She looked so normal. I mean, no crystal ball or turban or creepy, unidentifiable accent. Just, well, normal. But she was about to read the tarot cards for our beloved leader, Simon Cox, do a little light palmistry, and then identify his inner animal spirit guides. Fantastic!
Our trusty director of photography, Joel, was doing his best to get some good shots in Krista’s comfy, but small alcove off the Bodhi Tree Bookstore in Los Angeles. I was helping. (Really, I was. I had a clipboard and everything.) As Simon continues his investigation into why we believe, we were there to find out more about people who look to psychics and card reading for guidance.
And then, with no fanfare whatsoever, she began dealing the cards and talking. It was fascinating to watch because she wasn’t making a big deal of anything or asking Simon any leading questions. She was just kind of calling it as she saw it. No big revelations, but certainly some valid insights into Simon’s personality.
The palmistry was fun because it was determined that Simon’s lifeline runs right off his hand. Yes, you read it here first. Simon Cox is immortal. But the best part was the whole animal spirit guide thing. If you are a fan of this set of cards, I apologize in advance for my rudimentary understanding of how it is supposed to work. What I did understand is that the dog, wolf, badger, and wild boar all represent aspects of Simon’s personality at different times in his life. And as Krista expounded on the traits that go along with those animals, it seemed to me to be remarkably accurate description of Simon.
As we were leaving she mentioned that one of the cards dealt had to do with building and was often associated with Freemasonry. We all had to smile since Simon’s next book will be the companion book for Dan Brown’s “Lost Symbol,” which many people believe will explore the secret society of Freemasonry.
Just a coincidence, right?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Red Lights, White Mailboxes, and Little Green Men
So a few weeks ago we were on the road to Area 51. Five people, camera gear, luggage, and a substantial bag o’ snacks crammed into a Cadillac Escalade with flames painted on each side. We rocketed north out Los Angeles towards the far side of Vegas – a seemingly endless swath of dust, cacti, and occasional bomb craters officially known as the Nellis Air Force Base Test and Training Ranges.
We’ve all known each other for a while – years even – but this was our first road trip together. I was in the backseat, in the middle. The spot I fondly remember from my youth as the “hump seat” due to the lump in the floorboard caused by the driveshaft running underneath the family car. Modern technology has smoothed out the floors of today’s vehicles, so that wasn’t an issue. But the feeling that my siblings were going to start flicking me in the back of the head at any minute never quite went away.
With nothing of particular interest speeding past our windows, we were a captive audience for Ace and Simon, who declared themselves the trip DJs and began to “educate” the rest of us. Two bigger music fans I have never met. Their depth of knowledge and range of musical taste was astounding and a little bit frightening. Both have been band tour managers so there wasn’t just running commentary about the music, there was info on the band members, producers, record labels, groupies, and all sorts of random minutia.
Soon, mercifully, they were so busy entertaining each other that they forgot about those of us in the backseat. Joel (DP), Jen (Exec Prod), and I chatted about nothing in particular, although there was a delightful interlude during which we described our favorite Dairy Queen treats. Good times.
We were off to shoot our first series for Simon Cox Investigates – “Little Green Men and Other Strange Beliefs.” Along the way we shopped at the Alien Beef Jerky store in Baker, traveled the Extra Terrestrial Highwa
y, marveled at the giant metal man in front of the Alien Research Center, chatted with the locals at the Little A’Le’Inn, and watched the night skies near the legendary Black Mailbox (now painted white). It seemed like the little red lights on our cameras were always lit and it was great.
Before we said our farewells to Rachel, Nevada, and the surrounding area, we interviewed the owner of the Little A’le’Inn (“aliens are among us; they take over our bodies…”), a woman behind the counter at a local gas station (“those lights are just Air Force maneuvers…”), and other folks with varying opinions about what they believe, what others believe, and why it all seems to matter so much. FYI, no one at the Dairy Queen in Baker seemed to have a strong opinion about the subject, but the Blizzards and the Dip Cones were most excellent.
Can’t wait to show you the footage. (teaser!!) I’ll let you know when it’s gonna hit the website.
We’ve all known each other for a while – years even – but this was our first road trip together. I was in the backseat, in the middle. The spot I fondly remember from my youth as the “hump seat” due to the lump in the floorboard caused by the driveshaft running underneath the family car. Modern technology has smoothed out the floors of today’s vehicles, so that wasn’t an issue. But the feeling that my siblings were going to start flicking me in the back of the head at any minute never quite went away.
With nothing of particular interest speeding past our windows, we were a captive audience for Ace and Simon, who declared themselves the trip DJs and began to “educate” the rest of us. Two bigger music fans I have never met. Their depth of knowledge and range of musical taste was astounding and a little bit frightening. Both have been band tour managers so there wasn’t just running commentary about the music, there was info on the band members, producers, record labels, groupies, and all sorts of random minutia.
Soon, mercifully, they were so busy entertaining each other that they forgot about those of us in the backseat. Joel (DP), Jen (Exec Prod), and I chatted about nothing in particular, although there was a delightful interlude during which we described our favorite Dairy Queen treats. Good times.
We were off to shoot our first series for Simon Cox Investigates – “Little Green Men and Other Strange Beliefs.” Along the way we shopped at the Alien Beef Jerky store in Baker, traveled the Extra Terrestrial Highwa
y, marveled at the giant metal man in front of the Alien Research Center, chatted with the locals at the Little A’Le’Inn, and watched the night skies near the legendary Black Mailbox (now painted white). It seemed like the little red lights on our cameras were always lit and it was great. Our journey to the gates Nellis AFB Ranges containing Area 51 (aka “Dreamland,” “Paradise Ranch,” and “the Box”) was one of the highlights of the trip. In movies people are always breaking into top secret places or smuggling out top secret documents, but when you come up against a real place with real warning signs and real guys with real guns, well, your perspective changes a bit. The military has every intention of keeping the secrets within those gates, including whatever monkey business that may have occurred in Area 51. The “camo dudes” (armed guards in camouflage gear) positioned on surrounding hills spend their hot, dusty days watching the roads for potential threats – and for idiots who think it would be fu
n to step over the line just to see what happens. Putting a boot on the neck of such a prankster would totally make their day. So, when an unmarked truck suddenly came down the road towards us while we were filming, we immediately decided that, hey, maybe we have enough footage of this area, you know? Maybe it was time to head back to town. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. And the flame-painted Escalade made a neat little U-turn and we skedaddled.
n to step over the line just to see what happens. Putting a boot on the neck of such a prankster would totally make their day. So, when an unmarked truck suddenly came down the road towards us while we were filming, we immediately decided that, hey, maybe we have enough footage of this area, you know? Maybe it was time to head back to town. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. And the flame-painted Escalade made a neat little U-turn and we skedaddled.Before we said our farewells to Rachel, Nevada, and the surrounding area, we interviewed the owner of the Little A’le’Inn (“aliens are among us; they take over our bodies…”), a woman behind the counter at a local gas station (“those lights are just Air Force maneuvers…”), and other folks with varying opinions about what they believe, what others believe, and why it all seems to matter so much. FYI, no one at the Dairy Queen in Baker seemed to have a strong opinion about the subject, but the Blizzards and the Dip Cones were most excellent.
Can’t wait to show you the footage. (teaser!!) I’ll let you know when it’s gonna hit the website.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Nani Pilikia
Hawai’i. So alluring. A siren song. Years of advertising and marketing campaigns combined with all the stories from friends and loved ones about dreamy honeymoons or perfect family vacations have created visions of paradise in the minds of the multitudes. And traditionally, the multitudes come. But not so much lately. Apparently even tropical Edens have been hit hard by the economy and the N1H1 virus. Hotel room occupancy is way down in our 50th state and that is bad news for a local economy that rises and falls on the number of folks that annually decide to release their inner surfer.
I recently visited four islands (in eight days – not recommended for those looking to relax!) as part of a promotional tour sponsored by the state tourism office. I was a behind-the-scenes person, not one of the guest travel writers invited to see Hawai’i and spread the word that it’s as beautiful as everyone says it is, but not as expensive as you think. Like any destination that you’ve built up in your mind for years (I’d never visited before), it was both better than I hoped and less than I expected. There is no argument that it is beautiful. Kaua’i is quiet and ruggedly beautiful with curvy roads and small towns. Maui is built up but still retains a quiet, soothing soul.
The Big Island of Hawai’i is a contrast of tropical lushness and stark lava fields created by the still-active volcano at its center. The disappointment is Honolulu and Waikiki with its over-built beachfront, clogged streets, designer shops, and over-priced, ever-present mai-tais. A shopping mecca for foreign travelers or perhaps visitors from smaller American towns; a lively club scene for party seekers; an urban mess for those looking for a quiet walk on the beach or a glimpse of native Hawai’i.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
But it’s not the Hawai’i I was interested in. My favorite moment was in Wailea on Maui a few hundred yards off the beach, standing on a paddleboard. Yes, there was much standing and falling, kneeling and falling, and every variation therein, but once I was standing more than swimming, it was wonderful. And I felt like, for that instant, I was really there. Really in the Hawai’i you see on the postcards.
And it can be done on a budget. There are airfare deals and hotel packages and moderately priced food to be had if you’re willing to do a little research. And the locals are happy to point out their favorite places to grab a quick bite or rent a kayak for less that the big resorts would charge. So I think the message got out through the guest writers that Hawai’i was still a reasonable destination in these belt-tightening times. And, hey, I had a fine time. I got a free trip to Hawai’i. Not too shabby.
Oh, wait, that’s the other thing. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a controversy about the fact that this trip was comped for the writers. They weren’t paid for their time or work. No restrictions were placed on what they could and could not write about. But their airfare, hotels, and most expenses were covered by state tourism money. Which means the government. Was it journalism or was it marketing disguised as journalism? Numerous people whose opinions I respect weighed in on a point, counter-point discussion that grew heated. It was a valid debate that brought up a lot of interesting points about how content on the web is presented and perceived. But I felt it was directed at the wrong group of people. All our writers made it very clear in all their postings that the trip was sponsored by the state of Hawai’i. Everyone talked about how we were traveling in a group and sharing experiences and rental cars. It couldn’t have been more transparent. And yet, there was criticism that the writers weren’t like “real” journalists who never take “freebies” so their souls remain pure. Well, if you’re writing about prostitution rings being run out of Hawai’ian resorts, independence from the corporate owner of those resorts is important, even necessary. But if you’re writing about a local restaurant you stumbled upon one evening or how much fun it is to paddleboard, does it make your story less valid if someone else bought the plane ticket (and you told your audience that fact)?
I’m sure there are many online writers and bloggers who aren’t as scrupulous as those who participated in this project. I understand the idea of a slippery slope that we must guard against that might send us back to the bad old days of advertiser controlled media content. But I think online there is a much stricter supervisor than we realize. If someone reads a blog and doesn’t (a) want or need the information, (b) like the style of writing, or (c) trust the writer/source, that user is g-o-n-e, gone. During the discussion of the potential conflicts of writing a review while on someone else’s dime, one writer talked about how she strives to be as transparent as possible while providing information to her audience. Her final thought regarding the result is a good one: It’s not up to us (the writers), it’s up to them (the users). They will make their preferences known in a swift and often heartless manner. And that’s the way it should be. Mendacity should not be tolerated by anyone – on either side of the computer screen.
I recently visited four islands (in eight days – not recommended for those looking to relax!) as part of a promotional tour sponsored by the state tourism office. I was a behind-the-scenes person, not one of the guest travel writers invited to see Hawai’i and spread the word that it’s as beautiful as everyone says it is, but not as expensive as you think. Like any destination that you’ve built up in your mind for years (I’d never visited before), it was both better than I hoped and less than I expected. There is no argument that it is beautiful. Kaua’i is quiet and ruggedly beautiful with curvy roads and small towns. Maui is built up but still retains a quiet, soothing soul.
The Big Island of Hawai’i is a contrast of tropical lushness and stark lava fields created by the still-active volcano at its center. The disappointment is Honolulu and Waikiki with its over-built beachfront, clogged streets, designer shops, and over-priced, ever-present mai-tais. A shopping mecca for foreign travelers or perhaps visitors from smaller American towns; a lively club scene for party seekers; an urban mess for those looking for a quiet walk on the beach or a glimpse of native Hawai’i.Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
But it’s not the Hawai’i I was interested in. My favorite moment was in Wailea on Maui a few hundred yards off the beach, standing on a paddleboard. Yes, there was much standing and falling, kneeling and falling, and every variation therein, but once I was standing more than swimming, it was wonderful. And I felt like, for that instant, I was really there. Really in the Hawai’i you see on the postcards.
And it can be done on a budget. There are airfare deals and hotel packages and moderately priced food to be had if you’re willing to do a little research. And the locals are happy to point out their favorite places to grab a quick bite or rent a kayak for less that the big resorts would charge. So I think the message got out through the guest writers that Hawai’i was still a reasonable destination in these belt-tightening times. And, hey, I had a fine time. I got a free trip to Hawai’i. Not too shabby.
Oh, wait, that’s the other thing. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a controversy about the fact that this trip was comped for the writers. They weren’t paid for their time or work. No restrictions were placed on what they could and could not write about. But their airfare, hotels, and most expenses were covered by state tourism money. Which means the government. Was it journalism or was it marketing disguised as journalism? Numerous people whose opinions I respect weighed in on a point, counter-point discussion that grew heated. It was a valid debate that brought up a lot of interesting points about how content on the web is presented and perceived. But I felt it was directed at the wrong group of people. All our writers made it very clear in all their postings that the trip was sponsored by the state of Hawai’i. Everyone talked about how we were traveling in a group and sharing experiences and rental cars. It couldn’t have been more transparent. And yet, there was criticism that the writers weren’t like “real” journalists who never take “freebies” so their souls remain pure. Well, if you’re writing about prostitution rings being run out of Hawai’ian resorts, independence from the corporate owner of those resorts is important, even necessary. But if you’re writing about a local restaurant you stumbled upon one evening or how much fun it is to paddleboard, does it make your story less valid if someone else bought the plane ticket (and you told your audience that fact)?
I’m sure there are many online writers and bloggers who aren’t as scrupulous as those who participated in this project. I understand the idea of a slippery slope that we must guard against that might send us back to the bad old days of advertiser controlled media content. But I think online there is a much stricter supervisor than we realize. If someone reads a blog and doesn’t (a) want or need the information, (b) like the style of writing, or (c) trust the writer/source, that user is g-o-n-e, gone. During the discussion of the potential conflicts of writing a review while on someone else’s dime, one writer talked about how she strives to be as transparent as possible while providing information to her audience. Her final thought regarding the result is a good one: It’s not up to us (the writers), it’s up to them (the users). They will make their preferences known in a swift and often heartless manner. And that’s the way it should be. Mendacity should not be tolerated by anyone – on either side of the computer screen.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
All Aboard
Anyone who thinks American women are struggling with their body image haven’t been on a cruise lately. Never have I seen such a celebration of the feminine silhouette than on a recent jaunt to Mexico. Women of all ages and ALL sizes were strutting the Lido deck in bathing suits that often defied the magical properties of spandex. No one seemed concerned about the lack of makeup or snarl of bad hair or excess flaps of skin. The men were equally oblivious of their own flaws, but they are delusional creatures about their appearance most of the time anyway.
I purposely lost 5 pounds and sat outside to try and get a tiny bit of a tan before the trip because I was sure I would be the huge pasty redhead everyone was staring at. But then, I live in Hollywood where the standards are, well, slightly skewed. But it’s coast-to-coast America on board a cruise ship – even the one I was on which was filled with a 30-something crowd of rock music lovers. It was certainly obvious that there is a growing obesity problem in this country, but equally obvious was that a few extra pounds is not keeping people from doing whatever the “pretty” people do. All those weight loss commercials feature such miserable, unhappy people who have lost the will to live. And I’m sure there are many people out there who are frustrated with their weight. But the truth is we appear to be healthier – at least mentally – than all the magazines and infomercials would have us believe.
Of course, we should all watch our weight and eat healthy and exercise and all that. But to see so many women in bathing suits who are not “perfect” is refreshing. And I must admit that to see many of these women with loving, happy husbands is, honestly, a relief. Men’s magazines may be filled with some perfect, airbrushed, bleached idea of female perfection, but most guys seem to realize that a good woman comes in all shapes and sizes. And that makes them beautiful.
I purposely lost 5 pounds and sat outside to try and get a tiny bit of a tan before the trip because I was sure I would be the huge pasty redhead everyone was staring at. But then, I live in Hollywood where the standards are, well, slightly skewed. But it’s coast-to-coast America on board a cruise ship – even the one I was on which was filled with a 30-something crowd of rock music lovers. It was certainly obvious that there is a growing obesity problem in this country, but equally obvious was that a few extra pounds is not keeping people from doing whatever the “pretty” people do. All those weight loss commercials feature such miserable, unhappy people who have lost the will to live. And I’m sure there are many people out there who are frustrated with their weight. But the truth is we appear to be healthier – at least mentally – than all the magazines and infomercials would have us believe.
Of course, we should all watch our weight and eat healthy and exercise and all that. But to see so many women in bathing suits who are not “perfect” is refreshing. And I must admit that to see many of these women with loving, happy husbands is, honestly, a relief. Men’s magazines may be filled with some perfect, airbrushed, bleached idea of female perfection, but most guys seem to realize that a good woman comes in all shapes and sizes. And that makes them beautiful.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Testing, One, Two, Three...
If you’re thinking about going away with someone for a romantic weekend, book the trip then go without him. You wouldn’t buy a car without a test drive, so why fly blind with a new cutie.
Try and find something colorful, like a family wedding to attend and then imagine what the weekend would be like if he were with you. Flying on the red eye. Struggling with connections. Checking into that cozy bed and breakfast that is reeeeeally cozy. Imagine sharing a 10 by 10 space connected to a postage stamp bathroom with your new honeybun.
Oh, and then it rains and your hair frizzes and you’ve got the wrong shoes and it takes you two hours to make yourself presentable instead of your modern girl half hour. How would he handle sitting in that tiny room watching the tiny TV while you struggle with hot curlers and flat irons and humidity that makes your mascara gunky? How would you handle the stress of knowing he’s bored and irritated and exasperated?
Then go to that rehearsal dinner and consider having to keep your sweet patootie entertained while catching up on all the family gossip. Just how many times would you stop a story to explain who Uncle Mike is and where your cousin Lisa went on her honeymoon and why this is such a really funny story? How much champagne would you drink if he were there? How much could you flirt if he were there?
And the wedding. Oh, my, the wedding. Imagine he’s come along because it’s a destination wedding someplace spiffy and now he spends one whole day of the short weekend stuck in a suit in a warm banquet hall listening to maudlin toasts instead of on the beach he can see through the windows.
And finally, think about the sex that may or may not be going on around all these activities. Would you really be having a good time or just providing the one thing you know he’ll enjoy the whole weekend. Is it delicious out-of-town sex or is it simply sorry-about-grandpa’s-ear-hair sex?
If you return from your test-drive weekend more determined than ever to spend a weekend away with your sweetie pie, then you may have found yourself a keeper. If you return slightly hung over and greatly relieved that he didn’t come with you, maybe you should stick to occasional overnights in town. There’s only so much togetherness some people can stand.
Try and find something colorful, like a family wedding to attend and then imagine what the weekend would be like if he were with you. Flying on the red eye. Struggling with connections. Checking into that cozy bed and breakfast that is reeeeeally cozy. Imagine sharing a 10 by 10 space connected to a postage stamp bathroom with your new honeybun.
Oh, and then it rains and your hair frizzes and you’ve got the wrong shoes and it takes you two hours to make yourself presentable instead of your modern girl half hour. How would he handle sitting in that tiny room watching the tiny TV while you struggle with hot curlers and flat irons and humidity that makes your mascara gunky? How would you handle the stress of knowing he’s bored and irritated and exasperated?
Then go to that rehearsal dinner and consider having to keep your sweet patootie entertained while catching up on all the family gossip. Just how many times would you stop a story to explain who Uncle Mike is and where your cousin Lisa went on her honeymoon and why this is such a really funny story? How much champagne would you drink if he were there? How much could you flirt if he were there?
And the wedding. Oh, my, the wedding. Imagine he’s come along because it’s a destination wedding someplace spiffy and now he spends one whole day of the short weekend stuck in a suit in a warm banquet hall listening to maudlin toasts instead of on the beach he can see through the windows.
And finally, think about the sex that may or may not be going on around all these activities. Would you really be having a good time or just providing the one thing you know he’ll enjoy the whole weekend. Is it delicious out-of-town sex or is it simply sorry-about-grandpa’s-ear-hair sex?
If you return from your test-drive weekend more determined than ever to spend a weekend away with your sweetie pie, then you may have found yourself a keeper. If you return slightly hung over and greatly relieved that he didn’t come with you, maybe you should stick to occasional overnights in town. There’s only so much togetherness some people can stand.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Yikes...
A few days ago I made a mistake. I walked into a room filled with people I don’t know in hopes of learning more about their support group. They were mostly men and I tend to use the girly thing a little to make everyone laugh and put them at their ease. I pulled out some name tags and markers and began to pass them around saying, “Now boys, everyone needs to print very neatly…” I moved on around the table getting things set up and the interviews began.
About half way through, one of the men stopped in the middle of a sentence because he had to get something off his chest. He looked right at me. “You called us ‘boys’.” I was startled and had to think for a moment to remember what I’d said. And then I realized – I was in a room filled with African American men. I had waltzed into a group of strangers – Black men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s – and I had called them ‘boys’. Yes, I would classify that as a big mistake.
The thesaurus is filled with words that attempt to describe how I felt. Mortified. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Breathtakingly stupid. But I did my best to meet his eye and apologize with all my heart. To him, to all of them. And I thanked him for being so gracious in calling me out. He hadn’t raised his voice or stomped out of the room, or said anything mean. He just very calmly pointed out my lack of respect and complete ignorance. It was devastating, and also revelatory.
How many times had I done that before? Said something silly or thoughtless that I thought was flirty or funny or clever, only to hurt someone without knowing it. No, I may have meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t excuse my cluelessness. I have been hurt by words in the past. And I have used them to wound when I needed a weapon I could rely on to cut deeply. I know their power.
Hopefully, in the future, I will use that power for good. After all, with power comes great responsibility.
About half way through, one of the men stopped in the middle of a sentence because he had to get something off his chest. He looked right at me. “You called us ‘boys’.” I was startled and had to think for a moment to remember what I’d said. And then I realized – I was in a room filled with African American men. I had waltzed into a group of strangers – Black men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s – and I had called them ‘boys’. Yes, I would classify that as a big mistake.
The thesaurus is filled with words that attempt to describe how I felt. Mortified. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Breathtakingly stupid. But I did my best to meet his eye and apologize with all my heart. To him, to all of them. And I thanked him for being so gracious in calling me out. He hadn’t raised his voice or stomped out of the room, or said anything mean. He just very calmly pointed out my lack of respect and complete ignorance. It was devastating, and also revelatory.
How many times had I done that before? Said something silly or thoughtless that I thought was flirty or funny or clever, only to hurt someone without knowing it. No, I may have meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t excuse my cluelessness. I have been hurt by words in the past. And I have used them to wound when I needed a weapon I could rely on to cut deeply. I know their power.
Hopefully, in the future, I will use that power for good. After all, with power comes great responsibility.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
An Exit Row Kind of Day...
Sometimes when you travel, nice things happen. You get to the airport on time – even a little bit early. There are plenty of spaces in long term parking and just as you walk up to the shuttle stop, the bus arrives to take you to the terminal. Which isn’t really that crowded, all things considered. People are reasonably polite, the security line is reasonably efficient, and nearby children are reasonably subdued. It’s not like it’s the best day of your life or anything, but it’s not bad.
And then a kind of magical thing happens. You know the flight attendant. He isn’t a super-close pal, but he’s a neighbor you wave to and who has a nice dog you give a pat when you’re walking by. You look up from your cramped coach seat and there he is, demanding your boarding pass and telling you you’re in the wrong seat. Suddenly, you’re in an exit row. An empty exit row. Leg room! Fanny room! Spreading out or curling up room. And at that moment, my friends, life is good.
I like to travel. Even when I don’t have a magical exit row day, I like to be heading towards a city I’ve never seen or revisiting a place I want to explore further. Call it wanderlust or call it nosiness – I just want to find out more about people in other places. I want to see their monuments and taste their cuisine and try out a bit of the local lingo. Today I’m heading to Philadelphia. First time and I’m totally frustrated ‘cause I’ll be there such a short time I won’t get to do much of anything but attend the meetings that are the reason for the trip. No Liberty Bell, no Constitution Hall. But I’ll get a glimpse of the skyline and of course, I’ll get the best bit – I’ll get to meet a room full of people from this foreign land called Pennsylvania. I am hopeful that with their guidance I will uncover the perfect example of what is known in their language as a “cheese steak”.
And then a kind of magical thing happens. You know the flight attendant. He isn’t a super-close pal, but he’s a neighbor you wave to and who has a nice dog you give a pat when you’re walking by. You look up from your cramped coach seat and there he is, demanding your boarding pass and telling you you’re in the wrong seat. Suddenly, you’re in an exit row. An empty exit row. Leg room! Fanny room! Spreading out or curling up room. And at that moment, my friends, life is good.
I like to travel. Even when I don’t have a magical exit row day, I like to be heading towards a city I’ve never seen or revisiting a place I want to explore further. Call it wanderlust or call it nosiness – I just want to find out more about people in other places. I want to see their monuments and taste their cuisine and try out a bit of the local lingo. Today I’m heading to Philadelphia. First time and I’m totally frustrated ‘cause I’ll be there such a short time I won’t get to do much of anything but attend the meetings that are the reason for the trip. No Liberty Bell, no Constitution Hall. But I’ll get a glimpse of the skyline and of course, I’ll get the best bit – I’ll get to meet a room full of people from this foreign land called Pennsylvania. I am hopeful that with their guidance I will uncover the perfect example of what is known in their language as a “cheese steak”.
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