Now People Can Stop Asking Me...

So the new UN Secretary-General is going to be Ban ki-moon, one of my fellow South Koreans. His name makes me think of crazy Sun Myung Moon and his stadiums full of simultaneous marriage ceremonies, which doesn't really relate to anything to what I have to say about the new Sec-Gen. Anyway, this is a pretty big deal for any country, but this is probably the first time a Sec-Gen was selected from a country as politically charged as South Korea. Mainly because as many people have noted, this comes at a time when there's a literal mushroom cloud going on over the Korean peninsula with North Korea's nuclear test the other day.

I remember during the last North Korean nuclear crisis when Kim Jong-Il in his best Korean Sopranos lame spin-off voice was all "Ooooh.....Noooo, we don't have any nuclear weapons." People were all like, "yeah right, and your hair doesn't look like it belongs on a troll doll." But the worst was how some lame people would ask ME of all people, "so, where are they?" As if it were my uncle. "So, uncle, can you tell me where the nuclear weapons are?"

At least now people have someone else to ask who might have a better idea than me.

I Need EH-SPACE!


I once saw an episode of Creature Comforts late at night when I was in California visiting my friend from college. I had forgotten about it till now as I was perusing programs to add to my new best friend, DVR. OMG, I was in stitches watching this. I love the Brazilian mountain lion who "needs E-SPACE!" and who is NOT a veg-e-taaaarian". Yea, me too! I heard that the guy who did the lion's voice was actually the director's friend from Brazil who HATES England.

I wonder what kind of animal I would be. It would have to be an animal who dresses well, who looks and is intelligent, but is also a total ditz. Thinking cap on...ah. I think I would be a zebra. They have the classic black and white combination which is good in fall or spring and urban and suburban environments. They seem athletic too so they'd probably understand my running, yoga and spinning. So there you go. Next time you see a zebra, think of me.

Education at MOMA

A few weekends ago back in August (ok, I guess more like a few months), I did something cultural to deulde myself that I am in fact a cultured and worldly person who attends museum events all in hopes of getting invited to those outlandish benefit galas in 20 years. I chose the Museum of modern Art for my first visit to an art museum in New York in five years because I wanted to see al the cool design objects and i do like modern art, so of course I'll go to the place that has "modern art" in the name. I prepped myself the day before by becoming a MEMBER of the Museum. Yes, that deserves caps because it's just that impressive.

I went with two friends who work at the firm I used to be at. Well, actually, one of them now works at another firm in a job position more similar to my current job, and with just about the same ho-hum attitude towards it that I have towards my job. I won't rant about my job again, but how did I ever get pigeon-holed in this industry?

Before the museum, I made a nice lunch for my two friends. It was a pretty simple lunch of soup and salad, but with some pretty chi-chi ingredients like filet mignon (for the sandwiches) and a cheese plate with some nice wedges of Taleggio, Roncal and Cabrales cheese. Mmmmm. I learned long ago that the best way to cook for other people is to just cook one course and dump plates and silverware in the middle of the table and let everyone serve themselves. Or better yet, tell everyone to get their own plates and silverware. First of all, I am not a waiter, nor do I run a restaurant and so i don't want to feel like I'm running some home-grown version of Hell's Kitchen. Keep it casual, so I don't have to unnecessarily stress myself out and try to be the perfect host or leave the table and say something lame like "Don't have fun without me" like the Barefoot Contessa would say in her best control-freak voice.

So we had our luch. I had also made a dessert the night before. But I was kind of afraid to serve it. I made a Pavlova, but kind of accidently put almost double the amount of sugar in relation to the number of egg whites. My teeth still chatter thinking about the sugar rush. You might as well have injected yourself with Type 2 Diabetes if you were going to eat this. of course, I'm a weathered pro when it comes to sweet things, since I'm the one who puts sugars in a cup of coffee. Given that I didn't want to be responsible for any cavities or any cardiac arrests, I warned my friends that my "Pav" (that's the official nickname) had a TON of sugar. i also had to explain to them what exactly a Pavlova was. I told the whole story of how this chef in Australia (some say New Zealand) was so dazzled by the ballerina Anna Pavlova, that he created this ethereal, sugary dessert. Probably my friends weren't interested in the life history behind this dessert, but I fed them the story anyhow because that's how I sometimes get. I like to think of myself as a "worldly" (proud grin") individual brimming with lots of stories to tell everyone I know.

After lunch, we started hoofing it to the museum. Lunch took longer than I expected, and I wanted to at least have time to see at least one painting before the place closed. Plus I was expecting a welcome ceremony since I did just become a MEMBER. Unexpectedly, we ran smack dab in the middle of the Dominican Republic Pride Parade or National Dominican Republic Day Parade or whatever they called it.

Now, at the risk of starting some kind of trouble, let me say that the Dominican Day Parade is no Gay Pride Parade. whereas some New York City Parades tend to feature all kinds of talent- dancers, singers - and people of all ages, the Dominican Day Parade seemed to consist entirely of Dominicans who were 18 years old, in posses or couples, dressed in Dominican shirts and waving Dominican flags, on floats or on foot. Spectators became paraders, while other paraders lost interest, dropped out, and started yakking with the other 18 years olds on the sidelines.

We finally crossed the parade and arrived at the museum. Since I am a MEMBER, I got in for free. But the welcome ceremony for me was suspiciously absent. I suppose they didn't have enough time to prepare for my arrival. Next time, I'm sure they'll go all out. My friends' tickets were only $5, and so that was nice for them too--one of the perks of being associated with a MEMBER.

We then went upstairs to the galleries. I hadn't been in an art museum in three or four years. And I know this is a semi-obvious thing to say, but MOMA really has a lot of famous paintings. All of sudden, I had flashbacks to art history class that I took to fulfill my art requirement in high school. It was so cool to see all these paintings just inches away from me, that I had seen in so many books. My friends and I were first in the Impressionist and Post-Impressionish wings. We began looking around. Unfortunately, one of the members of our group was a lingerer. You know those types--the ones who just stand there FOREVER reading every single little placard next to all of the paintings and just standing around looking at every painting at a snail's pace.

While we dragged the lingerer through the museum, I began telling my friends some of the things that I knew about the art in front of us. It began casually when we saw a painting by Marc Chagall, and I said, "Oh Chagall. There was a famous Chagall painting in Notting Hill that was Julia Roberts's and Hugh Grant's favorite." Then we came across some Gustav Klimt, and I went "Oh....Helena Bonham Carter and that guy she was having an affair with and the sick wife went to a Klimt exhibition in Wings of the Dove." Then I pointed to another painting and said "Oh the couple in Six Degrees of Separation had a Kandinski in their apartment that Will Smith knew ALL about." I continued, "Oh I think that was the Picasso that Kate Winslet brought on Titanic." My friends at that point, were looking at me kind of strangely, "Wow Terence," they said. "You sure do know a lot about art. I'm getting so much out of this field trip.

I grinned proudly like Wallace. Yes, I know the IMPORTANT stuff about art.

Recap of Past Few Days

I've gotten into another phase of sporadicity (is that a word?) in my blog posting. Just getting busier at work and crawling out my hermit shell to actually be social and go out once in a while. So here are some of the things that have occupied my time over the past few days.

Kathy Griffin

Last Thursday night I went to Stamford to see Kathy Griffin perform. She was HYSTERICAL. She was true to form. The best thing about Kathy is that we're all Kathy's BFF. That night she let us all in, in rapid fire, on all of her little secrets. Sometimes she digressed because she just had so much to tell us. There were times that she seemed breathless because she was so excited to let you in on all the juicy gossip. She started the night by declaring that Oprah "thinks she's Jesus," and then told us a hilarious story about Gayle's trip to visit Oprah's dad and incurring Oprah's wrath. She quickly transitioned to Sharon Stone, Barbara Walters, Star Jones, Whitney Houston, Clay Aiken, the Olsen twins, Larry King, Katie Couric, the Scientologists and Ann Coulter.

But the funniest segment involved Kathy's Irish Catholic 89 year old father and 85 year old mother. If you watch "My Life On The D-List", you already know how Kathy's parents are elderly box of wine booze hounds who just do not care about the cameras. Kathy went on to say that no group takes the Lord's name in vain more than Catholics. To illustrate her point, Kathy tells how she tried to persuade her parents to accompany her on a lesbian cruise to Alaska with Rosie O'Donnell. Here's my paraphrasing:

Kathy's mom: What? A cruise. Oh my god. What in Jesus's name are you talking about? Your father is 89 years old. We can't go on any god-damn cruise.....What? Lesbians??? Jesus Christ, Kathleen! What the hell are you talking about? Christ, Kathleen, lesbians can't have childeren. There's gotta be a god-damn man in their somewhere......WHAT???? Alaska!?!? I am not going to any god-damn Alaska. Joesph, Peter, Mary...Kathleen. John [Kathy's dad], listen to this. Kathleen wants to take us on some god-damn cruise to Alaska where lesbians go to have kids...I know....I don't know what in Christ's name she is talking about. Kathleen, I'm going to have a drink...(click).

This escalated and escalated until Kathy's mom was swearing like a sailor. The audience was roaring.

Trip To DC

I went to DC last weekend to visit some friends and because I'm also such a hotel fanatic, visit the newly remodeled Park Hyatt in DC. Nothing much to say except that I went out to eat in Chinatown on Saturday night. And I discovered that DC's Chinatown has totally changed from a desolate street corner and sorry excuse for a Chinatown to DC's new hot spot with not a single Chinese person anywhere as far as the eye can see. Overall the visit was good. I did lose my glasses at the airport somehow. I was pretty sure they fell out of my pocket at the LaGuardia airport security, and so I went back to ask one of the TSA guys if anyone found my glasses. She didn't even look at me. Next thing I knew, she screamed "HAS ANYONE FOUND A PAIR OF GLASSES?" Still not looking at me, she asked me "Prescription or Sunglasses?" I said "Prescription." She shouts again "PRESCRIPTION GLASSES? ANYONE FIND THEM????" The entire staff and long line of people waiting to go through security turned to look at me. I felt like a spotlight had just shined on me and suddenly EVERYONE knew that I wore glasses, which for some bizarre reason made me feel sooooo self-conscious.

New Fall TV Season

There are so many good new shows on TV now. So far, ABC is the winner and will rule my evenings until next Monday when I get DVR! I finally broke down and got it. For years, I kept resisting it because I didn't want to admit to myself how little life I have. Previously, I had this very elaborate calendar with all my shows mapped out and careful pop-up reminders on my computer. But I decided that was so Amish and way too much work. Anyhow, I'll write more about my new favorite shows later, but I am loving Ugly Betty, Heroes, Six Degrees and The Nine. And Wednesday night is turning into a Salinger Party of Five reunion with Matthew Fox in Lost (the beginning of last night's episode was amazing) and uber-cutie Scott Wolf (can you believe he's 38?) in The Nine. Then there are my current shows like Project Runway and Lost which are in fine form. I'm overwhelmed.

Don't Have $5 For A Cup Of Coffee? Not To Worry At....Starbucks

I found this interesting article about how to go cheap at Starbucks. I support this fully and have respect for all those ingenious customers trying to fight against overpriced coffee from a company trying to make $2 over $0.05 worth of milk. Although, I have to admit from my very limited knowledge that I actually think Starbucks seems to be a great company to work for and they seem to give back to the community wherever they are. I also got a new found respect for them when I heard that EVERY employee of Starbucks has to work as a barista for at least a week before joining the company. So someone I know who became a lawyer at their Seattle corporate headquarters went to her local Starbucks and joined their team for a week. How cool is that? I should go work for them to fulfill my morbid curiousity of working in the Services industry, which somehow in my mind seems glamorous, but that's probably because I'm surrounded by spoiled lawyers who must have lived in caves before going out into the real world for their lack of social or even just courtesy skills.

But Starbucks has been slipping lately. That whole coupon snafu was really lame on Starbucks's part. Kudos to Caribou for honoring the coupons. And raising the price of coffee by a nickel? That's like gouging crack addicts.

For me, I just drink during the day (outside of work, I make my own coffee) that awful sludge that comes out of every office's favorite single-pod automated drink machine maker, Flavia. But I just drink that because I like the idea of a robot serving me coffee.

Busy As A Bee

I was just tired of seeing that "Mea Culpa" title everytime I opened up my blog. Not much has happened to me in the past few days. Just all of a sudden work got crazy and all my clients decided to band together and just dump their work on me. So I've been running around like crazy. And woo-hoo, by tomorrow, I'll have worn a suit twice in the past week. The first time was for a fancy demo of my company's "solution" to all your legal problems, and then tomorrow will be for a job interview. It's too bad I'm not that excited about this job, especially since I learned that someone I went to college with works there now, and I'd kind of prefer not to see him again. And given the relatively small size of this company, I doubt that would happen.

But I always have this thing about visiting another company or firm's office. I'm always looking around taking note of the style, the furniture, the views, the building, etc. And while I've never taken a job solely on my opinion of the company's taste level, it's always nice to be in a place where my taste level and the company's taste level just gel.

Mea Culpa

My lame attempts at humor and insightfulness dependant on a high number of similes and copious amounts of run-on sentences seem to be taken without the grain of salt they require. Folks, my blog posts are usually more funny than ever serious. So just keep that in mind, especially to all the anonymous commenters out there who really should at least just email me directly and tell me who you are. If you knew me personally, you'd know that I'm just trying to be tongue-in-cheek and that I'm always very aware of how much I'm exaggerating and stretching the truth in my quest to be a superstar blogger (some more joking around for you.)

So if I offended anyone with my blog posts, especially about San Francisco's airport (more kidding), please forgive me. Obviously I'm not doing a good job of conveying how really not serious I am in my posts.


P.S., I really do love San Francisco like I've written in previous posts. I've even thought of moving there.

Five Things About San Francisco: #4 San Francisco's Airport is Messed Up

I've flown in and out of San Francisco Airport 30-40 times now and I've gotten to know the airport pretty well. Once in a while, I've flown into Oakland too, but that's only if someone has told me that the world will end unless I fly JetBlue, because I hate JetBlue and flying into Oakland is a huge pain. Actually before I delve into the mess that must have been designed by a moron on crack at SFO, I'll talk a little about Oakland. The thing about Oakland is that everything looks like it's in a sketchy neighborhood, with rusted metal, dilapidated houseds, and industrial warehouses as far as the eye can see. It looks pretty uninviting. The low hanging clouds casting a grey shadow over everything doesn't help. How does this city (if you can call it that) have a professional baseball team? I've even heard the stadium sucks (the SF Giants stadium, on the other hand, is beautiful and kicks ass). It looks like a morgue and the players posters are like smiley face stickers stuck on a coffin.

At least SFO is in a semi-nice area down on the peninsula. It's near the town of Millbrae which has about a million Chinese dim sum places along with hordes of tour buses of Chinese tourists who seem to come to San Francisco to just eat their own food in a different country. Maybe it's an Asian thing. I know my parents usually like to only eat Korean food whenever we travel and we scour the entire town wherever we are for a temple to bulgogi and kimchi. Anyhow, traveling into SFO is like going through the labyrinth from Greek mythology. You have no idea where you're going. Signs to the same place are pointing in opposite directions, and if you ask, you'll probably get the wrong directions. And you have to walk what seems like miles past dangerous obstacles to get anywhere.

As soon as you land, the adventure starts. As you taxi on the runway, you realize that the pilot landed with about 6 inches left on the runway. After that, there's a gorge that makes the Grand Canyon look like a stream. I can only imagine what the pilot is thinking when he takes off. He's probably praying that he has enough momentum to lift off before the runway disappears.

Then you deplane and enter San Francisco Airport where I'm sure people go missing every day. I think the main problem is that SFO has been upgrading it's structure probably since the Wright Brothers. In fact, if SFO had offered its facility to the Wright Brothers, they probably would have laughed. After you deplane, you walk. Then you walk some more. And then some more. And then you walk and walk and walk. Sometimes you take an escalator, maybe even an elevator. You look out the window and you realize that you can still see your plane because you've returned to the exact same place you started from after walking for three hours. One time I somehow found myself in the parking garage, trying to get to baggage claim. And I swore I followed all the signs. Then one time, I was trying to get to the BART station, but found myself in some obscure place where I feared for my life after wandering around for hours and hours, and getting on countless escalators and elevators singing, "Climb Every Mountain" and going up, down, inside, outside, and up and down a couple more times. (Ok, so I'm exaggerating a little.) San Francisco Airport, at least, seems to have no shortage of signage, but it would help if the damn signs were right.

Getting out of SFO is more of the same, except I have to deal with the United ticket desk and the security lines. Now I have never had any problems with any individual ticket agents at the United desks. But my problem is that there are about 10,000 desks, but like two agents. So my status as a Premier Executive flyer is basically nothing more than a way for me to show all of the other passengers what a tool traveler I am. But the express lines is really a benefit that I really value and it would be nice if I could use it. Security is also a huge pain, if nothing else because the lines are always so long. I don't think any terrorist would ever try to leave through SFO because he'd kill himself first, just waiting in line.

There's that song "I Left My Heart In San Francisco." Well clearly the people who made the airport not only left their hearts there, but they left their brains there too.

Monday Groove

Here's some groove for a Monday morning. I wanted to post this directly to my blog, but youtube.com is being screwy and won't recognize my blogger account credentials.

I came across this video after a weekend filled of looking at old videos of American Bandstand and Saturday morning cartoon-death knell Soul Train performances from the 70s. Some of them are hilarious. We sure could dance like dorks back then.

This is one of my favorite songs ever. Maybe because it was released the same year as my birthday (1977). I could just picture myself in the studio recording this song and belting it into a mike that of course drops down from the ceiling. Oh and of course I have to have the big ass Princess Leia style headphones over my ears, with my hands clutching them and head bopping along to the music. But, alas, I have no musical talent whatsoever, and so American Idol won't be knocking on my door anytime soon.

Sleazy Disney

This morning on the radio, I heard about the sleazy underbelly of working at Disney World as an intern. The guys on the radio were talking about what it's like to work there and a girl who used to be an intern there actually called in too to give her perspective. During the day it's some perverse puppet show with the mouse pulling all the strings and I'm sure feeding all of the workers there some speed or something in order to keep them going with the script. Disney works on a point system for their workers. Curse out a toddler and swat his ice cream to the ground? You lose points. Suffocate inside a hot Pluto costume head and fall over and die? You lose points. Didn't smile when you were handing out disney pens on that weird paddle boat thing to little kids? Well you probably made the mouse cry. The mouse apparently suffers from OCD, and if one worker isn't perfect, he cries. And if you make Mickey cry, well, you're screwd.

So on your first day of the internship, they bring in some guy who rambles on and on about Walt Disney and his vision and the rewards of the internship program. I suppose they make it heartwarming enough for you to really believe that all there really is behind the Disney corporate behemoth is a lovable friendly mouse bouncing around all happy and smiling like Santa Claus on Prozac.

After a day's work, the world of the Disney interns becomes a weird version of Studio 54. Think about your favorite Disney characters like Donald and Pooh, smoking, doing drugs and drinking. Then think about your beloved characters participating in debauchery like a Snow White and seven dwarves orgy, a Cinderella strip tease, a Chip & Dale gay romp in the celebrated jacuzzi of the intern apartment building.

Whoa. This is like Da-Vinci Code worthy insider information. My mouth was agape. I stood there frozen in front of my bathroom mirror in my boxers and toothbrush thinking about the dark side of Disney. Now I don't have any particularly warm & fuzzy memories of Disney World. But, oh my god.

Bring On The Bubbly

While I was in Europe, I became an agua con gas afficianado. That's right. I've become a sparkling water drinker. I'm fairly ashamed of this. Drinking sparkling water is so Euro. Also when I was a kid, I thought sparkling water tasted like dinosaur pee or like water with an aspirin dissolved in it, and I hate to go back later and admit that I am wrong. Worse still, I've become a total tool by actually favoring Perrier over all the other brands out there. If I was going to go for a sparkling water, I should go for a good old American brand like Calistoga, which I'm sure our cowboys drink. Well, our cowboys in Aspen.

I've become so obsessed with Perrier that these days you'll probably find me liplocked to one of those curvy green bottles. Pellegrino, the other bastion of Euro water coolness, is always a good fallback choice. But in Perrier, I can really appreciate the aggressiveness of the bubbles. They just feel like they have so much more ooompf to them and dare your palate to conquer them. In fact, I took a small bottle of Perrier and a small bottle of Pellegrino home with me one day to do a showdown between the two and conduct some science. I wanted to test their bubble strength (clearly I have too much time on my hands). So I shook up the Perrier bottle as hard as I could and held it above the sink while I gingerly twisted the cap off. Water came spraying out as soon as I started twisting, spraying me and my whole kitchen counter, giving both of us a decent soaking. Then I did the same thing with the Pellegrino bottle. Pellegrino's performance was pitiful. Hardly any effervescing from the Italian seltzer water. If you need a bottle of water for a water fight, go with the overpriced curvy green French stuff.

Both Pellegrino and Perrier are mineral waters, which I suppose literally means dirty water that hasn't been cleaned yet. But it's those extra sulphites and salts and whatever else that add that extra special tasty or therapeutic something to these waters. So taste is another important quality. Both taste pretty good. The bubbles though taste finer and smaller in Perrier. I also used some guidance from Jeffrey Steingarten's chapter on water where he actually decided to make his own great-tasting water by buying an alphabet soup from the periodic table and mixing them with distilled water. Then I also came across the guidelines for what is apparently the preeminent water festival in the world held at Berkeley Springs. This quote taken from their handy guidelines stood out to me.

An aftertaste of wet dog or sucking on a wet band-aid is decidedly NOT desireable.

Uh....is that the water they drink in hell? What water tastes like that? Ew.

I also learned some stuff about tonic water because in Spain, they drink a lot of that stuff straight up. I learned, for instance, that tonic water is water with Quinine added to it, owing to tonic water's origins as a medicinal solution to things like malaria, not that I ever would go trekking the jungles of Africa with nothing but tonic water in my bag. Tonic water makes me want to gag. I can't stand tonic water, and wouldn't consume it unless I was dying of thirst on that creepy island in Lost and the Others were holding a gun to my head.

So after an afternoon of experimentation on sparkling water, I was left standing in the kitchen, mineral water drying from my t-shirt, satisified with the results of yet another one of my selfless acts to educate the public. I'm also starting to think of more ways to make my experiment more scientific. Maybe I should involve lightning somehow. Lightning always makes science more fun and cool. Good science always needs a good jolt of electricity.

Sidebar: I am dying to get one of these. Wouldn't that be so cool? My own sparkling water spring from my own faucet. I could bottle it and call it TCho H2O.

You Really Like Me!

I had a satisfyingly day of unproductiveness today. Actually, today's my first day back where I've actually been semi-busy. But still, I've had a lot of free time at work today, where I suppose I could have focused my efforts on constructive things like updating my resume or working on some ebay auctions that I've been meaning to put up, but instead I decided to sit at my computer and check on all my airline and loyalty programs because I'm a total frequent flier/guest points junkie and crave on every little transaction that goes on in my accounts and daydream about all the ways that I can redeem my points. I'm even enough of a geek to have files (yes, files) filled with old boarding passes, hotel invoices and receipts from various merchants who give points or miles for purchases. It's amazing the amount of pride that I have in my "status". It's like I'm beaming with pride like an Olympic Gold Medalist when I look back at all the points I've accumulated. Yes, that's right. I'll win the first Gold Medal in frequent flyer points.

Anyhow, things started to get busy later in the day. So busy, that I had to ask someone in San Francisco to cover for me on a couple of things because I had to leave the office today at 5:15 to get to yoga class. (Oh yeah, I've started doing yoga, and so now I'm a serene and spiritual Terence. But more about yoga in another blog post.) I left the office and got into the subway station at Grand Central. I noticed that the bag check had been set up again. For some reason, I felt tension rise in me, like I had something to hide. But actually in retrospect, I realize it was that feeling of "Will they pick me? Me???" Is it weird that I actually felt honored when the cop said "Bag check, sir." I felt like I won. It was kind of like the time in high school we were having an assembly for Career Day and our school headmaster (I went to a snooty prep school, so we had headmasters) announced that certain students would be escorting our illustrious guests for the day. Yes, these illustrious guests included a bank manager of a Wachovia bank, a local personal injury lawyer and other seasoned professionals. Our headmaster got out a piece of paper and called out....my name! I hadn't heard about this "contest." Well, I was probably the only person in our school who saw it as a contest, and I wasn't sure what to do, so I just stood up. I was like "Oh my god. You picked me! Do I need to congratulate the other losers? Do I need to go up?" Visions of the Academy Awards flashed in my head. I felt so honored.

Well, to get back to my "win" today, I approached the bag check desk and expected a "Congratulations" accompanied by a big grin. I proudly handed the cop my bag. But he didn't even open it. He just swiped it with some tissue and put it in this machine that looked like a credit card swiper to check for whatever those machines check for. Then he handed me my bag back and said "There you go, sir." I was on my way, a bit disillusioned but not defeated. I'm sure next week, Larry King will be calling to ask me about my win.

The Travel Gods Hate Me, Part II

So I'm back from my tour of Switzerland and Spain. This has to be the worst vacation I've ever taken. I couldn't wait to get back to New York. Every couple of years I get this urge to go to Europe, but when I actually get there, I think to myself, why the hell am I here? Europe can be so chintzy, and for everything you hear about New Yorkers being rude and unhelpful, I've heard and seen nothing but friendly New Yorkers willing to indulge tourists and answer questions like "Where's Manhattan?" when they're standing in Times Square or "Can I walk to the Statue of Liberty?" from a tourist wandering around the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Now I'm not a New York snob or anything, or much worse a Manhattan snob. I do leave Manhattan under great duress and venture out to even Queens or Brooklyn once in a while even though I sometimes act like you need a passport to get out there. But I am not ashamed to admit that I am an American snob. I'm sorry, but I really just don't enjoy Europe. However, luckily, nothing truly that bad happened to me while I was in Zurich or Madrid. I was a little worried about Madrid because I had heard so many stories about crimes against tourists, particularly Asian & elderly tourists (I never thought I'd be in the same target group as the elderly.) So I was all prepared to walk the streets with my bullet-proof vest and pepper spray in hand.

Well I didn't need any of those things. If anything, Madrid was kind of boring to me. I was most looking forward to the food, but I'm sorry, I've had better paella here in New York. The rest of Madrid was ok. I walked around a lot. I went to the Prado, saw Guernica, had lunch in Plaza Mayor and saw most of the city. It was HOT. I mean hot like you could fry an egg on the sidewalk hot. I dealt with this by drinking lots of horchata drinks, which I always thought was a Mexican drink because I always see it in the taquerias out in California. My hotel also stocked me up on the ultra-chic, Scandinavian VOSS water which is in a bottle shaped like time capsule.

So nothing that eventful happened to me in Madrid. It was on the trip back where the travel gods decided that I was relaxing too much. First of all, my flight from Madrid back to Zurich was at an ungodly hour of 6:25AM. On my last day in Madrid, I met up with a guy who I had met earlier and we went out for tapas, and he didn't keep me out all that late--just 1AM--but way too late for a 6:25AM flight. I felt like I was doing the walk of shame back to my hotel after a long night of partying, except this time I was in clothes that I had changed into only 6 hours earlier, and not 24 hours.

Anyhow, I went to bed at 2 and got up at 4 to head to the airport. As I got into the cab, I asked the hotel bellman in my limited Spanish because I know like two words of Spanish that I learned from Sesame Street to warn the cab driver that I was watching the meter, and I'm not gonna be ripped off like the other cab driver who picked me when I arrived in Spain. After my driver wasa sufficiently scared, I got into the cab and headed to the airport.

I can generously describe Madrid airport as "organized chaos." Otherwise, what a shithole excuse of an airport for a European capital. For my leg from Madrid to Zurich, I was flying a codeshare flight with SwissAir, but operated by SpanAir. As I was checking my bag, the first instance of travel god wrath happened. The SpanAir computer system wasn't working, and so they informed they couldn't check my bag all the way to the NYC, and I'd have to exit Customs in Zurich, get my bag and trek over to SwissAir for my connection. "Um," I asked, "Am I gonna have enough time to make my connection? I have about an hour...." His response was, "Uh, I don't know. I hope so." Great. I loved the confidence and helpfulness that I was hearing.

I just checked my bag and moved on. I got my receipts stamped for my VAT refund and then passed through security, forgetting that I had one of my VOSS bottles in my bag, but the security people never stopped me. Soon, I got to the gate and then shortly after I boarded. But wait, something weird was going on. I passed the business class section completely to my seat. WTF? I paid for business class! I go back to the Flight Attendant and explain that I was supposed to be in business class. Turns out the class code on my ticket was wrong, but after some lengthy screaming at the flight attendent and the so-called supervisor and totally embarrassing myself as some crazy belligerent American to the entire plane, I relegated myself to coach with some withering looks at all of the flight attendants on the plane.

This blog post has gone on long enough, and so I'll cut to my arrival in New York. I was able to complete the miracle baggage retrieval mission at Zurich Airport and hoofed it over to SwissAir in about 45 min, sweating like I had just run a marathon. Some other minor things happened on my Swiss air flight, like me not getting my first choice in entree nor my preferred window seat, which really are minor, but given how pissed off I was that day, they had been escalated to major grievances in my book, worthy of shutting down the airline. Anyway, I arrived in NY and after waiting for an hour at the carousel, my bag never appeared. I approach the SwissAir baggage desk and the woman informs me, my bag never made it on to the plane. Well, that's just great. Actually, in those instances I usually don't mind, at least when I'm coming home. Because then I get to have my bag delivered and I don't have to lug it home.

So I went home with no bag, getting weird looks from the Customs people as I exited like I was a terrorist who didn't need any luggage. I get on the subway back home from JFK which was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I was very pleasantly surprised how easy the subway from JFK back to Manhattan was. I got home, getting soaked in the pouring rain in the process and then just chilled at home.

The next day after work, I see my bag by my doorman's desk. Yay! I didn't buy much in Europe, but I did buy some nice leather things from Spain's own bastion of overpriced leather, Loewe (which was one of the main reasons for this trip) and a nice bottle of Spanish Rioja wine. I opened my suitcase on my living room floor and pawed through my things. Where the hell were my leather wallet & bottle of wine? OMG, someone stole them! This has never happened to me before. I could not believe it. I'm so pissed off at whoever with the sticky fingers decided to go shopping in my suitcase while it was trying to make its way home.

The travel gods really do hate me. I must have run over a backpacker in my past life.


Update: I've called SwissAir and it looks they'll compensate me for my stolen items. And United's gonna give me lots of miles for the clearly lack of sense in denying me business class. The Spanair people clearly didn't know who I am.

I'm Back!

I'm back from all my travels out West (well, California West) and the rolling hills of Zurich and Madrid. I've been so remiss with my blog, mostly due to my typical air-headness in forgetting my computer at home before my trip. But I'll be blogging back to normal soon! Hope no one missed my astute observations on things that are important in this world (well, my world.)

The Travel Gods Hate Me

I don't know what is wrong with me. I was up all night on Monday night, carefully packing my bags with everything I could possibly think of that I might need on my trip to Europe. My flight wasn't till 9PM on Tuesday, but I wanted to have everything all ready and enjoy my trip. Well Tuesday turned out to be one of the craziest days I've had at work, coupled with the weather and the interruption I had to take for a doctor's appointment. Then I finally got to the airport. After checking in, I headed to the SwissAir lounge intending to do some last minute work before my departure. I love Business Class lounges, and I thought I could finally relax. I opened my beloved new laptop backpack only to discover that I left my laptop at home! I think right then I would have taken a kick in the nuts if I could get my laptop. Worse yet, I'm in Europe and I can't even buy a laptop because all the specs are wrong. Argh. I need my laptop for computing needs, obviously, but also to charge my ipod and my phone and download my pics off my camera, because all I brought were cables, and not adapters.

This has really put a damper on my trip. I thought I was safe because I thought I could change my flight itinerary, but there was nothing available on the return date, and so that plan also went down the drain.

I have a long history of travel issues, and it aggravates me to no end where I literally just want to bang my head against the wall. One time I was on my way to Vancouver and stupidly forgot my passport. I devised this elaborate plan of getting my doorman to retrieve my passport. Then I called a car service to pick up my passport and bring it to me to the airport. The plan worked and I made it just in time. Then one time I accidently booked my flight back from San Francisco to New York on the wrong day. I went online to check in and I couldn't find my itinerary. I dug around some more on the Continental site and found an "old" itinerary for me. Holy crap! I booked my flight on the day before! I called Continental and begged and pleaded to get on that night's flight. After telling me that I was a "complete idiot," she finally changed my ticket. Whew!

Well this time, I couldn't save myself and I'm seriously bummed that I don't have my computer. I was gonna sit around in cafes and blog a little, and get other stuff done too. Also, I'm stressed about work since I left some things unfinished. This was all I could think about on the flight. By the way, SwissAir business class is not that great. The entertainment system sucks. Anyway, I guess I will make the best of it, but I'm just not a happy camper right now.

Adding to my overall arghness, typing on this Swiss keyboard here in my hotel in Zurich was a royal pain.

Five Things About San Francisco: #5 The Weather

Since I come out here so often, it's only fitting that I write some of my perceptions as an outsider looking in. So I am starting my first series in my blog: "Five Things About San Francisco." Now, I probably won't write all five this week during my sojurn here because I haven't even thought of my five yet. But I'll go ahead and start with this post and write the rest whenver I feel like it. Oh and don't try to deduce any sort of order in my "five things." It's just literally my random crusade of the day.

The last time I was here in San Francisco, it was freaking hot here the whole time. It was during the heat wave that swept the country and even foggy San Francisco got hit. But normal San Francisco summer weather is a weather forecaster's nightmare. Or depending on how you look at it, San Francisco could be a forecaster's dream city. At some point in the day and some point in the city your forecast will be correct. Basically if you don't like the weather in San Francisco, just go across the street. I've drawn a handy diagram to show the typical weather at any random street corner here in this city:

You can best describe this weather as "huh?". When you're in the shade or under a cloudy sky, it's really cold. But then in some neighborhoods, there isn't a cloud in the sky. Sun and clouds are vying for supremacy over this city.

Clearly, the only solution is for me to hire a sherpa to follow me around and carry my entire wardrobe so that I can change into appropriate attire as I move through various climate zones by crossing the street.

If you would like to apply to be my sherpa, please send me your resumé and a photo of you climbing a mountain with many bags on your back. I need people with stamina. Goats in the background are optional but recommended.

My New Backpack

I'm off to San Francisco again. Because of some changes at my company, my managers want me to fly out there to meet my new team members on my cases. Even though I just returned from there, I don't mind going back so soon.

Plus, my trip means that I get to use my new laptop backpack to carry around all my crap. My company gave me a new IBM Thinkpad T43p. While I like my new, super fast, mean computing machine, I am just loving my new backpack carrying case. Here it is:

I loooooooove it. Can't get enough ooooooof it. The one main thing about the backpack is that it's the bag that keeps on giving. Everytime I wear it, I'm discovering a new feature and new hidden pockets. Here are some of the features:

• Padded adjustable straps with this very cool quick pick up hand hold. Perfect for when I need to swing it around to club some guy who's mugging me.
• Rear zipper pocket to keep my valuable stash close to me and away from any prying hands.
• A removable accessories pouch for my important accessories like my crocodile leather Tanino Crisci belt and my Bottega Veneta ipod case with the signature Bottega weave.
• A very cute detachable cell phone case so I'll always have my phone within quick & easy reach when I have the urge to show off my super cool SLVR phone.
• A little compartment with a headphone porthole so I can tune out the whole world and make it clear that I don't want anyone to hear anyone from the outside world or pretend that I'm in deep contemplation while I'm checking out some guy on the subway.
• These cool mesh water bottle holders on the side. Well, I think that's what they're for. I'll probably just put everything that I carry around everyday because I hate putting stuff in my pockets. And if I do put stuff in my pockets like my wallet, I always have this big bulge on top of one of my thighs, making me look like a complete tool in super nice clothes with big balloon pants.
• All sorts of capacious pockets in the inside. And in case I'm ever scrounging around in my bag for something buried deep in the bottom, there's a little flashlight to aid me! Wow. Who ever heard of a backpack with a flashlight? Also, writing about this feature was an excuse for me to use the word "capacious" because I like the sound of that word.
• My bag also has these little feet, so it can stand proudly like a storage bag totem looking down upon all the other inferior backpacks out there.
  

So as you can tell, I am absolutely enraptured by my new accessorry. It's so sleek and I wear it proudly even though wearing backpacks at my ripe old age of 29 can look kind of gay. But I am just so proud of it. I give two thumbs up to the maker of this thing. I should be a sales rep for them. Then again, in my high estimation, these babies should sell themselves.

Two Homes

I wish I had two homes. Well, actually, I wish I had even one home so I could stop paying the insane rent that I do here in Manhattan. If I could ever afford a second home, I think I'd probably want it out in Napa Valley or Carmel or Half Moon Bay. It would be so great. I could just sit by the ocean, eat good food, drink great wine. Of course, I'd have to have a private jet to take me out there whenever I wanted to get away.

The Hamptons is nice too. I haven't been in a while, and the couple times I went, I went with really hard-core Hamptonites. We're talking drugs & booze from 7 in the morning to well after midnight. I witnessed all the typical Hampton scenes you hear about--traffic, A-list parties, obnoxious New Yorkers. But, really, when you get away from all that, the Hamptons is really beautiful and anyone can see why it's become the desirable place that it is today. The beaches, the nature, the little towns--it's the countryside, jacked up on gobs of money, gallons of alcohol and sacks of coke.

In any case, today at the gym I overheard a conversation between two guys. The conversation went like this:

Guy A: "So how's your new house?"
Guy B: "Oh it's ok. I'm thinking of going back...."
Guy A: "Oh? Going back where? You mean to Montauk?"
Guy B: "Yeah. I'm just not sure if I like East Hampton. Montauk is much more my scene and it's prettier out there."
Guy A: "Oh, so you're just gonna sell your new house already? You've only been there for six months."
Guy B: "Nah, I'll just live in East Hampton in the winter. Montauk isn't as nice in the winter. But it's good in East Hampton."

Um. Does this guy not realize that Montauk and East Hampton are literally right next to each other? Live in East Hampton in the winter and Montauk in the summer?

Maybe someday I'll have that problem.

Promotion At The Office

Today a company wide e-mail announced that someone got a promotion from "Data Administrator" to "Data Operations Administrator." Huh? What's the difference?

Reminds me of that episode of The Office when Steve Carell calls his assistant into his office to give her a promotion. He's telling her what a great job she's doing, and how she deserves recognition. All proud of himself because he thinks everyone in the office loves him, he announces her reward for all her dedication and service. He tells her, "From now on instead of 'Assistant to the Executive, you will be the 'Executive Assistant.' How's that?"

I suppose change is always good.

Cooking With Who?

Over the past three or four years, the Food Network has gone really downhill. Those "Making Of" and "Food Challenges" specials are a total bore. And they even managed to make a reality show that took itself so seriously, it made you want you want to hurl at the goody two-shoe contestants and the producers "Bob" & "Susie" who seriously do not know what people want to watch on the Food Network.

However, one of the chefs I do like is the Barefoot Contessa. Although, she has so many annoying habits like her constant self-congratulatory rhetorical questions and her weird cackling laughter that makes her seem like she's braying like a horse. So many, that I kind of have a love-hate relationship with her. I do love her house, especially her kitchen. And she does make really good, albeit sometimes kind of plain, food that's accessible to us normal folks without a kitchen the size of a studio apartment and a carefully manicured garden that grows enough veggies and herbs to feed an army with upscale food tastes.

But what I don't love are her annoying little moments of hard-core Hamptons behavior. In each episode of the Barefoot Contessa we have to endure more countless forays to quaint little shops, where Ina lumbers about, air kissing everyone including the hired help, and promising to invite them over. We also get to meet Ina's bizarre universe of friends who seem to fall into two camps: 1) mummified, ungrateful, spoiled adults or 2) flaming, and I mean FLAMING, gay.

The other day I caught an episode called "Cooking with Tess." I had seen bits and pieces of this episode, but I kept missing the intro and thus had no clue who the hell Tess was. As I watched, with great anticipation, I kept wondering who this magical Tess was. I had never heard of any "Tess" in the "foodie" world, and yet Ina couldn't stop talking about Tess's love of baking. I'm thinking she's some Julia Child protege or something. "Tess" even rated a field trip moment to Williams-Sonoma to purchase piping tips. Then, finally, the secret is revealed. Who slunks in but some gawky teenager. WTF? Who the hell is she? She sure didn't come across as any baking wizard. Ina and this supposed big name superstar baker were playing with some piping for a tart they were frosting. Well, Tess showed no skill whatsoever with the piping, or really ANYthing in the kitchen. Then Ina gives Tess the pastry bag and some tips ("the large ones, Tess.") that she bought earlier so Tess can frost her own cakes. I had to laugh. Tess is probably still pissed at that gift and looking for the iPod.

You Call That A Raise?

I finally got my raise today. I have been promised this raise since May. However, since that time, my manager kept making excuses and delays to telling me the magic dollar amount. I kind of have a finite period of time that I plan to stay at this job, and so obviously the more time that passed, the more money I was losing. Well, today, I got on the phone with my manager in San Francisco and officially received my raise. He informed me that my salary would increase by......a whopping 3.6%. THAT is what I have been waiting for!?!? That's not a raise. That's a cost of living adjustment. I feel like I'm being taken advantage of. I know some of my counterparts in San Francisco make more than me. Now I know San Francisco is an expensive city, but New York still has a higher cost of living. I'm just so supremely annoyed. I've been working hard, and my manager told me this pay increase was supposed to reward me for merit. And to add injury to insult, this so-called raised isn't even retroactive to my one year anniversary, which occurred in May 2006. I thought a great burden would be lifted off my shoulders after my call with my manager, and the waiting period would be over. But now I have the bigger burden of going back on the job hunt.

I'll probably try to negotiate a bit too at my current job and see what I can get. Wow. My first salary negotiation. Go me. I'm growing up.

Speeding Tickets

Today, I learned that if you're falling asleep at the wheel, you're supposed to take one shoe off and drive barefoot to keep you on your toes. Hmmm. I had never thought of this but it certainly made sense.

The last time I had access to a car regularly was in college. My parents are kind of car crazy and we had five cars, and so they let me have a car starting with the semester that I spent in DC while working at the State Department. My parents live two hours south of DC, and so having a car was much easier for me to make trips home. I kept the car when I started school the following year back in Philadelphia. It was just easier on my parents and they didn't have to keep buying me plane or train tickets back home. One time my parents made me take Greyhound. But after the one and only time I have ever taken Greyhound, I vowed to never take it again. Everyone on the bus was a freak, including the driver. We're talking guys just out of prison, young teenage mothers with screaming kids who are running around the entire bus, hippie folks, old senior, but very vocal, citizens, ghetto gangsta girls....you name it. The most surreal experience is being stuck in a bus with these people for a six-hour bus ride. So that means you hear every conversation on board and pretty soon it becomes almost free will for other people to just interject and provide their colorful commentary on other people. Some people will even take it upon themselves to scream at the entire bus. Can you imagine if I got up in the middle of an airplane cabin and started yelling at everyone? The bus that I was on was packed. Greyhound had oversold and so some people had to sit in the aisles, which last time I checked is a safety violation. And the poor bus driver has to control all of this and keep his eyes on the road. But by nature, bus-goers seem to hate all authority figures and blame the sucky, smelly ride on the driver. In fact, one more crazy person, and we probably would have had a bus mutiny.

So I was pretty happy that my parents let me keep the car for my senior year. Philadelphia is a pretty driveable city and while street parking is a little difficult, Philadelphia is a freaking parking lot compared to New York or San Francisco. And my trips home were a lot easier which was the whole point of my having a car.

You know how some people say speeding tickets come in pairs? Well usually people mean a few days or a week or so in between tickets, and then you won't get another one for months or years. For me, it came within an hour. I was driving home one night. I had already passed DC and was driving down Route 29 on my way to Charlottesville. I had been on the road for four hours and I was getting really sleepy and could feel my eyes getting heavy. I had already tried every trick I could think of--the radio, a cup of coffee, sitting up really straight, but nothing was working. I was soooooo tired. I saw a parking lot for a store on the side of the road and decided to pull over for a quick 20 minute power nap. This was around 11:00PM. An hour and a half later, I woke up with a start. CRAP!!! I slept for more than an hour! I started the car and quickly got back on the road. I really didn't mean to be driving at 1AM in the morning and I just wanted to get home.

The road was empty, and at that time I didn't know that Route 29 has about a gazillion speed traps with another gazillion bored cops who have nothing better to do than give speeding tickets at 1AM. I saw the blue and grey sedan behind me with flashing lights. Fuckety, fuck, fuck. I was just trying to rush home because I didn't want to be on the road that late. I was going about 70 in a 55 mph zone. Come on. 70 is not that fast on an EMPTY road. I didn't bother really arguing it because I just wanted to get home. The officer gave me my ticket and I was on my way.

I'm back on the road. And literally 15 minutes later, I saw ANOTHER cop car behind me flashing my lights. Oh shit. I was speeding again. This time I was going about 75 mph. I pulled over and rolled my window down. Before the officer could say anything, I proclaimed "I was not speeding!" Now I said this having not looked at my speedometer. I really didn't realize I was speeding and guess I had a lead foot. Anyway the officer (who was a woman, which made matters worse) retorted "Oh yes you were." Now I know a little bit about speedometers, and I start going off "I think your thing is wrong. Are you sure it's calibrated? Where's your tuning fork???" Obviously the officer was not too please to be arguing with me, although I like to think that I gave her some entertainment on a boring Friday night on the highway. Anyway, she just took my license and registration and went back to her car. That's when I realized that when she radioed my license number in, she'll probably learn about my ticket from 15 minutes ago. Great. That'll sure help my cause.

I could see the officer walking back to my car. I braced myself for some yelling. Maybe I'd even have to *step* outside of the vehicle. Maybe I was going to get searched. Luckily, either she didn't know that I had just gotten a ticket 15 minutes ago or was being nice or was just simply too embarrassed for me. She just gave me my ticket and I was off.

I wasn't having any problems of staying awake now. Next time, I feel sleepy on the road, at least now I know to take one shoe off. That's surely better than getting two tickets in 15 minutes.

Equinox Soho

My beloved wallet-eating gym, Equinox recently opened a new branch in Soho. Looks like Equinox is focusing back on Manhattan after a string of new openings in Chicago, Florida and California. This is the first new Equinox in Manhattan in a while. And actually from the scoop I heard from one of the cycling instructors, there will eventually be another branch in the mid 20s on the West Side, which will be nice.

Even though the Soho branch isn't particularly convenient to where I live or where I work, I decided to check it out last Friday. I really liked it. It's very loft-style in keeping with the Soho architecture, and it's got a nice little mezzainine with free Wifi where you can lounge with a lemonade and yummy sandwich from the 'wichcraft cafe downstairs. The cycling studio is very spacious and the layout of the workout areas is very spacious and sensical. Equinox did a good job with this branch.

Some disgruntled guy on Curbed gave a pretty funny review of the new Equinox, focusing on the lack of personal tvs and soda machines. He also mentioned that there were no attachments for the cable machines, but they must have arrived late or something because they had them when I was there. At any rate, this guy clearly takes his tvs and drink machines seriously. He called these "no-brainer" items that every gym should have. No offense, but shouldn't he have noticed these points when he took a tour of the gym?

One other thing about the new Soho Equinox. Beautiful people everywhere. It was like stepping onto the set of the latest Banana Republic campaign. Soho already was a neighborhood filled with blond giraffes and tanned, buff boys strutting their stuff on the cobblestone catwalks with absents looks of cool. Even the not-so-beautiful people act like they're posing. Equinox fits right in. It's surprising that it took so long for Equinox to open a branch here.

Unimportant Email

For many people, email is one of the most distracting things at the workplace. You could be reading a long and complicated document, and while in deep in thought, a pesky new email notifier will pop up. Sometimes I turn off my monitor so I won't be distracted so much.

At my new job though, I have been getting more emails than ever tagged with a red exclamation point. Folks, an email with a red "!" is NOT going to make me read it faster. If anything, I'll treat it with less importance because it annoys me so much. No matter how important you think your email is, emphasized with the fun, little red exclamation point, trust me, it's not. Let me leave your email unopened while I go deal with a REAL emergency.

There's another button on Outlook for "low priority." That's a downward pointing blue arrow. When was the last time you got an email with the "low priority" blue arrow? I guess low priority for some people equates to "don't read." But I just never see that blue arrow. So if you must add some colored symbol fun to you email, try the blue arrow. Hell, maybe I'll even reply to it.

Coffee Festival Adventures

A couple of weekends ago, a friend and I went to the Everything 4 Coffee & Tea Festival. It was a pretty small conference, but still just the right size to keep us interested. I felt a little bad because we were just there as a result of some free tickets that I got from Citarella. Everyone kept asking us, "So, are you in the industry? Are you a buyer?" And we're like "Um, no. We just like coffee." Plus we wanted the free stuff.

There were some pretty interesting presenters, including Janet from Jalima coffee. My friend and I got to talking to her and she told us her whole story. She was traveling with two friends down in Mexico for a birthday trip and they met some coffee growers. Janet and her friends were all at points in their lives where they were in between careers. While they were down there, they kept having the most perfect cups of coffee in brightly colored ceramic mugs. Soon, they got into partnership with some coffee growers down in Mexico and their very socially responsible business was born out of a combination of all their names: Janet, Libe and Marcella. Their coffee is sold in a bunch of places and they travel down to Mexico all the time to check out their beans.

Wow. I was impressed listening to Janet tell her story. These women get to have their own business and they get to travel to Mexico of all places. Coffee plantations are always in the most exotic and romantic sounding places -- Sumatra, Costa Rica, Kona... And who could forget Meryl Streep on that coffee plantation in Kenya in Out of Africa? Granted, Meryl Streep seemed kind of lonely from what I barely remember about that movie. But I was already picturing myself living the coffee plantation lifestyle. I'm down in Mexico, wearing my hand-knitted brightly patterned poncho, sitting in a gazebo on top of a hill with the Aztec pyramids in the background, and my coffee fields below me with the ocean in the distance. Then I'd pick up my genuine Mexican handmade ceramic mug and sip my piping hot cup of fine Mexican coffee. Of course, I could never drink too much because I'm VERY sensitive to caffeine. One cup will put me over the edge. I seriously get crazy. I remember one time I drank three espressos for some reason and then called a friend and left this crazy voicemail. Later on, my friend played back my message, and I was horrified. I sounded like some strung out E junkie who needed his next fix.

We also met this weird Amish guy who was selling his mint tea from mint grown on his farm. This guy sure was busy back home. He was 28 years old and already had four kids and some grey hair at his temples. He kept us there forever, just talking our ears off. He seemed to be fascinated with meeting actual natives of New York. He literally was like that Amish guy on that TV show that moves into the city and gets corrupted by the bright lights and city life.

This guy just kept talking and talking, and we were trying to walk away. But he had us cornered. He started to ask us where we were from. I said "We're from New York." We talk for a few more minutes, and then this guy goes "Where are you really from?" And we were like, "Oh originally?" My friend said, "Canada", and I said "Virginia." Then he goes, "Well, I mean, you don't look alike. Where are you REALLY from?" My friend and I looked at each other and were like, "Oh geez. What a freak." My friend who's Indian indulged him and said "My parents are from India." And I said, "My parents are from Korea." Luckily, this guy had encountered some folks who weren't really offended and were willing to indulge him. But I hope someone eventually made him learn that you don't really ask those types of questions. Plus I was willing to forgive him since he gave me two boxes of free tea.

I finally left the festival loaded with free coffee and tea and wired for the rest of the day. I got a glimpse of a lifestyle that I might want to adopt and one that I definitely do not.

Beach Jacuzzis

I was in Atlantic City on Saturday. I had never been there before. Actually I've never been inside a casino before either. So unless you're a big gambler, Atlantic City is kind of a disappointment. I suppose those who have been there will know what I mean. Atlantic City is basically a shantytown with a few giant Trump hotels, a real old-fashioned Boardwalk and outlet stores sandwiched in between. It is not the worst place I have ever seen, and it is certainly much closer for Easterners than Vegas, so it is convenient. But if you are going, don't expect to get "out on the town" much. You'll find yourself walking along the boardwalk maybe once, hitting the seashell-ridden, kind of trashy beach and spending the rest of the time inside your hotel/casino, probably.

Anyhow, me and friend were down there to see Margaret Cho, and even though I had already heard about 70% of her jokes that night, it was still a great time and great to hear her biting social and political commentary. Her best point? It was definitely her assertion that our massage-giving cowboy president just wants to create problems where there are none in issues like gay marriage and immigration to hide how he and our gun-shooting VP have really bungled Iraq.

Overall, it was a very nice day, despite our rather late arrival due to monster traffic on the Garden State Parkway. A stop at one of the Roy Rogers/Cinnabon rest stop oases on the Parkway halfway through the drive provided a nice little stretch and then we were back on the road. When we finally got to Atlantic City, we parked our car and immediately checked out the Boardwalk and the shore. I hadn't been to a beach in ages, and the sand felt good between my toes. I saw a little girl digging a giant hole in the sand, and her brother, who must have been 6 or 7, came running over and asked "What are you building? A Jacuzzi???" So cute.

Now I can mark Atlantic City on my list places that I've been to. I had a somewhat sheltered and privileged upbringing. So this little trip satisfied my morbid curiousity about a somewhat (ok, really) seedy city.

I Saw An X-Man Today

I usually hate going to the grocery store on Sundays. I can't stand the crowds and mile-long lines. At Whole Foods, you'll see guys with walkie-talkies saying things like "It looks really bad back here" or "The lines are all the way back to the sushi counter. We need to get moving" with impressive military-like effiency. Then of course there's the infamous sign guy holding the "Express Line Ends Here" sign on a big placard, standing miles from the registers, so that you actually can find the end in the throngs of people stocking up for the week as if we were on the brink of nuclear winter.

Well, today I was at Whole Foods Chelsea because I had this craving for mushrooms. So I went in to quickly grab some creminis, white buttons, portobellos and shitakes and then hopefully be out in 10 minutes. While I was scurrying around, since I thought of some other things to get, I bumped into Anna Paquin in front of the prepared sandwiches and salads. I'm a total dork and get star struck at just about anyone remotely famous. So I was like, "Omg, that's Anna Paquin." I even spoke to her because she was kind of in my way, and I had to say "Excuse me." But I really wanted to ask her "Hey, where's Iceman?"

Alas, I just walked around her and went home, mushrooms in hand. Despite it being a Sunday, my trip today to the grocery store was pretty cool in my book.

Wordplay

A few weekends ago, I saw Wordplay. I left the theater itching to get my hands on a copy of the New York Times and a pencil, which isn't something I generally feel. I used to do them in college when I was bored during class. I was always pretty good at them, but the crossword puzzles in my college newspaper are child's play compared to the holy grail of crossword puzzles, The New York Times.

There's a performance of a song in Wordplay about crossword puzzles with the refrain, "If you don't come across, I'm gonna be down." So, yeah, it's that kind of movie, but it was surprisingly entertaining and suspenseful. There are interviews with all sorts of celebrity crossword lovers like Bill Clinton, the Indigo Girls and Jon Stewart who delivers the funniest line of the movie when he says "I'll do USA Today, but I won't feel good about it." When you get to the actual tournament in the second half of the movie, there is a thrill in witnessing the contestants throw hissy fits when they overlook important words or pretend to enjoy each other's company when the cameras are around. There's the super-hyper college kid, Tyler, who really needs to take a chill pill. There's former champion Ellen who's this kind of nerdy girl who twirls a baton, but came up with the best come-back line when she told her condescending boyfriend, "Well, what are you the best in the country at?" My favorite player is Jon, the mellow bespectacled piano player who's won the tournament a record seven times. He never practices for the tournament. He just comes and tries to do the best he can each time. He seemed to be the least off-puttingly cutesy and most importantly least ego-centric of all the contestants, which was like a breath of fresh air after listening to Trip go on and on and on about his obsession with crosswords.

The funniest thing about me and crossword puzzles is that I once banned them at my old job. I had a pretty large staff on my last case at the last job I worked at. And inevitably, there was some downtime. I was kind of a neat freak in the caseroom, because I couldn't stand seeing papers lying all around. I'd proclaim, "If you don't know what it is, just throw it away." Of the many papers I'd throw away were photocopies of the New York Times crossword puzzles. Why the hell are there copies of these everywhere? I even had to declare it as a rule in the caseroom because I was so tired of seeing them everywhere.

Now I feel bad for depriving all the guys on my staff of their fun. I might have stunted the development of a future champion. I feel so guilty.

I'm back!

Wow, I meant to post more than I ended up doing while I was away. But sadly, I didn't get a chance to. Even though I wasn't away for that long, I feel like I missed a lot back in NY and am so out of my routine. I seem to have missed the heat wave back here in New York, which I am very thankful for. And I have to say that San Franciscans are wimps when it comes to heat. It was hot, but not THAT hot out there. The humidity is much less, and I felt fine. At least the people out there aren't as crazy about air conditioners as people in New York are.

Anyhow, I'll be posting soon!

Enjoying California Wines

Sometimes I wish I had gone to Cornell as an undergrad. Then I could have taken the famous wine class. A friend of mine went to Cornell and told me that it's really hard to get into because it's only open to Seniors and depending on how the stars are aligned, you get access to enroll in classes at random times because of some weird thing about their system.

Right now I'm in San Francisco again for work. It's a pretty nice place to get shipped off to for work. And if I ever leave New York, I'd probably come here to San Francisco. If I were here I could make more trips out to Napa Valley. I've done the Napa thing once and it was so much fun, despite the almost silly inherent oeniphile elitist feeling you get when you're out there. Even if you're not Andrea Immer, you'll become your own wine expert after one trip out to Napa and armed with lots of information the next time you're at a fancy restaurant.

Last night, I had dinner at One Market which is across the street from my hotel here in San Francisco. Besides the food, which was really good, the best part about it was the wine. They're running some sort of promotion to promote awareness of California wines. The deal is 50% off of ANY bottle of wine in their list, which is like a novel. My friend and I got a bottle of yummy 2003 Cakebread Cabernet for only $60 as opposed to $120. Usually I hate buying wine in restaurants because of the absurd markups (worse are the stupid corkage fees), but $60 is less than retail for this bottle. Tasting it made me think of the good times I had in Napa.

Another Trip Out West

I'm off to San Francisco again for work. I go there so much I practically live there! I'll be posting while I'm away with more stories from the West Coast.

Happy (hot, humid, muggy, steamy) Sunday everyone.

My Arctic Apartment

I've developed a cold. I actually seem to get all my colds in the summer. Does anyone else have this problem? It's my powerful air conditioner. Mine turns my apartment into a freaking ice box. It's like that in a lot of places in New York, including my office. Indoor New York can be freezing! It's like people here react to steamy temperatures by turning the insides of buildings into habitats fit for polar bears. I have central air in my apartment, but even at the lowest setting, I'm shivering twenty minutes later. But if I turn it off, it gets hot again. So I'm constantly having to turn it on and off while I'm sitting at home. I remember once when a friend asked me what BTU she should get for her A/C. She said the guy at the store told her to get a unit that was like 2,000,000 BTU or something ridiculous like that. Well, I advised her to just get the smaller unit if it's just for her bedroom because my A/C gives me pneumonia.

I know a lot of people don't have air conditioners, and I'm sure in this weekend's heat wave, I will be the object of envy by many. But this summer when I'm at home and work, I'll be pulling out my fleece and drinking my hot cocoa to keep me warm.

Bagels

I've had a busy week this week, and then yesterday, the monsoon season returned and my Internet got knocked out. Can I just say that RCN really needs to hire more Customer Service people? Last night the "estimated wait time" was 56 minutes!

Anyhow, this post is a little late. But I just had to share this. On Sunday, I was walking down Broadway after my run around the Reservoir. I stopped in Zabar's for a few minutes to browse around. Zabar's isn't my favorite gourmet grocery store, but I do think they have one of the top three cheese departments in the city. After smelling the aromas, I left. Two doors down is H&H bagels. I LOVE H&H bagels. They must lace those things with crack or something because they're sooooo good. The crusty exterior with the chewy soft and sweet interior are just bagel heaven. I toast my bagels, which I know is supposed to be a cardinal sin for a true New York bagel. Supposedly the goodness of a New York bagel should shine through without toasting. But I just toast a little bit because I like the crust that forms after toasting. The most fun way to get an H&H bagel is to visit their giant plant on the West Side Highway at two in the morning and get whatever's hot from the oven.

So on Sunday, I left Zabar's and walked down Broadway and figured I'd stop and get a bagel to eat at home since I was in the neighborhood. Right in front of the H&H bagel store, there was a group of five very Long Island jappy girls. The leader of the jap pack declared, "Ok, let's go in and get a bagel and the five of us will split one!"

I'm sorry, but you don't deserve to have an H&H bagel if you're gonna split one amongst five people.

One Year Blogiversary

Happy Blogiversary to me. A year ago, I started this blog mainly to relieve my boredom while I was recovering from my broken arm. It sucked. I was sitting at home, gaining weight and in a lot of pain for about a month. Now it's all over. I have a cool scar now, but I miss my weekly gab sessions with my physical therapist.

I've enjoyed writing in my blog. I've written already about the reasons why I've liked blogging, so I won't rehash here. But I'm glad to have this blog. It gives me somewhere to vent on a regular basis. Otherwise, I probably would have become a crazy, bitter old man who talks to himself and has a pet parakeet. My blog has been a great sounding board and even serves as its own sort of therapy for me.

One of the unexpected benefits I've gotten from this blog is that I've become more outgoing, which when you think about it is kind of contradictory since blog writing is a solitary activity. I've made long distance friends, friends here in the city, gotten in touch with people who I haven't heard from since high school. But at least I have taken the next step and actually met some people instead of just keeping cyberspace penpals. This article in the NY Times chastises bloggers, among other people in today's Internet age, for keeping a virtual social network, rather than one based on actual human contact.

In essence, I blog because I think my simple life might be of interest to someone out there. And I like to re-read my old posts. It's nice to have a journal recording things that are important to you and also to hear other people's thoughts about them. I write about most major events in my life, which really aren't all that major in the grand scheme of things. But they come from me. I think that is probably what I am most happy about when I think about my blog. It sounds like me. It has subjects that I find interesting or would like to share, and most importantly it sounds as if you are having a conversation with me. My blog has come to reflect my voice pretty accurately.

I have three favorite blog posts. First is "Beware the Witch Is Here." I wrote that at a time last year, when I felt like I was really coming out of my shell more. I had just switched jobs and was starting to get in touch with old friends. I was rebuilding my life outside of work when before my entire life was work. It felt nice. I also really liked "The 60 Day Rule" because I thought it was a really well-written (if I do say so myself) post on how I was feeling at the time. Finally, my review of Live 8 was a comprehensive and thorough review with bits of my caustic humor added in.

I'm pretty proud of my blog just like every blog author should be proud of his writing. I only wish I had joined the bandwagon 3 years ago. I also enjoy hearing everyone's thoughts about whatever I've written. But sometimes I expect a bit too much. One time last year, I asked a friend if she had a favorite post. She replied, "Yeah, I really liked your one on Free Chapstick." Free Chapstick??? That was like a 2-line post and hardly one that I poured my heart in!

Oh well, as long as my readers are happy. And sometimes the posts with minimal thought but are just your first thoughts coming out of your head are the ones that get the most reaction.

My Secret Habit

Remember that episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte reveals to the rest of the gals that she likes to take a hand mirror and stare at her pores for hours? And Carrie likes to stand in her kitchen, eating carefully stacked saltines with grape jelly while reading fashion magazines. Actually, I might try that. No, not the reading fashion magazine in the kitchen part, but the saltines and grape jelly. Mmmmm....salty with sweet. Then, Miranda liked to put on Vaseline on her hands, put gloves over them and then sit down and watch infomercials. I'm sorry, but that sounds icky to me. I'm sure your hands are amazingly soft afterwards, but I hate the greasy feeling of Vaseline. I can't remember what Samantha's "Secret Single Behavior" ("SSB") was. But I'm sure it was something as equally crazy as the other girls' habits.

Having lived alone for the past 5 years and being single, I probably have a large collection of SSBs. Most of them have never been exposed to an outsider, and if they are, it's usually because I don't give a shit anymore what someone else thinks. I'm not going to reveal all my SSBs here, but I will admit to one that shows what a dork I am. One of the things that I like to do is take my tennis racquet and stare at the strings and study all the little crevices that I've made from whacking at the ball after long hours on the court. I love seeing where my strings are about to break and moving apart the strings to see the actual indentations. It's so soothing.

I'm sure there are probably a million other crazy things that I do that I don't even realize. Who knows what I or someone else will eventually discover.

Music & Emotions

The past few months have been kind of rough on my emotions. I won't go into the details, but I have had some pretty hard weeks over the last few months. At least it's summer now, despite the monsoon season in New York, and I am finally starting to come out of my hibernation. I think I was just really impatient for winter to end, and for summer to begin because I missed all of Summer 2005 due to my broken arm. So I was pretty excited for the dark cloud of winter to lift.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with a slump. Some turn to retail therapy. Others succumb to a pint of Haagen-Daaz or perhaps party away their blues at the hottest new club. Or maybe you'll go outside and go for a run until you stop thinking about your crappy day (or crappy week, crappy year). There are lots of different ways of dealing and another way is with music. I have a certain set of songs in my playlists that I turn to when I just want to wallow in my self-pity. For many people, there's a certain solace to be found in the angst-ridden sounds of "Over My Head" by The Fray or the wistful notes from "By Your Side" by Sade. Throw in "Oooh Child" by Beth Orton and you have a soundtrack for a great pity party.

There’s something to be said for sitting around, throwing in a depressing album and just feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting around with sad music permeating the background serves as sort of a catharsis. And usually I feel a little better because I can wrap my head around the lyrics and tune, and forget about everything else. Sure, I have certain songs that I classify as my "happy" songs: "The Best of What's Around" by Dave Matthews comes to mind. These songs can serve as a pick-me-up. But throwing on some melancholy "Live Again" by Better Than Ezra is the stuff I really need when I'm in a bad mood. Why is my first instinct to remedy my sad mood is to play even sadder music? Why am I letting my iPod have a certain control over the way I feel? It's a bit odd when you think of it. I suppose it's like that saying "Misery loves company" and I just want some sort of validation for my feelings. Some of these songs also happen to be my favorite songs and you'll find them on my Top 25 Most Played ipod playlist. So maybe it's the nice familiarity you hear when you put in your headphones to tune out the rest of the world. It's something to depend on.

Music is really closely connected to our moods. This isn't anything ground-breaking, but sometimes it's nice to think about it. No matter whether you're listening to something really profound or some pop music fluff, one of the main goals of music is to create a sense of unity between the artist and the listener. And the music is giving you a common emotion, ideal or subject matter to latch on to. It inspires thoughts or memories in your head and in some way provide some clarity and that might be the best feeling of all.

So Much For That

My brief foray into html code land was rejected and I have had to retreat back to my original template. After I put the finishing touches on my new template the other night, I went to bed with plans to make the finishing touches the next day. So I thought everything was ok, until the next day when I opened my blog and couldn't read it because it was in a GIGANTIC font, like 1,000,000 point. Whoa, something weird was definitely going on. It turned out that my adjustments to the original template caused havoc to anyone trying to view my blog on Internet Explorer. I'm one of thirteen people who actually use Netscape, and my blog looked fine on my browser at home, but on IE, it was so big that even the elderly would have asked to tone it down.

So I'm back to the original template. And it's fine for a novice blogger. But I think I need some more pizaaz. Sadly, the fact that I can't figure it out makes me want it more. But at least I did get to keep my fancy new features such as my subscription box thingy and my new blog roll.

So far the score is HTML: 1; Terence: 0.

Just Needed A Change

I've decided on a new template. And I also have a fancy new blog roll thingy. Weeee. Most of my changes were fairly simple since the new template I chose was one of the ready-made templates you can just pick on blogger. But you still have to add sections like "What I'm Listening To" or your blog roll on your own into the template. You just insert them in, but it's a tedious task nevertheless. My knowledge of HTML is very limited, but I've learned a little. All I can say is what a huge pain in the ass this is! I'm glad I don't write HTML code for a living.

P.S., Can someone help me extend my left and right margins so my description is aligned with my title and so I don't have that obnoxious line going through my sidebar? And how do I extend the bottom margin of my sidebar and get rid of that extra grey shading that is creeping into my posts?

Subway Adventures

I dropped my chapstick in the subway track this morning. Well, I considered it lost since there was no way I was going to go crawling around the subway tracks to get it. Chapstick isn't that important. But would I go after an umbrella? Hmmm. Apparently, the answer was a clear and resounding yes to this woman who I observed in the subway station one day. She dropped her umbrella down in the track, and I thought, "Oh well, she lost her umbrella. That sucks." But instead of letting it go she turns to this guy and asks "If I go down there, will you help me back up?" Meanwhile, you could actually see the train headlights in the distance coming towards the station. This woman was crazy. The guy says "Uh...I guess...." Then the woman says "Don't worry, I'm a stunt woman." Thank god for that. I'm sure that reassured us all as the train was approaching closer and closer. Then this crazy stunt woman just jumped down there and jumped right back up, not really needing any help from the guy. A few minutes later, the train zooms into our station.

Wow. Somehow, me saying "Don't worry, I'm an IT Professional" doesn't have quite the same effect, at least in this situation.

G.I. Terence

For the completely narcissist individual, you too can have your own action figure. For $425, you can have your own custom made talking action figure based on any photo you send here. Think of the possibilities. You could give one as a gift to your significant other as something for him/her to remember you by. You could act your own scenes with your action figure fighting alongside the Transformers. The possibilities are endless, as long as you're not too weirded out by seeing yourself as a miniature plastic toy.

There Goes The Neighborhood

Rents are getting too high in my neighborhood for businesses to continue operating. Just over the past six months, three take out places have closed including Chicken Fair which had really good rotisserie chicken, Rice Bowl, an Eddie Bauer, a dry cleaner, a Chinese restaurant, an EMS store, a wine store, a horridly ostentatious antique furniture store, a cell phone store, a pizza place and a deli over by the climbing wall at 62nd and Broadway. Longtime residents Lincoln Stationers and the West 63rd Street Steakhouse are also long gone. Iridium, the jazz club closed a couple years ago, and it was supposed to become a branch of P.J. Clarke's, but the sign for P.J.'s has disappeared, so who knows what that space will be.

The latest casualty in the commercial real estate war is my favorite Korean deli. It was at 182 Amsterdam Avenue at the corner of 69th & Amsterdam. Actually, it looks like the tenants on the whole block which included that antique store, and the wine store as well as Mama's Famous diner and a Chinese take out place are going to be gone as of today. Only the Citibank and the Meskerem Ethiopian restaurant are sticking it out. But I'm guessing they'll be gone too because I think the entire block is being redeveloped. Anyhow, the Korean deli was closed for a little bit a couple years ago for renovation where they got rid of that nasty hot/cold food buffet bar. Those things are gross. Store owners leave the lunch food in the hot/cold trays until dinnertime, by which time the whole buffet has become a deadly hot 'n' cold Petri dish of romping pathogens.

For 6 years, I bought milk, those sweet and chewy Korean rice cakes with red bean filling, Vitamin water, the occasional six pack of beer, Haagen-Daaz cartons, and all sorts of assorted produce at this store. I really liked this store because they really had a good selection of produce, including lots of herbs, that was always really fresh, and it was the closest place to me where I could get Kimchi. The store was clean and was practically a full grocery store. I'll be sad to see it go.

Right now, they're having a "Buy One, Get One Free" promotion on every grocery item in the store. So I stocked up on flour, sugar, kosher salt, yummy De Cecco pasta and olive oil. Actually the olive oil I got was some bottles of really nice olive oil including a couple of bottles of Oliviers & Co olive oil. Like most serious cooks, I buy a ton of olive oil. You'd think I bathed in it judging by the amount I buy. But I don't buy really expensive olive a lot of the time. So it's always nice to get a deal for really good oil.

It's really sad that neighborhood businesses have such a tough time surviving in this city. I'm going to miss all the little stores and restaurants in my neighborhood.