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Thursday, August 26, 2004 · posted at 1:28 AM

The bad beginning and the slippery slope. Contrary to my daily two hour long whine fests, the trip to NYC was fantastic. I wouldn't have changed a single thing – not the rain at the Empire State Building, the partial view tickets to "The Producers," or the onion-flavored cheesecake. Oh, except maybe to skip the barbeque joint with pickled vegetables and get dressed up for Nobu.

There were way too many inside jokes and "you had to have been there" stories (although if you're truly interested, I have a Power Point Presentation) so I'll just recap some highlights:

Red-eye flights. We decided to book red-eye flights because it's cheap and we're post-graduates… and we're Asian. Why are these flights that leave late and come in early called red-eye? Let me take a stab and say that it's because you walk around with red-eyes the rest of the day.

My flight left at 9pm and arrived at 5am (2am PT). That's a total flight time of 5 hours. But it's actually only 3 hours to sleep because the in-flight movie is something you want to see but never got to (Shrek 2, Mean Girls) or want to see but wouldn't actually spend $10 on (13 Going on 30).

Also, there is NO way to get into a comfortable sleeping position. Although my flight was half empty, and many people were allowed the luxury of having three seats to themselves, I held back and didn't push down women and children (I just pushed down the women) in the clamor for the empty seats and thus ended up sitting in a full row. I also sat in front of a long-legged man, and spent three quarters of the flight wondering why my seat didn't recline. I'm sure the flight was a joy for him as well.

As evidence of how desperate one gets, at one point I even tried putting my legs up onto the tray table. People eat on that thing! In short, red-eye flights can be insanely uncomfortable.

Note: If you are ever taking a red eye, don't sit in the aisle seat. Though in theory it's nice to have empty space beside you to avoid that oh-so-claustrophobic feeling of sitting window or middle, sitting in the aisle seat affords you no support system. There is nothing to lean on – save the stranger next to you. Also, people who are hightailing it to the bathroom often mistake your head as a railing for themselves to brace themselves. I felt like I was back in 2nd grade playing duck duck goose! You also run the risk of decapitation by beverage cart.

Hot waiters. New York was a bust as far as cute guys walking down the street, but there were some mighty fine specimens working the restaurant scene.

The Republic, touted by Jon as having a tasty coconut shrimp appetizer and "sometimes hot ass (male) waiters," certainly met both expectations. Half of dinner was spent playing a rousing game of "Is he gay?" for one of the hot ass male waiters using the following clues:

Hot
Shirt tucked in a little too much
One rolled up t-shirt sleeve
Sang along to J. Timberlake’s "Cry Me a River" – including the falsetto "I found out from him" line

At Penang SoHo, cute server Kevin declined a lunch invitation but accepted a request to pose prom style with Kat in front of a waterfall.

Later, a Cute Café Guy worked the espresso machines at Housing Works Used Book Café. I wonder how "Excuse me, but there’s a rat running around" works as an opening pick-up line.

Thin walls. Our hotel, the Will Wogers was cute – even if the décor was a mix of Asian inspired, contemporary and flea market chic and they stopped serving breakfast and providing hot water without any notification to the patrons. The thin walls, however, proved to be no match for the noises from surrounding neighbors. Luckily we didn't hear "A Night in Paris" next door, but we were awakened one morning to a domestic (is it still called domestic if it's in a hotel away from home?) argument that contained screaming, expletives, and a very suspicious thump against the wall that made us question if we’d be witnesses to the next Laci Peterson/Lori Hacking case.

Crazy driver. It's not news that New York is home to the most insane driving – but I thought that that kind of white knuckle, heart racing, prayer-inducing ride was limited to taxi cabs only. For the ride to the hotel, our doorman (a different one than the one who advised us against an umbrella the day we got drenched with remnants of Charley) called us a car service. How excited were we to ride around in a black Town Car? And how quickly did that diminish!

Signs your drive is going to suck:

The Town Car makes its grand entrance in front of your hotel – with one tire up on the sidewalk.
The dress code for the driver appears to be curlers and a house coat.
There's a whole lot of personal junk in the trunk of the car.
The windows are open all the way to mask the driver’s emphysema-like wheezing.
Your nostrils are growing icicles.
The driver has a conversation with the radio.
You see the driver’s arm fishing for tapes scattered across the floor of the passenger seat - while the car is in motion.
You're feeling sharp shooting pains in your shoulder.
The car has to physically stop at the toll road because the driver doesn’t have an ExpressLane card.
There's rubbernecking at an accident site, and your driver is contributing to it and almost causing several other accidents.
You've decided you've found religion and start praying at hyperspeed.
The driver purposefully doesn't let others merge into the lane, yet tries to force merging into others lanes – cutting them off.
A cab driver calls the driver a "stupid bitch."
The driver yells "stupido negro!" out the window.
You start writing which loved ones will get what possessions on the back of a receipt.
The driver demands more monetary tip when you think all she deserves is the verbal tip to "f*** off."

But after all is said and done… New York again, anyone?



	Thursday, August 26, 2004 · posted at 1:28 AM The bad beginning and the slippery slope. Contrary to my daily two hour long whine fests, the trip to NYC was fantastic. I wouldn't have changed a single thing – not the rain at the Empire State Building, the partial view tickets to "The Producers," or the onion-flavored cheesecake. Oh, except maybe to skip the barbeque joint with pickled vegetables and get dressed up for Nobu. There were way too many inside jokes and "you had to have been there" stories (although if you're truly interested, I have a Power Point Presentation) so I'll just recap some highlights: Red-eye flights. We decided to book red-eye flights because it's cheap and we're post-graduates… and we're Asian. Why are these flights that leave late and come in early called red-eye? Let me take a stab and say that it's because you walk around with red-eyes the rest of the day. My flight left at 9pm and arrived at 5am (2am PT). That's a total flight time of 5 hours. But it's actually only 3 hours to sleep because the in-flight movie is something you want to see but never got to (Shrek 2, Mean Girls) or want to see but wouldn't actually spend $10 on (13 Going on 30). Also, there is NO way to get into a comfortable sleeping position. Although my flight was half empty, and many people were allowed the luxury of having three seats to themselves, I held back and didn't push down women and children (I just pushed down the women) in the clamor for the empty seats and thus ended up sitting in a full row. I also sat in front of a long-legged man, and spent three quarters of the flight wondering why my seat didn't recline. I'm sure the flight was a joy for him as well. As evidence of how desperate one gets, at one point I even tried putting my legs up onto the tray table. People eat on that thing! In short, red-eye flights can be insanely uncomfortable. Note: If you are ever taking a red eye, don't sit in the aisle seat. Though in theory it's nice to have empty space beside you to avoid that oh-so-claustrophobic feeling of sitting window or middle, sitting in the aisle seat affords you no support system. There is nothing to lean on – save the stranger next to you. Also, people who are hightailing it to the bathroom often mistake your head as a railing for themselves to brace themselves. I felt like I was back in 2nd grade playing duck duck goose! You also run the risk of decapitation by beverage cart. Hot waiters. New York was a bust as far as cute guys walking down the street, but there were some mighty fine specimens working the restaurant scene. The Republic, touted by Jon as having a tasty coconut shrimp appetizer and "sometimes hot ass (male) waiters," certainly met both expectations. Half of dinner was spent playing a rousing game of "Is he gay?" for one of the hot ass male waiters using the following clues: Hot Shirt tucked in a little too much One rolled up t-shirt sleeve Sang along to J. Timberlake’s "Cry Me a River" – including the falsetto "I found out from him" line At Penang SoHo, cute server Kevin declined a lunch invitation but accepted a request to pose prom style with Kat in front of a waterfall. Later, a Cute Café Guy worked the espresso machines at Housing Works Used Book Café. I wonder how "Excuse me, but there’s a rat running around" works as an opening pick-up line. Thin walls. Our hotel, the Will Wogers was cute – even if the décor was a mix of Asian inspired, contemporary and flea market chic and they stopped serving breakfast and providing hot water without any notification to the patrons. The thin walls, however, proved to be no match for the noises from surrounding neighbors. Luckily we didn't hear "A Night in Paris" next door, but we were awakened one morning to a domestic (is it still called domestic if it's in a hotel away from home?) argument that contained screaming, expletives, and a very suspicious thump against the wall that made us question if we’d be witnesses to the next Laci Peterson/Lori Hacking case. Crazy driver. It's not news that New York is home to the most insane driving – but I thought that that kind of white knuckle, heart racing, prayer-inducing ride was limited to taxi cabs only. For the ride to the hotel, our doorman (a different one than the one who advised us against an umbrella the day we got drenched with remnants of Charley) called us a car service. How excited were we to ride around in a black Town Car? And how quickly did that diminish! Signs your drive is going to suck: The Town Car makes its grand entrance in front of your hotel – with one tire up on the sidewalk. The dress code for the driver appears to be curlers and a house coat. There's a whole lot of personal junk in the trunk of the car. The windows are open all the way to mask the driver’s emphysema-like wheezing. Your nostrils are growing icicles. The driver has a conversation with the radio. You see the driver’s arm fishing for tapes scattered across the floor of the passenger seat - while the car is in motion. You're feeling sharp shooting pains in your shoulder. The car has to physically stop at the toll road because the driver doesn’t have an ExpressLane card. There's rubbernecking at an accident site, and your driver is contributing to it and almost causing several other accidents. You've decided you've found religion and start praying at hyperspeed. The driver purposefully doesn't let others merge into the lane, yet tries to force merging into others lanes – cutting them off. A cab driver calls the driver a "stupid bitch." The driver yells "stupido negro!" out the window. You start writing which loved ones will get what possessions on the back of a receipt. The driver demands more monetary tip when you think all she deserves is the verbal tip to "f*** off." But after all is said and done… New York again, anyone?	Recent Posts Where there's a Will, there's a way. Last night, W... Bird's nest. I just got my hair cut for the first... One in a trillion. … if everyone in the world was ... Appalling mating practices. I can't believe the g... Left on the pedestal. Every week I peruse the Targ... Curtain call. Today was the last day of productio... You brought it upon yourself' It's come to my at... Not your Orwellian drama. The lemonade is squeeze... Action up! Making a movie is really just a lot of... Surely you jest. It's odd for me to think of paren... 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