sentiment is "so optimistic, yearning and human". I'm not sure the play is all those things though; in fact, I found it to be quite dark, at times unsettling, but very compelling. There is also an element of mysticism underlying it - because the character that Rylance plays is about to be evicted from the caravan he has illegally squatted in for years, to make way for a new housing development. Except the land is on an energy highway line that runs all the way through the area, through Stonehenge, and then up through Rylance's beloved plot of land. Sure he's a drunk and a drug dealer and prone to bouts of verbal diarrhea, but you also get the impression that he feels a spiritual connection with the land that underscores his obvious disinclination to leave. I might have to think about the play for a few more days before I decide if I enjoyed it or not. I can certainly say I enjoyed Rylance's performance (again). He was intense and a definite scene-stealer, but he just commands your attention and you can't look away.

On the way home in the cab, we had the misfortune of driving through Times Square but at least we got to see The Naked Cowboy. High brow to low brow in two short blocks. That's New York for ya!

Desperate Times, Lunatic Measures

2011-07-17T23:27:00.002-05:00

I fly back to Australia four weeks from today to be Maid of Honour at baby sister's wedding. I have decided to kick my own a$$ for the next month and implement an eating and exercising program that I hope will help me feel (and look) trim, taught and terrific.

I've got three more weeks of Pilates to go [Author's Note: it's Day 2 after my first class and I'm in a bit of pain but predominantly okay, as long as nobody makes me laugh or drops something that they expect me to bend down and pick up). In addition to this I'm ramping up my Global Corporate Challenge efforts and taking myself off on rambling walks after work (in my new dance pants, of course). Nothing crazy - just an hour of aimless power walking while rocking out to my fantastic (read daggy) iPod playlist. None of these ventures scare me in the least.

The diet part is another story. I am resolved to eat well over the next four weeks. I don't eat badly now, but I am committed to an eating plan that excludes all the usual nasties, but also:

bread
pasta
rice
corn
potatoes
pretzels (especially of the Snyder's cheddar cheese persuasion)
chocolate
caffeine
alcohol

I know, I know. The first couple are manageable, right? But cutting out the last two is probably going to kill me. I will be interested to see what happens to Snyders share prices over the next four weeks when I'm not buying 'em actually ha! So here I am on the cusp of voluntarily giving up my favourite things for my favourite person (who, it is fair to say, has not asked me to engage in this silliness - this is all my own doing).

Follow me on this crazy journey for the next four weeks, if you dare. I will be tired and I will be grouchy, but when that Maid of Honor frock zips up the whole way, I know it will all be worth it. Let's do this thing.

Getting to the core of it

2011-07-16T09:52:00.005-05:00

So I've signed up for four weeks of beginner Pilates classes at the gorgeous Gramercy Pilates Fitness Studio.

I was so nervous about today's first class that I called ahead a few days ago and asked the instructor what I was supposed to wear and to bring. Yoga pants were okay, she said, but something a bit more fitted would be better as it gave the instructors more chance to see the alignment of my body. Good grief! Off I went and bought myself some three quarter-length fitted dance pants (uh huh) and I was ready - sartorially speaking, at least.

I was up early this morning and I had plenty of time to walk to the studio. I couldn't find motivational music on my iPod so I settled on Bon Jovi's Crossroads album, figuring that if I were thinking about Jon and Richie, I wouldn't be thinking about the impending torture I was about to put my body through.

Arriving at the studio 15 minutes early, as requested, I met my two other classmates. The girl was also wearing dance pants (phew!) but hers did not match her tshirt and sneakers. She had obviously done this fitness "thing" before. I distanced myself from her and instead stood alongside a very friendly gay man who chatted incessantly, and who was not wearing dance pants (thank you, Jesus).

Our instructor arrived and I liked her immediately. She had a friendly demeanour and an enviable, Pilates-sculpted body that filled me with confidence that I might be doing something right for myself.

With the introductions out the way we climbed aboard our own "mat" (or "Cadillac", as our instructor called them). It's weird to call this machine a mat, because it's not even on the ground level. Imagine a medieval torture rack and you have something close to the Pilates Cadillac. With a footrest bar at one end, and a place for your head at the other, you can reach up and grab all manner of stretchy arm bands and pulleys that take you through your workout and slowly kill you in delightfully creative ways.

With only three students in the class, I was determined to stay alive. We started by working our abdominals to strengthen our core. I didn't even know I had a core. But given the way we worked it today, I'm going to know EXACTLY where my core is by this time tomorrow morning....if I can breathe at all, that is.

We had to do the Pilates version of abdominal crunches, tucking chin into chest and pulling ourselves up (by the strength of our core), vertebrae by vertebrae. I was actually pretty good at this part, until we had to bring our knees up "to tabletop" (ie as if we were sitting at a table - but still lying down), and then do the same thing. Trickier. Then we had to extend our legs out to a 45-degree angle and do the same thing. I think I passed out, but I did not die. I did, however, regret not putting a fresh coat of nail polish on my toes.

Then we moved on to leg exercises and we had to manipulate our own Cadillacs to the settings that the instructor wanted. Seriously it's like total sadism. What other prison in the world asks you to tart up your own torture chamber before they put you in it? But again, I was determined to do this thing right, so I paid attention and strapped myself into my tailor-made Cadillac. The leg exercises were actually much easier for me. Alternating your foot position, you push yourself up and the Cadillac has springs in it that move with you. So effectively you're doing squats, but you're just lying down to do them. I was pretty good at those. Then we did exercises to stretch our calf muscles and I was down with those too. Afterwards we did some exercises with the long stretchy straps and they were fine - rotating our strapped-up legs around and around, knees out "like chicken wings, folks!", all the while working the blessed core.

Then our arms got involved and I realised with some dismay that I am totally devoid of upper body strength. The instructor recognised this but cheerfully motivated me nonetheless. I hardly noticed: I was too busy reminding myself myself to breathe. Then we spun around and did some work with the hand bar, giving our cores some more lovin'. I could almost hear my core whimpering, so I know I was doing the right things.

Before I knew it our hour was up and we were putting our Cadillacs back to the way we had found them. On the hard wooden floorboards we did a couple of deep squats to stretch our legs back out, and then we were done.

After the class I honestly felt like I could have leapt over the Empire State. I felt limber and relaxed yet full of energy. Even as I sit here, some 90 minutes after the class finished, I still feel good. I am enjoying this period of happiness, because I get the distinct impression that tomorrow, even blinking is going to be tough. My core is definitely going to have the last laugh, no matter how much that hurts.

Armpits and Pee

2011-07-11T16:30:00.002-05:00

So I have just submitted my first assignment for the online writing class I'm doing. I am very grateful to the small team of unofficial editors whose wise counsel helped drag me over the finishing line.

The submission is officially due tomorrow, so I won't have any feedback from my lecturer for a few days yet. That's probably a good thing anyway, because it will take a few days to process this piece and determine if I'm entirely happy with it or not. We shall see.

What I will say is, keeping to a 500-word limit is very tricky. The lecturer was never going to criticise us for exceeding it - or even totally disregarding it - but I was trying to be disciplined.

Le Souvenir

The phone booth was a greenhouse that sunny May day; the unseasonal heat amplifying the typical phone booth smell of urine and stale sweat. I pulled the door shut behind me and resolved to breathe through my mouth. The conversation I was about to have demanded complete privacy; or as much privacy as I could expect to have in a public phone booth on a busy French street in lunch hour.

I had been making these distress calls home so frequently that I had committed the dialing codes to memory. Nevertheless my clammy hands rummaged for the phone card hiding in the abyss of my school bag. Brushing a hot, fat tear off my crumpled tee-shirt, I pondered my decision not to unpack. My clothes still smelled of home. Assigning them to unfamiliar cupboards would taint them with a sense of belonging that I knew I did not feel here, and maybe never would.

The blast of a car horn startled me. Looking out the booth window, I could see my language classmates across the street, sitting together in the dappled shade of the public park. No more than strangers ten days ago, this motley crew from at least nine different countries was effortlessly doing what I could not – swapping stories and laughing casually, in their wrinkle-free clothes.

Card in hand, I dialed the number, with no idea what time it was back home, or what my call might have been interrupting. The phone rang twice, three times, and then connected. I immediately discerned the sleepy voice of my father at the end of the line. It must have been the middle of the night in Australia, but Dad had answered the call because he had known it would be me. And that broke my heart.

For a split second, my breath caught in my throat and my vision blurred with new tears. Squeaking a hello, I could hear my Dad sitting up in bed and my mother leaving the room to pick up the phone extension in the study. It was the middle of the night and both of my parents were again ready and willing to provide telephonic therapy. More tears fell.

For ten minutes the calm common sense of my parents punctuated my incoherent, snuffling sobs. Falling into our familiar roles, I whined and wailed as my parents cooed and consoled. From somewhere amongst my self-pitying moans of homesick solitude came the firm voice of my mother. “You could just come home, you know” was all she said. Her words echoed in my brain. After a few silent moments, my father sighed, bade me goodnight and announced he was going back to sleep. I thanked my parents, made my own hasty farewells and quietly replaced the receiver.

With dry eyes, I looked up towards the park and heaved open the phone booth door, breathing in the warm aroma of freshly-baked baguettes.

You've Got The Write Stuff

2011-07-06T14:01:00.001-05:00

About 10 years ago, HR officers across my home state were carrying on about the concept of “lifelong learning”. Jargon though it undoubtedly was, the idea nevertheless spread like wildfire across the public service and underpinned every training course we were asked to do; every seminar we were invited to attend; and every performance review we had to endure. It seemed that nobody in the workplace was too young, old, junior or senior to learn.

While I am loathe to admit it, I became quite a fan of the “lifelong learning” idea. Whenever my early administrative jobs offered more troughs than peaks (as happened quite often in those days), I remember being buoyed by the notion that old dogs could learn new tricks, and were in fact being encouraged to do so. Needless to say this dovetailed beautifully with the other piece of intelligence I acquired around this time; namely that these days, a person changes careers at least 11 times in their life. I don’t recall aspiring to that number necessarily, but the very idea that “lifelong learning” had overtaken “lifelong career” as a modern-day aspiration filled my twenty-something’s heart with hope.

I poke fun at “lifelong learning” only in jest, because I do believe it has influenced a lot of what has happened to me over the years, in life and at work. There’s no question that it explains my current enrolment in an online non-fiction writing course with Gotham City Writers (cool name, huh?).

Over the next six weeks my virtual classmates and I will learn about what it takes to produce quality non-fiction work. We’ll dissect the elements of memoirs, personal essays, biographies and similar. I will have to participate in online discussion boards (not my strong suit) and complete weekly assignments that are peer-reviewed (eek!).

The first assignment is a bit of a cracker. In 500 words or less, I need to:

Think of a specific moment when you were at a crossroads, major or minor. Zero in on that moment. Remember all that you can about that
moment, perhaps even jotting things down. What did you see, hear, smell, touch, or taste? What were you thinking or feeling?

In a way it’s quite amusing because in the spirit of lifelong learning and moving ahead, I have to first look backwards. No chance of writer’s block in this class, baby.

What Makes America Great

2011-07-04T10:59:00.003-05:00

In addition to Snyder's Cheddar Cheese Pretzel Pieces, I do believe there are lots of things that make America great. Oh sure there are lots of things that make America kinda nuts too, but because today is July 4th, I reckon it's a much better idea to say nice things about the old girl.

So take diversity for instance - it makes America great. Yesterday I had a long overdue brunch date with C&K, two friends from The Cheese State who I met through LH back in Chicago. Yesterday was something like 91% humidity and it honestly felt like I was breathing water. But hunger is an obvious motivator and so it was that I heaved myself down to the East Village and we met up at Veselka, a New York institution since 1954 that serves up Ukrainian soul food, 24 hours a day. Trust me - the potato cakes alone were worth the 20 minutes we waited to be seated. Sitting there at the restaurant and catching up for almost 3 hours, the tables around us were chock-full pretty much the entire time. Kids, parents, grandparents - that restaurant was a microcosm of New York yesterday and it was great.

After bidding farewell to C&K I wandered around the East Village for a bit and found my back to a little piece of Australia, The Tuck Shop. I settled in to read a few more chapters of the third instalment of "The Hunger Games" trilogy when the bartender, a British fella, asked me what I was reading. I made the mistake of telling him I'd stayed home all day Saturday to read the second book. The look he gave me said everything. "I know," I admitted rather guiltily, "such a loser". He had the good grace not to agree with me outright. What followed was a bit of a conversation over some Coopers beers about the differences between Aussies, Brits, Scots and Americans. Our collective travel experiences, plus a healthy bullshit factor, meant we considered ourselves eminently qualified to dissect our respective cultural nuances. But even I was at a loss to clarify for the bartender why a bunch of Aussie tourists who had visited the bar earlier in the day had felt compelled to steal fistfuls of free napkins from off the counter. Perhaps some deep-seated and irresistible return to their convict beginnings? Or perhaps they were just morons. I think a little from Column A, a little from Column B to be fair.

Heading home briefly, I then ventured out in the cooler evening air to meet up with P at The Hill to redeem a Groupon certificate I'd had for a while. When I got there, the bar was pretty much empty and I had a good opportunity to make google eyes at the cute tattooed bartender (in spite of his trucker hat). I mean, seriously - the guy opened my beer bottle with the bottom half of the cocktail shaker. Could I have done that? Could you do that? Talent and showmanship, my friends. They make America great. So me and P sat outside in the fresh air, having beers and delicious white pizza (truffle oil also makes America great, by the way). As time went by, I watched the bar fill up with pretty young things, all of whom would have been at least 10 years younger than me and fortunately P agreed with me that it was time to head off somewhere else.

So we went around the block up to Wolfgang's, a steakhouse (this is definitely another thing that makes America great). We sat up at the empty bar and had a great chat with the barman, a French/American Vietnam Vet who was full of stories of 9/11, Jimmy Carter and Scotch. I was also quite taken with the beautiful tiled decor of the steakhouse, and will likely come back there soon for something cooked medium-rare with a side of mashed potatoes.

Tonight though I'm heading off to my boss's place to watch the July 4th fireworks and to help The Big Apple celebrate this great - and sometimes crazy - country's birthday. Here's hoping there's cake. But I will settle for some Snyder's pretzel pieces, of course.

Geekylocks and the Three Beers

2011-07-02T14:07:00.003-05:00

I know that summer in New York is one of those fleeting things that is meant to inspire me to break free, dash outside and greedily seize the season with both hands.

Yet here I am on a sultry Saturday, holed up inside doing loads of laundry, drinking beers and getting totally absorbed reading "The Hunger Games" trilogy. If there were a bigger nerd on this earth, I'd like to meet her.

This week has been quite a busy one. I was occupied with end-of-financial year madness at work and in an effort to amuse myself more than anything, I created some pretty dazzling budget spreadsheets. My boss even felt sorry enough for me to approve one of them, and thus our tentative budget for next financial year was set. Whether it remains so is a mystery to us all.

I have also caught up in my studies for an online course run by the United Nations Institute for Training & Research (UNITAR). My office was kind enough to pay for my enrolment in a course designed to give me an Introduction to the United Nations System. In the sixth months I've been at work, I know a lot of my knowledge has come by osmosis and yet I was still feeling a little behind. I had begun using acronyms and phrases without really knowing what they meant or where they come from. The six week online course really just skimmed the surface of the UN System, but at least I feel now like I have some more context for the things I do and why. I was even quite proud of my consistent 90% exam results across the board. Multiple choice exams they might have been, but 90% is still 90% and I was pretty pleased about that. I think I still have one more module to go although as with the budget stuff, I won't know more until the email comes out next week.

I also finally bit the bullet and bought a new computer this week. I have finally bitten the Apple and my Macbook Pro gets delivered next week. Of course the idea of going into the NY Apple store terrified me, so I chickened out and did all my ordering online. As I did with my last PC, I also ordered "stupidity insurance", to guard against any Diet Coke spillage or unfortunate rolling-off-the-bed incidents that might occur. As an added perk, I treated myself to an iPod nano - a blood red one - and I got it engraved with my name on it. I suspect that might be the most ridiculous and pathetic thing to do, but I was caught up in the consumerism of it all. Anyone who finds my iPod and listens to the dodgy music selection won't need the engraving to know who it belongs to - and yet I couldn't resist inscribing it. Oh well, it's too late to back out now. Once a geek, always a geek.

But for now, this little geek is going to imprint the sofa with her butt and settle in for a few more chapters - and maybe a few more beverages. Isn't this what weekends are for, anyway?

Hair pulled back. Wayfarers on. Baby.

2011-06-27T16:04:00.002-05:00

This past weekend was a festival of summer – a celebration of all things sunshine, outdoors, beer, food and friends.

Owing to a rather monstrous hangover on Friday and the obligation to go to work in spite of it, I tucked myself in for an early night on Friday and emerged on Saturday morning looking and feeling substantially more human. Hooray for rebounding!

We had Little Miss Korea staying with us over the weekend, and while she went to the airport to farewell her Aussie boyfriend, I hoofed it down to South Street Seaport (Pier 17) as part of my ongoing Global Corporate Challenge efforts.

It is really quite sad that my sense of direction is so totally woeful. Even on 2nd Avenue, which is pretty much a straight road until you get to Houston, I managed to take a bit of a dodgy turn and end up going the wrong way. I was still heading towards the river (phew), just way further out of my way than initially intended. Thanks to the ravings of a lunatic ahead of me, I got myself back onto Broadway, and followed the signs to Market Street and down to the water.

Saturday was a pretty warm day, and having jostled through the crowded Chinatown streets (sensory overload to boot), I was quite hot and bothered. The cool breeze off the river was absolutely beautiful. Families dangled fishing rods into the cool, murky water and I remember thinking I wouldn’t be too keen to eat whatever took their bait. But maybe they never intended to either, and perhaps the fishing was just an activity to get together and pass the time. Judging by the lack of activity on the end of their lines, it certainly seemed like a relaxing one.

Having made it to Pier 17, where I had agreed to meet Little Miss Korea, I settled down at a long trestle table at the Beekman Beer Garden, facing out over the River and the uninterrupted view of the Brooklyn Bridge. I could just make out the pedestrians and cyclists going across the giant structure and I sipped my cold (and local) Sixpoint Ale and read a couple of chapters of The Hunger Games, hardly noticing the beer garden filling up with tourists and locals around me.

When Little Miss Korea arrived, we enjoyed a delicious beer and bratwurst lunch (plus sauerkraut and grilled corn cobs of course), and then we left to walk home. We headed up through the South Street Seaport shopping precinct (cute market stalls and handmade goods); through Little Italy (vintage stores and loads of cafes and pastries); past the World Trade Center site; skirted around Soho (lemon & pomegranate sorbet? Don’t mind if I do); and plopped into El Parador for some restorative happy hour margaritas.

Even though my feet were throbbing by this stage, I was pleased to have explored some new parts of the City (some of it accidentally) and chalked up 19,900 or so steps (woohoo!). After a day of activity like that, I really think the kiss of death is sitting on the sofa. How hard is it to get back up after you do that?! Yikes.

We had another quiet night at home on Saturday, emerging on Sunday morning with enough get up and go to visit Pipa for brunch. The fantastic tapas place has great decor (chandeliers dangling overhead and all), plus a very cool brunch menu, including my favourite dish on the menu – Huevos Rancheros. It’s fun to say and fun to eat. But Pipa also has passionfruit caipirinhas on the drinks menu; made with sugar cane rum, lime and sugar. They are very delicious but very strong. One serve of huevos rancheros does not adequately absorb the rum from two of those little beauties, trust me.

The restaurant is located behind the gorgeous ABC Carpet store, and it was lovely to browse around there afterwards, trying not to let the rum get the better of me. We even had a bit of a celebrity encounter, seeing Aussie chef Curtis Stone and his lady friend Lindsay Price (plus baby-on-board), shopping for goodness knows what. We didn’t say anything of course – we are far too cool for that. Plus I didn’t want to get maced, or breathe rum all over a pregnant lady.

On leaving the store we could hear the whoops and hollers from the nearby Gay Pride Parade, but we kept our distance and instead wandered through Union Square. A sporting injury prevented K from striding along too much – the best the poor thing could do was hobble around valiantly. When it all got a bit crazy and we were ready for home, we took the subway and collapsed in a heap on the sofa. Blissful.

"Drinking Mammal Shit" and other stories

2011-06-24T15:10:00.002-05:00

There is a reality show on some cable network or other here in the US called “Extreme Couponing”. Actually I don’t think that’s what it’s called at all but whatever.... Anyway, the show basically focuses on these people who are completely obsessed with clipping coupons – even for things they don’t need, want or could ever use. They get a rush from clipping coupons for 9 hours a day just so they can walk out of a store with 400 tubes of toothpaste, having paid nothing for them. It’s pretty compelling TV actually.

While I’m not an extreme coupon-clipper, I do like to save a dollar where I can. I had heard about the Chicago-based Groupon company a while back and since I moved to New York I’ve become quite a devotee. Unlike clipping coupons, the Groupon site doesn’t give me free stuff (so far anyway), but I do buy things at a discount – often a significant one – and giving me lots of opportunities to see and do interesting stuff in my new home town. Bonus!

Yesterday I had a long-overdue catch up with RS who I have known for a while and works upstairs. I had wanted to use two new Groupon certificates I had bought (henceforth referred to as G1 and G2), and RS and agreed to keep me company on the excursion.

So after work yesterday we caught a cab to Limelight Marketplace – a place I was convinced I’d never been to, until we got there and I realised I had walked past it about two weeks before. Originally a church, the interior was gutted years ago and the building transformed into a nightclub. Then some years later, the club closed down and developers turned it into a bright and ultra-modern market. The space is really beautiful, if not a little rabbit-warreny, but you could easily lose hours just wandering through the funky stores selling many unique pieces from independent retailers but with a flashy department-store feel.

Our first stop was Jezalin’s, a fancy gourmet food market nestled in a far corner of the Limelight Marketplace. G1 was good for two cups of coffee – but not your standard-issue, over the counter coffee either. Oh no, friends. This G1 gave me two cups of the Rolls Royce of coffee. Normal retail price? $30 per cup. Yes, you read that right – per cup. WTF?! We’re talking about rare kopi luwak arabica coffee that comes from Sumatra. The coffee is fancy all because a civet (or luwak, to the locals) eats the ripe coffee cherries, chemically treats & ferments them in its stomach and then poops out the beans. Yes, G1 was good for two cups of luwak poo-coffee. And I have to tell you, it was actually pretty good – if you can get past the notion that you’re drinking something that started its life as an excretion from a mammal’s furry buttocks. Reading the tasting notes online this morning, I don’t recall the coffee tasting like chocolate, but it was certainly smooth and easy to drink. RS and me agreed that it didn’t have that harsh, almost-burnt aftertaste that coffee can sometimes have. Even though I normally take milk in my coffee, I wouldn’t add milk to this one. I liked it, but I wouldn’t pay $30 a cup for it. Unless of course I could drink it in St Mark’s Square, while Venetian minstrels serenaded me; then it would probably be okay.

Having been somewhat revived by our Sumatran adventure, we headed upstairs to Cana Wine Bar, a cute little place on the Limelight Marketplace mezzanine level, to redeem G2 (for $20 worth of food/drink). Surrounded by stained-glass windows and overlooking the busy shops below, we enjoyed a bottle of Cava and a cheese plate. As boring as it sounds, I think the parmigiano reggiano was my favourite – and the raspberry (?) jam offered alongside was pretty delicious too. Bear in mind if you visit that the toilets at Cava are very tricky to find but if that is the only thing I can complain about, that’s quite good. Oh wait, the music there was pretty loud but I think that’s just because I’m an old lady and I’m aurally sensitive and crotchety when it comes to these things.

I think by this point we were feeling rather peckish, and so we figured we’d walk uptown and stop in at whatever restaurant took our fancy along the way. We didn’t get very far, because right next door to Limelight Marketplace – part of the tenancy, in fact, is a brand new restaurant called CrossBar. It opened about a month ago and while I didn’t remember it at the time, I now recall reading about it in my “New York” magazine. They have pig’s ears on the menu – not just for dogs anymore, guys! We didn’t have that though – we enjoyed a lovely bottle of Willamette Valley (Oregon) rose, some duck sliders and also some pulled pork tacos. So tasty! Despite the threat of rain, we sat at a table outside, under an exotic umbrella. It was definitely another success story of the evening.

At this point we finally decided to leave the vicinity of Limelight Marketplace and we walked up Fifth Avenue, through Madison Square Park and over to RS’s old watering hole, The Crooked Knife. Strangely enough, I’d actually been there before – but only for brunch. In the evenings the place comes alive and they have a fantastic collection of 80s tunes on their system – I was in heaven! As we chatted and people-watched, I had one too many ciders and at 1.30am, we removed ourselves from the venue and taxied home. But in typical New York fashion, the bar and even the city streets were still well and truly buzzing.