Memorial Weekend Part Two

Okay, back to Memorial Weekend.

After man-child's graduation ceremony, we dropped him off back home, picked up the two younger kids and beat a path out of town. We didn't officially get on the road until 12:30 pm and I was worried at how late we would be arriving in Indy.

We were set to stay with clients of mine who have become friends. Nothing says crappy house guests like arriving at midnight smelling of Cheetos and Red Bull with two cranky children in tow.

Sunday morning, we got up, showered and learned that we would be leaving for the track fairly early. I looked at Dallas and raised my eyebrows. The race didn't start until 1:00pm. I couldn't imagine what in the world we would be doing for in the four hours before the green flag was dropped.

We drove to a parking lot of some sort of gravel company located in downtown Indy. There, we met several other couples. Everyone was waiting for the police escort. Yes, you read that right. It seems that several years beforehand, our hosts had hooked up with one of Indy's finest and each year, he would escort them to the track.

"High beams on. Flashing lights on. Stick close together and keep all limbs inside the vehicle at all times."

Actually, he didn't say that last part but he should have. The officer turned on his sirens and lights and wove through the streets of downtown Indianapolis at about 50 miles an hour. Cars pulled over to the side of the road and stopped as our caravan sped by. We went through red lights and stop signs. Other police officers stationed at different points in our route stopped traffic for us. The entire ride was surreal. At one point, Olivia leaned forward and said, "Mama, are we still in America?"

As we neared the track, we could see a line of vehicles waiting to get into the parking lots. We flew by them all, bypassed the line entirely, pulled in and parked directly in front of the entrance. Dallas and I looked at each other, blinked and shook our heads in disbelief. We had never experienced anything like that before. EVER.

And it was barely 10:00 in the morning.

After having a massive pre-race tailgate brunch replete with a driver pool and absolutely the best pastry I've ever tasted, we were ready to head inside to explore. We were handed tickets and told that as newbies, we had the best seats of the bunch. Gross understatement. We were planted at the start/finish line, up in the penthouse seats, directly across from the tower, with an intimate look at pit row. UNREAL.

Nothing prepares you for the sound of thirty plus cars at full speed hitting the start line. The noise is deafening, exhilarating and the excitement that bubbles up inside raises goosepimples on your arms and leaves the hair on the nape of your neck standing straight up. I held Olivia in my arms and we both giggled and then laughed uncontrollably as the cars sped by.

Then Liv made friends with the drunk lady sitting beside us. At one point, I looked over and she was braiding said female's hair. I smiled, sipped my Coors Light and thanked God for small miracles.

There were loads of other events that made the weekend special like meeting a group of visiting Kiwis and witnessing my son at the helm of a speedboat but I suppose the best part of it all was being welcomed into the homes of our friends and treated like family.

Viva Las Vegas Part One

I was pleasantly surprised with my trip to Las Vegas this time. Being with Steph made all of the difference in the world because she saw things through new eyes and it forced me to revisit all of those elements that make the city great. With my tired and jaded viewpoint, I'd forgotten how fun Las Vegas could be.

We landed just after 6pm Sunday night, got our luggage fairly quickly and rushed to our hotel to check in as we had dinner plans with our client. We stayed at the Planet Hollywood hotel, formerly the Aladdin, which is evident in the magic lamp bathroom fixtures and the purple towels.

It was just okay.

The pervasive smell of cigarettes was everywhere. Even our floor, which was supposed to be non smoking, reeked of stale smoke. The room was a good size and the lighting favourable for someone like me an aging movie star who curses the invention of HDTV but for anything practical like trying to navigate the room without bumping into furniture, it could have withstood a few more high wattage bulbs. On the plus side, it was easy on the wallet and the location was excellent. There was one more thing....

The full length mirror on the wall opposite the bathroom took 20 lbs off my physical frame.

I was delirious.

With joy.

Listen, the ration self understood that this was an optical illusion. The other larger, more influential self, didn't give a shit. I actually contemplated the mechanics necessary to take the mirror home with me but it was BOLTED to the wall. Clearly, the powers that be knew of its intoxicating effects and had planned for the nutbar who'd try to make off with it. That mirror made me feel just the slightest bit like a really famous person who surrounds herself with sycophants. Every time I looked at my reflection before heading out for the night, I could almost hear one of my imagined assistants telling me that I looked fabulous and that of course my skirt wasn't too short for a woman my age. In the same way that sexy underwear changes the way you carry yourself, that mirror did wonders for my self esteem.

After we checked in and dropped our luggage, we dined with our client at a decent steakhouse. Then, we called it a night. No gambling, no shows, no boobie cards (more on that later) and no alcohol. My halo positively RADIATED.

Monday morning, we were up at the ass crack of dawn, shoveling down a typical Las Vegas breakfast buffet (expensive, expansive and soaked in greasy goodness) and then off to the convention center to set our booth. For those of you that have worked a trade show, you know that it is grueling. The hours are long, the conversation a barely modified regurgitation from one person to the next and the food is crappy and overpriced.

After we had set the booth, Steph and I went out on the town for a little Las Vegas flavour. It did not disappoint.

In the next Vegas installment, dude looks like a lady, booby cards and a trip down memory lane.

Texas Hospitality

Sorry to be away so long. Things have been absolutely insane lately. More about that later.

Last week, I was in Dallas to witness the first production run of a product that took seventeen long months to bring to market. Watching a pallet being stacked with the first cases off the line was a tad emotional for me.

It was like giving birth.

With a really LONG gestation period.

Like an elephant.

I took pictures.

And stroked one of the cases lovingly while whispering, "Fly off the shelf, baby".

I called for a taxi to take me to the airport for the flight home. It was driven by a very, very, very large man and as I climbed into the minivan, I was hit with the overpowering scent of cinnamon. I commented about the smell. I think I said, "Wow! your car smells like Christmas"...or something like that.

He enthusiastically held up a bottle of pink Febreeze which turned out to be Apple Spice Delight fragrance. And I am sure that under normal circumstances, it is probably a lovely scent but the dude kept spraying little puffs every five minutes or so and what was at first, a pleasant diversion quickly turned into a cloying, eye-watering, get-me-out-of-this-vehicle experience. I was afraid my clothes would be saturated with the smell by the time we reached the airport. I struggled not to gag.

I rolled down the window in an effort to keep breakfast in my stomach and as the cloud of Christmas was swept outside, I understood why the driver kept his Febreeze bottle so handy. Buried underneath all of that apple and cinnamon, was a mixture of sour sweat, greasy fries and dirty bum. There was a large, grimy patchwork comforter inhabiting the front passenger seat and a small suitcase in the very back of the van. Then, it hit me.

My driver was living in his taxi.

Since I am not the most subtle girl on the block, I came out and asked him what was up with the bedding in the front seat. I half expected him to tell me he napped between fares but he unselfconsciously confirmed my suspicions and shared that he was homeless after foreclosing on his house. For the rest of the day, I had a hard time thinking about anything else.

It's really not a level playing field out there and I suppose we are all products of the choices we've made but as I snuggled next to my hubby in our king bed that night, after a hot shower and a home cooked meal, in our comfortable house, in our sleepy, safe neighbourhood, I felt a gratitude that has been absent for a few months.

I despise the use of the cliché, "it could be worse" but when I think about where that taxi driver is likely to lay his head tonight, I know that for some people, the worst has arrived.

Makes my heart hurt.

Friday, At Last.

It's Friday.

It's Friday and the weekend that my children are with their father.

It's Friday, the weekend my children are with their father AND it's warm enough to ride.

I am positively giddy.

Every time that I look out my office window, I get a little shiver of joy.


The past couple of weeks have been hugely busy. At work, deals have finally come together which is great, except the details are time consuming and never ending. I'm grateful, though. It's been a long sixteen months putting together one of my projects and I plan to celebrate like a pirate.

This week also found my husband in the office of his division VP who told him that he has been identified as rising talent and would he consider moving to fast track his career? Neither one of us saw that one coming. More on that later.

For the past twenty some odd days, I have been spending every spare minute trying to find a place for us to holiday. The last two years, we have been fortunate enough to use timeshare points through my sista cousin and her husband. This year, in the middle of an economic downturn, everything was booked solid. Weird. So, Ash and I started to panic a bit. Finding a place became paramount.

We looked at the Gulf Shores because the beaches are fantastic, the prices reasonable and the drive wouldn't be too taxing. The only problem was the weather. Iffy, at best. The last thing in the world that I wanted to experience on spring break was goosebumps. So, we scrapped the Gulf Shores and turned our attentions to the central Florida Gulf Coast instead.

I'm sure that with a little planning, this would have been a good option but at the last minute, most everything was booked and those properties that weren't had issues. Like price. One agent told me she had a great deal on a three bedroom, two bath place. It was just shy of $3000, plus cleaning fee, plus booking fee, plus extra to heat the pool and jacuzzi, plus security, PLUS tax. When it was all said and done, we were knocking on $5000. Eight people in a shoebox-sized condo looked less like a holiday and a whole lot like work. So we declined.

This past Tuesday, I was becoming seriously worried. My Aunt Bev sent over a website but I didn't hold out much hope because I'd been to just about every URL that had beach in the title with no luck whatsoever.

And then it appeared.

A large, four bedroom villa near the beach.

Two master bedrooms, huge heated pool, great location and every amenity one could imagine. It was available. And inexpensive. I called the UK to get it booked. Did I mention how reasonable the prices were? Dallas asked if there was some catch.

"Are you sure the prices are in US dollars and not British pounds?" he asked. I understood his trepidation. Too good to be true syndrome.

But it wasn't and two weeks from today, we'll be heading down to Florida with my sista cousin and her family.

It's Friday, and the weekend that my children are with their father and it's warm enough to ride, and my deal came together and we got our vacation booked. Life is good.

If I close my eyes, I can already smell the salt in the air.

Trip to Boise

This week, I got the opportunity to visit Boise, Idaho on business. When I first learned that this was a trip I had to make, I was not thrilled. I don't particularly care for travel anymore since a significant amount of time over the last four years has been spent outside of the US. For me, getting on a plane has become a bit like a fork in the eye.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, potato farms perhaps, but Boise blew my mind.

It is a beautiful place, nestled into the foothills of the Rocky mountains. Being the capital of Idaho, Boise has all of the amenities that come with the government crowd. There are great restaurants, theatre, decent shopping and a good school system. The city has been planned well and traffic was a dream except for stop lights that seemed interminable. I didn't get to see much this time around so I look forward to a return visit. It's an easy place to like. Two or three people told me that they had first landed in Boise to attend a wedding or to go to school and they just never left. I completely understood why.

I went there to see Nutrivet, a client that I've had for a couple of years now. They are way ahead of the times with their approach to animal health. They firmly believe in preventative versus reactionary care, which is somewhat revolutionary in respect to pets. A lot of people feed and water their furry friends and take them to the vet when they are sick. They get the recommended vaccines and call it a day. As pet owners, we can be doing more, though. Just like we pop our vitamin C and take our flax oil, Nutrivet tries to prevent illness by offering a line of nutritional and problem-specific supplements designed to optimize pet health. Got a dog that eats his poop? They've got something you might try. Skittish cat? No problem. There's an aromatherapy diffuser for that.

I think that as medical costs for pets escalate like everything else, it will increasingly make sense for us to try to take care of our animals through more holistic means. Consider big breed dogs and their chronic issues with osteoarthritis. Instead of filling them full of nsaids, which is really hard on the lining of their stomachs, wouldn't it be better to start them on bone and joint supplements as puppies to try to prevent these issues? Our animals are subjected to the same environmental pollutants as we are. Their food is as heavily processed as ours. It's no wonder that cancers, auto immune disorders and allergies are on the rise in our animals. Why would they be any different than us?

Anyway, I like this company. The owners are dynamic, generous and passionate about their business. They want to make a difference. I respect that.

And if they really have found a way to lessen the odour of the litter box in my house, I will be eternally grateful. I'll keep you posted on how that product works out.

Which brings me to the PS of this post. On Mondays, I will begin posting a product review over at my sister site, "Wack-In-Review". I'm not sure of the exact format yet but check it out on Monday and tell me what you think.

Airport Observations

An airport is a wonderful way to study what is really quite awful about the human condition and last week, I found myself at Bush Intercontinental in Houston for a two hour layover. My observations:

1. We are fat. Not phat. FAT. As a nation. What the hell is wrong with us? Why do we think it is okay to consume massive portions of food, washed down with giant-sized sodas and then call for a wheelchair to assist us to the airport gate because we are too large to walk comfortably?

2. Spandex is a material that should only be worn in the privacy of one's home or by people in exceptional physical shape. I understand the need to be comfortable on the plane because nothing is more wretched than inflight flatulence caused by constrictive clothing but the line has to be drawn at spandex. It is not flattering. It's like witnessing a sausage bursting from its casing? Seriously, we all have stretch marks from our babies but do you really want the guy sitting next to you to see them through your clothing?

3. Bathing before traveling is apparently optional. I was in a restaurant eating my lunch when the hostess sat a married couple two seats down from me. As they passed by on the way to their table, I caught a whiff of something foul but figured one of them had just passed gas. Within a minute, it became evident that the smell was not a temporary thing and it was coming from the man, who was at least ten feet away. He smelled like poo. It was awful. I sent a little prayer to the heavens and politely asked that this man not be the one sitting next to me on my flight.

4. Speaking of odoriferous things, if you ever spot me in an airport and we are on the same flight, you might want to make sure that you are seated several rows away. Oh don't get me wrong, I smell delightful but apparently, I am a fart magnet. It is rare that I travel that I am not seated within the nose detecting vicinity of someone who is rotting from the inside out. It's been bad enough to make my eyes water. Where exactly do they think that their vapours go? It is a plane. With finite space.

5. It's been seven years since terrorism changed air travel forever. Quart-sized baggie for your liquids (3oz and under), no lighters and for Pete's sake, empty your bloody pockets of loose change. You bonehead. While going through airport security is most definitely time consuming and tedious, it is a necessary evil and giving TSA a hard time about procedures that have been in place FOR YEARS and sighing dramatically as you are made to remove your shoes and your belt JUST PISSES THE REST OF US OFF! Right then, moving on...

I am fortunate that frequent travel is a thing of my past because somewhere along the way, I lost my personality and it stopped being fun. Now, it is kind of like what I imagine a prison sentence to be in that you are stuffed into a cramped space and managing the passage of time with a bunk mate who snores.

Thank goodness for iPods, sudoku and tabloid magazines. They help to take your mind off the child behind you kicking your seat until your teeth ring.

Viva Las Vegas

What can I say about Las Vegas that hasn't already been written?

It is bright lights and performance on an unimaginably grand scale. It is hookers and junkies and all night buffets. It is surgically enhanced breasts, one arm bandits and celebrity sightings. It is trade shows, displaced New York cabbies and endless tour busses. It is the personification of excess in the human condition soaked in alcohol and with a wallet full of cash. A weekend trip is a little slice of naughty. A full seven days is like having an ice pick jammed into your brain.

Our team stayed at the Bellagio and when we first made these reservations, I was excited. I've had the opportunity to bunk at several different Las Vegas properties but I had heard that the Bellagio was pretty swank and I was looking forward to the luxury.

Perhaps my multitude of trips over to the Orient has spoiled me but I felt the Bellagio was just okay. I got to my room and was THRILLED with the bathroom. It was large enough in which to host a cocktail party and had one of those lighted magnifying mirrors for the terminally middle aged. The bathrobes were thick and luxurious, bedding was lovely and mini bar was stocked should I lose my mind and choose to indulge in an $8 bottle of Fiji water.

I hooked up my computer and clicked on my browser, expecting to get the usual message about internet fees, blah, blah, blah but nothing happened. Hmm. Strange. So, I called down to the main desk to inquire as to what I was doing wrong.

"We aren't wired for WiFi ma'am." (Five Star hotel? In 2008?)

"Uh, okay. Where is the ethernet cord kept?"

"We have one available for purchase through your mini bar. It's in the basket with the chocolates and our world famous Bellagio chips. It's $13.99 but be careful ma'am. The items are hooked into a sensor and if you take it out of the basket, you are automatically charged." (Of course.)

Reluctantly, I purchased the cord and was sorely disappointed to find that it was not dipped in platinum and encrusted with diamonds.

And somewhere in the visit, my "Do Not Disturb" sign disappeared, never to return. This would have been fine except that one evening, I went to bed before midnight.

The night before, I'd had a thousand cocktails, a few nasty cigarettes and settled into bed for a mere two and a half hour snooze before my alarm went off. I got up, had a shower, started a caffeine IV and stood on my feet all day. I had the kind of headache that cannot be managed with water and ibuprofen. I needed sleep. So that night, when the rest of the team went out for dinner and cocktails, I declined and dragged my sorry ass back to the hotel room. I had a shower, brushed my teeth and slid gratefully into dreamland....

Until 10:40 pm when housekeeping banged on the door in an attempt to turn my bed down. I staggered up, threw on a robe and opened the door but she had already moved on to the next room after finding my security lock engaged. When she came out, I asked her for another "Do Not Disturb" sign and was told she would take care of that for me. I never got another one. And my clock was never changed to the correct time after daylight savings ended. And one ceiling light was burnt out and never replaced. And there was no shower gel. And the chocolates that they left during the turn down service tasted like Hershey's (yuck). And there was no pen with the stationary set. And the bathroom scale lied.

The one really great event of the week was attending Cirque du Soleil's show, "O", which was playing at the Bellagio's theatre. I'm at a loss to describe how fantastic this was. The Cirque du Soleil organization has the uncanny ability to stimulate every single sense during one of their performances. I have been fortunate enough to attend shows in San Diego and Florida and they never cease to amaze me. They are worth the steep ticket price.

So, aside from the show, I wasn't much impressed with the Bellagio even though David Duchovny was apparently laying his head down under the same roof. Paris Hilton showed her face, which did nothing for me but sent a shiver through the crowd. Next time, I'm likely to stay at the MGM or try to convince my boss to pony up a few more bucks and house us at the Wynn.

As I was preparing to leave my room for the last time, I took both door keys and laid them on the small table beside the bed like I always do. I opened all of the drawers and closets and did a sweep of the bathroom to be sure that I hadn't left anything behind. As I muscled my bulging suitcase out into the hallway, I caught sight of my $14 ethernet cord hanging from the desk as the door swung shut.

Viva Las Vegas.

Taking the Girls For a Walk

In Mexico, I learned that there are certain truths that cannot be adulterated. For instance, if one consumes an extra 10,000 calories a day in the form of Pina Coladas, Dos Equis or Mojitos, one cannot swim enough laps to stave off the extra poundage or the hang over that sets in somewhere shortly after lunch.

On the other hand, modern science has taken the truths of physical law, namely gravity, and made a mockery of them. In the weeks leading up to our honeymoon, I had floated the idea that I might take advantage of the more liberal sun bathing options in Mexico. I spoke with my mother in law about it and she said, "How do you think that will work for you?"

Good question.

Sashaying my dimpled ass down the beach is one thing. Shedding my bathing suit top while ambling down said beach is something else entirely. I took a moment and pictured what that might look like. Do you remember the old National Geographic pictorials documenting obscure African tribeswomen. Remember how their boobs looked?

Yeah.

I quickly decided that since no such thing as an invisible wonder bra exists, I might be better off getting a bit of sun on the girls whilst lying prone. After all, we all look the same lying down, right?

Um, wrong again.

Implants. They defy gravity. They languidly flip the bird at Mother Nature and tell her to take her DNA and her ageism and go pound sand.

Dallas and I were out on the beach one day, partially shaded under our palapa when I happened to look over to our left. There, lying on one of the couples beach beds was a raven haired goddess in the tiniest black thong...AND NOTHING ELSE. She was on her side deep in discussion with her husband and thus, we had only a view of her bare back. How brave. Good for her. She must be European, I thought.

And then she turned over onto her back.

I gasped. Right there on a petite, delicate frame was a ginormous set of silicone boobs. They were not Pam Anderson large but they were big enough to begin the migration, each in an opposite direction, that you see when a teeny tiny girl gets a set of double D's. I was horribly fascinated. When she was lying down, they pointed straight up. When she stood up, it wasn't all that pretty, either. Dallas said they looked like a drawstring pouch on the end of a stick. Ouch. If they had been just a cup size smaller, they could have been beautiful. But no matter. The girl was clearly confident and delighted with her stature as evidenced by her repeated efforts to be noticed. She stood and walked around, she lay down, she sat up to sip her drink and all the while, her girls were soaking up the rays unhindered by a bikini top. Again, I couldn't help but admire her lack of inhibition. YOU GO GIRL!

So, emboldened by my neighbour to the left, I lay back on our beach bed and set my girls free....

...which was liberating and fabulous and oh so cosmopolitan until I woke up the next morning with toasty tatas. I posted a blog once about men and how they unconsciously adjust and scratch their appendages. Well, NOW I UNDERSTAND and sympathize with the urge. The day after taking my girls for a walk, I found myself repositioning them in their holsters and scratching like a dog with fleas.

The sunburn was unpleasant but I have been known to wear five inch heels so obviously, discomfort doesn't faze me. The girls made a few more public appearances and I am now a woman with a fabulous tan and boobs that no longer glow in the dark.

It's the Small Things

Well, I am home from China and back in the office. And I know that I have been neglecting you internet. I am aware that my posts have been random and scattered like bird shit on a Chevy. I will try to do better. Really. So you can stop sending me hate mail, okay?

My trip was productive. The thing about trade shows is that you either love them or hate them. Guess how I feel? Unfortunately, they are a necessary evil. So, being the glass half full gal that I am, I chose to focus on those things that made me laugh.

Take the medical supplies portion of the fair. I walked into the hall and booth after booth presented an array of products from stone massage slippers to portable blood pressure devices. There wasn't much that made me chuckle, until this:


Now I know that you are looking at this picture and wondering what in the world I might find funny. Look closely. This was a medical devices booth. They were peddling everything from ventilators to blood glucose strips. See it now? Maybe this will help:

Yep. Those would be COFFINS!! And cremation urns on the back shelf. Talk about a one-stop shop. Heck, if they can't cure you, they're happy to help dispose of your diseased arse. With a completely straight face, I had one enthusiastic sales rep extol the virtues of the latest and greatest "earth friendly" version: cardboard. (far right of the picture..the water bottle is a nice touch)

"Very popular", he said. Yeah, I'll bet.

Later on that day, we had to make our way back to Hong Kong via the train. I LOVE taking the train. It's comfortable, equipped with toilets that have seats and refreshments are served. The absolute best part is the waiting area where everyone has to congregate before boarding. It is here that I plug in my iPod and unabashedly stare watch people from all over the world. I've already gone on about how differently European men dress from Americans. If they were all to land on US soil tomorrow, the gay men in this country would be in an uproar because metrosexual Europeans jam the gaydar, especially when they wear capri pants. What I admire most, though, is that no matter how eclectic the dress, European boys have got some serious style.

Unlike this poor woman who was either blind or in serious need of a mirror.

Excuse me ma'am. Where did you say you parked your broom?

The last night that I was in Hong Kong, my friends took me to eat in a district known for fresh seafood. All of the restaurants are fairly similar in price and offerings so the second that we got out of the taxi, we were approached by numerous people trying to lure us into their restaurants. We walked through narrow alleyways that were lined with fish tanks. The ground was soaking wet and the air was pungent with the scent of the sea. Everywhere I looked, I saw these:

It's a Geoduck Clam. My friends called it an Elephant Nose. I'm sure it's tasty but I just couldn't get my head around the appearance. Just another phallic looking treat from the ocean to keep the sea cucumber company. Every time I look at that picture, I giggle.

So now that the glow of international travel has faded, it's the small absurdities that help to make it all tolerable. I suppose I'm fortunate that my mind is a giant junk yard because everyday, while sifting through the garbage, I usually find a treasure or two and who can really ask for more?

Brother Can You Spare Some Floss?

After four planes, two cars, a train and nearly 36 hours, I am now in my hotel room in Guangzhou, China. I am beyond tired.

I'm usually in China a couple of times a year and for some reason certain truths have been revealed to me on this trip.

First, when it comes to queues, I should never be given the opportunity to choose in which line to stand. I am a lousy line picker. Always. Today, we were entering China from Hong Kong via the train station and I got behind this enormous black man in a white, silky, ankle length shirt who had a fez on his head. He was regal, quiet and respectful but his luggage was covered in airport stickers from Algeria. Apparently, North African countries now give everyone pause. There seemed to be some problem with his passport and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, even though I stood behind him while TEN others in the queue beside me sailed through their customs check. I finally got my face time with MY official and she looked at me, looked at my passport, arched her eyebrows, looked at me, looked back at the passport and chuckled. I wanted to scream, "Yeah, I know my picture looks like Helga, the cleaning woman, with large ankles, from some Eastern European country." But I didn't.

Second, there is something wrong with the way that we are running our airlines in North America. Uh, DUH! Right? I had some upgrades in my account and boosted to first class on my three hour flight from Dallas to LAX. I was hoping to catch a few winks but it wasn't meant to be. No footrest, minimal recline and my blanket had gobs of someone else's hair threaded through it. I declined the offer of a pillow because people DROOL on pillows. I was served water in a real glass (bonus) along with nuts that had been microwaved until they were radioactive (possible carcinogen?) but then, the flight attendant disappeared. And that is considered service. Hmmm...

On my hour and a half flight from Taipei to Hong Kong, I was in business class. There, the flight attendant stowed my backpack, offered me a warm washcloth, presented a menu from which I was to choose a light breakfast. The coffee didn't taste like it came from the McDonald's drive thru and it was served in a china cup. The flight attendants smiled. They collected your tray almost as soon as you'd lain your fork down for the last time. Did I mention that they smiled?

Finally, I forget stuff. When I travel, I either don't remember to pack something vital or I leave a little tidbit behind at the destination. Every time. Without fail. This time, I remembered a belt and my jewelry but I forgot floss and my runners. I've tried packing with a list, preparing the night before, waiting for the morning of and nothing works. I forget stuff. I've left a necklace at my gram's, a jacket at my brother's, my CAR KEYS and planner at my cousin's, dry cleaning in India, a crappy watch in Germany and a wireless mouse, fifty dollar shampoo and numerous books in China. In fact I have purchased, "Love in the Time of Cholera", FOUR times. Today, I still am not in possession of this book and I have yet to finish the bloody thing.

Oh, here's one more thing of note. It's typhoon season here. We're expecting one on Sunday.

Of course.

I've already experienced a typhoon in China so I'm not terribly concerned. I just don't want to have to pack and leave in a hurry because you just never know what I'll leave behind this time.

Gratitude

There is nothing like international travel to make me profoundly grateful. On the one hand, I am so thankful to have a career which enables me to experience things like the Taj Majal and the Great Wall of China. On the other, I am always glad to be home and I never fail to feel fortunate to be able to queue up in the "Citizens/Resident" line in customs. Why? Well, for starters, I love our toilets.

I know how off the wall that sounds but once you have been forced to use one of the Chinese numbers, you will never again take our little slice of heaven for granted. We have seats...to sit on. We are also usually provided with at least a square of toilet paper, soap and running hot water. Unless one is a total imbecile, it is likely that she will be able to use the toilet without peeing on her pants. In China, the dominant potty is a hole in the ground. They may line it with porcelin replete with fancy foot marks to show you where to stand but there is just no getting over the feeling that you're back in university squatting behind the bushes after a night at the pub. You are not provided with toilet paper and the running water is cold. Soap? Forget about it. Oh, and there is this one special thing about traditional Chinese toilets. You cannot put any TP down them. Instead you are required to dispose of your paper in a nearby trash can. You can smell a toilet long before you locate it. I didn't snap any pictures myself but here is one that I found on the web.

My question is, what do the elderly, with their osteoporosis and their arthritic joints, do? The Chinese drink A LOT of tea.....

This trip marked my first as a blogger and thus, I was surprised to find that I was unable to view my own blog while in China. I could post to it but I was unable to see it. I did a bit of research and learned that the "Great Firewall of China" is in place. It seems as though the popularity of the blogosphere (and the unrestricted exchange of ideas) poses a unique issue for the Chinese government so they have closed off most of those channels. Apparently, you can get around this censorship with paid proxy services but it still had me shaking my head. Again, I found myself acknowledging how fortunate I am to live in a place that values freedom of speech, in spite of the current administration's efforts to erode it.

Oh, there is so much more:

• -I love the fact that we have gobs of space. Our homes and vehicles are massive by Chinese standards. Of course, so are our waistlines and rear ends so I suppose it's all relative.
• -I love that my children get thirteen years of free education. In China, there is no such thing as public school.
• -I'm grateful that I am expected to work only five days a week instead of six or six and a half.
• -I am allowed to have as many children as I like. In China, a couple that chooses to have more than one child is financially penalized through various means.

I could go on forever but I'm sure some of you are already nodding off. Let it suffice to say that I'm aware of how lucky I am to live on this side of the globe.

The Fat Lady Sang

Well, it's finally over. I just landed in Taipei and in forty minutes or so, I'll be boarding the plane back to Los Angeles.

I am always a bit sentimental on my way home and one of my friends in Hong Kong sort of summed it up. She said I have one foot in Canada and one foot in the States but my heart is in Asia. I think that is probably true and under different circumstances, I might have chosen to move to the Far East. Not now, though. Besides the effects that such a move would have on my children, I can't imagine breathing that air for the rest of my life.

For some reason, the pollution seemed to be worse or perhaps I was just more aware. I traveled all over the eastern seaboard this trip and I did not experience ONE clear day. At eight o'clock in the morning, it was still dark enough to require lights on in the hotel room. The outdoor plants had a visible layer of grime on them. Besides the burning of coal for electricity, the emergence of the middle class, with their new found affluence has led to record auto sales and staggering traffic congestion. Carbon emissions are way up and the predicted results are noticeable. It's heartbreaking, really.

On a positive note, things went well at the fair. Trade shows are just a giant pain the the arse but this one is so well organized that you can focus on a single section and get heaps accomplished with limited time.

The naughtiest subtext during the show was boy watching. Again, I don't understand why I have never noticed before but WOW! European men dress distinctly differently than Americans. They tend to be more daring and their clothes always look tailored. One disturbing trend that I witnessed was capri pants....for men. Look, I know that they are comfortable. I've got a closet full of them and they are so convenient when one is trying to manage warmer temperatures but there is just no way to make those things masculine. In an understated, quiet, sucker punch kind of way, capri pants are flamboyant. You can put camo all over those bad boys and they're still going to look like they belong in Boy George's drawer.

On a weird note: I am some kind of freak Turkish man magnet. I'm not sure what the draw is (fat ass, perhaps) but I was approached several times and the conversation never varied much.

"Hello. Where are you from?" Usually asked while standing side by side in the booth, perusing aphrodisiacs like steak knives and vinyl flooring.

"US."

"Ah...American." Said with a knowing tone and a little nod which inexplicably made me feel like he might be friendly with some of the skeletons in my closet.

At this point, I usually smiled and tried to move away. In response, he would ask me where I was staying in Guangzhou and inquire whether I might like to meet later. I have never been to Turkey and I cannot talk intelligently about the culture. The one opinion I heard was from an old Greek roommate of mine and I would not characterize her opinion of the Turkish population as unbiased. Apparently, the whole Cypress issue is still raw. In any case, I declined the invitations because I was busy....getting massages...after work.
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I got called to board my plane before I could post so now I am in Los Angeles overnight. As we descended, you could see how the city was blanketed in ash from the fires. It's been devastating, especially for San Diego County. I spoke with one of my best friends who lives in La Mesa and she sent a few pics that I'll post over the next couple of days. I just hope that this disaster is handled better than some of the others the nation has faced over the past couple of years. In the shuttle on the way over to the hotel, we experienced a light sprinkle. I've never seen it rain BLACK before. Eerie.

Hangzhou the Beautiful

Hangzhou has been lovely but exhausting. The first day, we did not go on our marathon car ride. Instead, we checked into the Shangri-La (De da) and then met with one of our suppliers. Later on, we went for a boat ride on the famous West Lake.

The streets are immaculate and there is manicured landscaping everywhere , which is normal for Chinese cities but Hangzhou stands out as among the most impressive.

This lake sits right across from our hotel and was originally a small sea inlet. Then some emperor decided to dump a bunch of silt and presto, a lake was formed. Kazelles, one of my work friends, was concerned about getting in the boat because she doesn't swim. She had nothing to be concerned about, though. The average depth of the lake is only around five feet.

After the canoe ride, we took a cab to this great market in the heart of the city. Hangzhou is famous for its silk and its Longjing cha (Dragon Well tea) and this market is known for the quality of its handmade goods.

I managed to get tea, some unique verbena incense and this incredible handmade replica of an old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. It's wrapped and packed away but I'll snap a picture of it once I'm home. It's a nifty conversation piece.

Today was the day that we had to make the four hour trek out to the factory. I was pleasantly surprised. Yangzhou is a busy, thriving city and not at all what I expected. Our factory contacts were gracious hosts and lunch was actually quite good. No heads, feet or fins to be seen. Afterward, we quickly toured the place and drove another TWO hours to a second factory. Again, the people were great. I learned all about toothpaste production and the unexpected plus at this place was that it smelled really good.

Then, we climbed back into the car, got lost for and hour and then spent another two traveling back to the hotel. Early tomorrow morning, we are flying back to Guangzhou for the second half of the Canton Fair. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. That is, I could see a light until I spoke with the president of my company. Apparently, we've got quality issues with some of our product in California so it looks like I'm going to have to rearrange my schedule to make a pit stop in Santa Barbara on my way home.

Sometimes it feels like it never ends.

Beijing

I love Beijing. We landed here Saturday night and it was like coming home. I could easily live here. With the evergreens and the mountains, it reminds me of Canada. The last time I was here was in the winter and I had forgotten how the cold, sharp air can make your lungs sing. This time, Beijing is in the first stirrings of fall and it is beautiful in spite of the smog, which is worse than Los Angeles.

Before heading out to our factory, I got up early yesterday morning and took a cab out to the only Harley dealership in mainland China. I'm pleased to share that the biker spirit is alive and kicking in Asia. I had a nice chat with the general manager who took me outside and showed me his bike. He rides an '07 Electra Glide Ultra Classic. It was a gorgeous cherry red and he had added a bunch of accessories. Even though he had changed out his pipes, Beijing noise laws had prevented him from being able to put on real rumblers. I showed him pictures of my bikes and we bonded. I ended up buying a couple of shirts and a new leather jacket from them. He was kind enough to give me a discount. Bonus.



From there, we went to the factory and had a very productive meeting. Of course, we had lunch and since they know that I like spicy food, they had the restaurant make me a special fish dish. I'm not sure that I have an esophagus left. It made my eyes water and I could have lit a cigarette with my breath.


Those black things are whole peppercorns and the red bits are dried chili peppers. This, not vitamin C, is how you kill viruses.

Anyway, we're at the airport now and off to Hangzhou where I will suffer through four miserable hours driving out to a factory, where they have probably never seen a "gui lo" (Chinese slur for caucasians). I can't bear to think what lunch might be like. Shudder. I raided the cracker and cookie bin in the airport lounge just in case. Then, we will turn around and drive four hours back. I'm charging my iPod and downloading Grey's Anatomy episodes as I write this.

Hopefully, we will get back to the hotel early enough to take a walk. Hangzhou is one of my most favourite cities in China. I'll post photos so you can see why.

I Heard It Was Great....

Last night after dinner, we went back to the hotel and decided to indulge in a massage. It is one of my most favourite things about Guangzhou. For less than $20, you get about two hours of pure bliss.

It all begins with half an hour on the shoulders, back and neck. I have found that the masseuse has been trained to respond to the client's needs in regard to pressure and strength. I have never had to tell them to be more gentle or more aggressive. They just seem to know and adjust intuitively.

Next, comes the foot massage. For at least an hour, your feet and lower legs are bathed, oiled and massaged. I cannot adequately describe how good this is. Most of the time, we will get the pedicure guy to come in. It's not the type of pedicure that we are used to in North America. Nope. This guy arrives with a straight razor, a pumice stone and a stool. He trims your toenails and shaves off any rough areas on the bottom of your feet. There are no ragged edges and I am always in awe of how good my feet look after he is finished.

Finally, during the last half an hour, you are treated to a hot neck roll and a full arm and leg massage. I usually put my iPod on and relax through out the process. Last night, after the neck and back massage, I put the tunes on and fell asleep. I woke up thirsty, feeling like a rag doll and with feet that looked fantastic. I asked if pedicure man had been in and was told that I slept through the whole thing.

Wow. That's some kind of jet lag.

Jet Lag in Guangzhou

My sweet son, Dylan, called me today. I'm sure he didn't give it another thought since it was 3pm his time but my cell rang at four this morning jolting me out of a REALLY good dream. It's been a strange deal so far because I'm sleeping like I used to in university...you know, BC...before children.

My kids both think that it is absolutely astounding that it can be Friday for me and Thursday for them. They liken it to some sort of sci-fi time traveler thing and thus, every conversation opens with the same dialogue:

"Hi Mama. What day is it over there?"

Before taking this trip, I went to Sam's and invested in some new luggage. I am extremely hard on my suitcases and I usually have to replace them once a year so when I saw "10 year guarantee" written all over the packaging, I chose Ricardo of Beverly Hills instead of Samsonite. The stuff didn't even make it one leg of the trip. The handle on the large suitcase is defective so that if I want to stow it, I have to unzip the case, reach in and feel around for the magic nodule. I press this and the handle goes down. Then to get it back up, I must unzip again, reach further down and depress yet another enchanted button. Let me tell you how much fun this was today as I hauled my luggage around an impossibly crowded train station. Besides the fact that my feminine protection leapt out of the bag every time I had to make an adjustment, the embarrassment factor was topped only by my panties who apparently wanted in on the action and made an appearance or two, as well.

We made it into Guangzhou around ten in the morning. After checking into the hotel, we grabbed a quick bite and then spent the next six hours at the fair going from booth to booth. It was a productive day and we'll be back at it again tomorrow morning before flying out to Beijing in the afternoon.

We're just now headed out to my favourite Chinese seafood restaurant where I will chow on lobster and politely try to avoid the sea cucumber. I can't wait to crawl into bed tonight.

Hong Kong, I Love You

Well, I arrived into Hong Kong without issue. The best part of the trip occurred after getting off of the plane. My luggage was the first to pop out onto the carousel, which had me looking around for Alan Funt and his Candid Camera. Then, there were no lines in customs and I got through in about five minutes. To top everything off, my limo driver was waiting for me in arrivals.

Bottom line: I was in bed at my hotel within an hour of landing, which is impossible.

At 2:30 pm, a real, live person called me to wake me up. "Goddess, it's time to open your eyes." Well, he may not have said that exactly but you get the point. After a shower, I went across the street to our Asian office. The good news is that my friend, TC, had to go to a corporate dinner which meant I was free until the evening. So, I went shopping.

The first stop was the Harley-Davidson boutique in Tsim Tsa Tsui. It was the size of a postage stamp and just as overpriced as the stuff is at home. Of course, I had to buy some shirts because they have Hong Kong embroidered on them. Hopefully, the Beijing store will be better.The mall is located beside the Ocean Centre and it is massive. Everybody had some retail space in there. Jimmy Choo, Versace, Valentino, Jill Stuart and a fabulous Donna Karan couture shop were represented. For a mere $3800 US, I could have been the proud owner of a DK cashmere mumu. I passed on the tent but my Visa took a beating anyway.

I walked back to my hotel and stopped for dinner at a placed called Sticky Fingers. The name is wretched but they have great curry and since I knew that the next several days would be exclusively Chinese fare, I was thrilled to have my face burned off by some of the best Indian food outside of Jaipur. While I was dining, a man at the bar sent me a drink, which was unexpected but I was enjoying the solo, iPod mood and besides, I had to leave to meet TC. Must be the damn pheremones, again.

If today is any indication of how this trip is going to go, I'm feeling pretty fortunate. Tomorrow we're off to Guangzhou and the Canton Fair which is like the NYC subway during rush hour. After a few days, I fully expect to be muttering to myself like Rainman.

Now Where Did I Put My Valium...

I woke up this morning with the familiar anxiety that I experience every single time I have to fly overseas. You would think that after years of travel, I would have this mastered but I don't. Instead, on the day that I am to take off, I find myself running the most ridiculous errands.

• GO TO SAM'S CLUB AND BUY NEW LUGGAGE. Look, I know that I would have been better served doing this yesterday but I had my final appointment with Dr. Sexy Metro Boy (sigh). Following that, I had the lousy idea of registering my new car and the two motorcycles since all of my temporary plates would expire before I got home. That process took me a mere three hours to complete and my left eyelid is still twitching from the experience.
• GO TO BANK AND TAKE OUT EMERGENCY FUNDS FOR NANNY. I don't know why I do this because invariably, the money is spent on pizza or fast food and it makes me a little crazy. I have encouraged trips to the grocery store but apparently, organic is spelled C-h-e-f- B-o-y-a-r-d-e-e.
• CALL AT&T AND HAVE INTERNATIONAL PLAN ADDED TO IPHONE. I have read different things on the net about how lame the international plan is but I have yet to experience the oxymoron that is AT&T's customer service. Is it any wonder I have procrastinated? Stay tuned.
• GO TO OFFICE. GET FILES. PRINT BOARDING PASS. TRY TO BE INVISIBLE. As usual, I have forgotten files in my office that I absolutely need on this trip. I would be better served tattooing "kick me" on my forehead and then parking myself behind a mule.
• BUY GIFTS FOR MY FRIENDS IN HONG KONG. This causes me more stress than just about anything. These people live in one of the best shopping meccas on the planet so finding something unique that suits their personalities is always a challenge. When you combine this with the fact that most American consumer products are made in, well... ASIA.... you see my difficulty.

So, I'm stressed out. Whatever. I understand that this is completely self-induced and could have been avoided if I had been more organized. Blah, blah, blah. Late this afternoon, whether I am prepared or not, I'll be driving like a maniac in an effort not to miss my plane to Los Angeles. While you are sleeping tonight, I'll be flying over the Pacific trying to control the urge to smother the guy next to me who invariably, will be snoring louder than a freight train. Ambien, anyone?

The Orient Express

Next week, I fly to China and for nearly two weeks, I'll be shuffling around from one hotel to another. Don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. It's just that I've been to Asia fifteen times in the last four years and there are only so many culinary challenges that I can accept and still smile about it.

Shark Fin Soup? The broth is savoury and delicious but the fin (yes, the actual fin) is like trying to swallow overcooked Ramen noodles with a thick coating of tapioca. The fin doesn't slide effortlessly down the throat. You can swallow, repeatedly, with water, with beer, with anything wet and you will still feel a strand spanning the distance from your mouth to your belly. It's very expensive and considered a delicacy so every factory owner who is trying to impress will order buckets of the stuff. My eyes water and my stomach involuntarily heaves at the sight of it.

Snake? Ooooh, sign me up! In spite of the fact that it's believed to be a male aphrodisiac (what isn't?) and guaranteed to enhanced male virility, I figured it couldn't do any harm. Throw it in a stew or make a soup and presto! Viagra on a spoon. Tastes like chicken (what doesn't?).

Suckling Pig with Crispy Skin? There is something disconcerting about having your food stare back at you while you are eating your meal. Over the years, I've asked that heads and tails be removed from my food because I'm a Westerner, damn it! I don't want to be reminded that until recently, Wilbur and Charlotte were alive and frolicking in the barn.

(photo courtesy of Philadelphia City paper- www.citypaper.net)

The final one is Sea Cucumber. Like all of the others, this was once served to me in a gelatinous brown sauce. I was told that it was yet another aphrodisiac. Is it any wonder there are over a billion Chinese on the planet? With all of these seducing agents, how does any work gets done in the Orient?

Anyway, this dish was presented to me and I was encouraged to sample. It's distinctly phallic in appearance, tasteless and has a texture that makes you gag the second it comes in contact with your tongue. Yes, I know that I am leaving myself wide open for comment, but you have to experience this stuff for yourself. There is just no other way to describe it. Look:



See, I don't make this crap up.

So, next week I'll head over again. In the course of twelve days, I will meet with about eleven factories. Delicacies and aphrodisiacs will abound. I'll smile politely while nibbling on minced pig's ears and pray that I survive the latest gastronomical assault.

New York: The Final Chapter

Cafe Wha? was a blast and we stayed out very late so the next morning, (at the bloody crack of dawn), we looked like three sacks of crap when we met Sean at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Actually my cousins looked pretty good. I looked like my father and I will NEVER wear orange again.
Cindi was perturbed with what she referred to as the "hair show". Being that Jennie and I actually possessed follicles that required more work than a towel, we could understand her frustration at having to wait on us but at the end of the day, we politely told her to go pound sand. Let's face it. She had people looking for an autograph the night before and I'd have bet my last nickel that one or two of the groupies at Cafe Wha? rushed right over to their stylists to have their hair shorn the same way. Jennie and I have our grandmother's ass. We needed hair.

But I digress...

The Met was fabulous and Sean had tried to arrange a private tour. Unfortunately, his friend at the museum had another engagement but she left Sean with our admission buttons. We weaved through a fantastic stained glass exhibit which conveniently ended at the cafe where one could enjoy great, aromatic wafts of the worst coffee I've ever consumed. We then moved on to an Egyptian show which included hieroglyphics, mummies and sarcophagi (sarcophaguses for those who say fishes, not fish) or you could just say esophagus and be the biggest loser on the planet.
The final exhibit was Medieval articles of warfare. I tried very, very hard to appear enthusiastic but I would rather have had Sean take one of the gazillion swords or daggers (each with its own long and detailed history) and PUT MY EYES OUT. There is just so much chain mail and war headdresses that a person can take.

After the museum, we said good bye to Sean and went back to Times Square to queue up for the cheap Broadway tickets. We ended up securing three really good seats for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels that night. I wasn't terribly enthused because my heart had been set on Wicked but we were not disappointed. Luci Arnez was in the cast, which was kind of neat but the two lead actors were spectacular and totally irreverent. I had forgotten that Broadway was a little like HBO (no censors) only in 3D. We had a riot.

The next day we were leaving. Cindi and I had later flights in the afternoon. Poor Jen, being at the mercy of Air Canada Aeroplan miles was forced to leave around lunchtime. We decided to have breakfast in Central Park at Tavern on the Green. Jennifer thought that this might be her best chance to run into Regis Philbin since he apparently eats there frequently. Well, we didn't see a single celebrity because they hole them up in private rooms so that crazy people like us don't harass them for autographs. But we did get to see the outdoor garden and it was magnificent (lousy photography, though).
Back at the hotel, we helped Jennifer to pack her things and the conversation centered on the fact that we had not seen a single celebrity. I couldn't understand it. I've had a spotting on every single trip to New York. There have been easy ones like Sarah Jessica filming in Central Park but there has also been Tom Cruise outside of Barney's, Charo and her lips (time has not been especially kind) and this supermodel whose name I can never remember in the hotel elevator at the W hotel in Times Square. But alas, this time we had nothing- not even a "C" lister who ended up on a reality show losing weight.

We took Jennifer's bags down and waited on the street with her while the doorman hailed her a cab. There was this nondescript guy with a backpack and a ballcap waiting as well. The doorman leaned over an whispered that the dude was Spiderman.

"Tobey Maguire?"

"The very same. He just got married and was here wrapping up the latest Spiderman movie." And so it was. He turned and we got a clear view of his face. And all this time, he had been staying at the same hotel. Spidey in the flesh. All three of us have young boys who were going to be completely impressed with this information.

"Married? I thought he was gay." Oops. Got him confused with Elijah Wood.

Well, it didn't matter to Cindi and Jennifer. Both of them stared, wide-eyed and watched his every move. I'm not sure they blinked. Tobey's car came (we're on a first name basis) and just like that, Spidey was gone.

Jenny left a few minutes later with much hugging and a few tears. Cins and I then took off to Filene's Basement where we spent an obscene amount of money and had to rush back to the hotel to pack, check out and get to the airport.

So that was New York. There is much, much more to do and we have vowed to return. I have asked that we plan it around Jimmy Choo's annual sale. Jennifer doesn't care when we go as long as we get tickets to Regis and Kelly. Cindi thought that maybe we should call our cousin Michael and get him tohelp us plan our next trip.

We loved New York.