Now, what do we say?

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Moving and Shaking

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

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!