I haven't been to Montreal in almost three years, and I was thinking about how nice it would be to see it again. Montreal is one of those places that marries Europe and America in a way that tends to bring out the best in both.
Second Cup kept me awake on my two weekend visits there. It's Canada's answer to Starbucks, and may I say a bit more affordable. Some of them are open 24 hours, which would have been good to know the time we arrived at the crack of dawn, only to wander aimlessly in search of a decent breakfast place. Later in the day, there are some delectable creperies about Rue St. Denis, and I noticed a tea shop that sadly I haven't had a chance to try out. The shopping's not bad either. I used to get thrilled about the Lush shop, since at the time we had none in New York, but even so. Plus the architecture is quite photogenic.
I'll be back!
14 March 2006
One of my finest cat pics ever....
I don't even know what happened to this cat, just one of the many backyard dwellers that come and go. I just love the clarity of the picture. 9 Lives, anyone?
Her Favorite Song is "My Way"
Zeno helped me through my latest migraine by being cuddly. In return she got hold of a silk teabag full of green tea and flowers that Pam had found at the Botanical Gardens. So much for all the other toys I bought her this weekend.
08 March 2006
At the Nevele?
I heard a news report about a woman who complained of multiple bedbug bites from her stay at the Nevele, Catskills. It brought me back to my stay there, and to my own travel and tourism experience.
Not everyone knows this about me, but I used to be a travel agent. Then again, seven years after I quit people still ask me about travel deals. I worked at one of the major travel retailers in New York, at four of their Manhattan locations in two years. Of course, the best thing about working in travel is the travel opportunities. I got deeply discounted tickets for my second trip to London, and was able to bring Marie and Cecile at an amazing price. It was a fantastic six days of running around with my brand new camcorder all over the place. I returned to New York invigorated and just in time to go on a weekend fam (familiarization) trip one week later with the rest of my office to the Nevele. I wasn't particularly keen on going, but figured it wouldn't kill me. Hey, free food! Plus I remembered the old commercials and thought maybe I'll get some swimming pool time or something.
Though I survived the trip, I have almost no fond memories of that weekend. First, I had to share a bed with my manager. Though she was a really pleasant woman, she was a smoker and I hated to complain, so I suffered in silence. It wasn't lovely at all to hear the giggles of the women that the guys brought into the suite two in the morning. The food was mediocre, it rained all weekend, and all the dinners consisted of prize contests that had the older travel agents show the WWF side of their personalities. So petty!
We returned on the day of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. That was the same year they made that Seinfeld episode revolving around the parade. I had similar difficulties. It was not fun to get back to Queens. I had to take the N train with all my luggage. A bag full of travel brochures was chucked before I could make it on the train.
There was only one photograph of our group that weekend. The rest of the office was smiling, but right in the middle was a frowning Catherine. I've never seen myself looking so miserable in a photo. I should have gotten a copy.
I wasn't cut out to be a travel agent. I'd had aspirations of being a travel writer, or perhaps working for a specialty tour company; for instance, literary tours, tea related tours... selling packages to Disney World and Sandals was not my thing. It's the only job I quit and my only actual profession with a title and my own business card. Clients must have seen the Nevele Frown on my face often, and that's not motivational. I do miss the discounts though.
Not everyone knows this about me, but I used to be a travel agent. Then again, seven years after I quit people still ask me about travel deals. I worked at one of the major travel retailers in New York, at four of their Manhattan locations in two years. Of course, the best thing about working in travel is the travel opportunities. I got deeply discounted tickets for my second trip to London, and was able to bring Marie and Cecile at an amazing price. It was a fantastic six days of running around with my brand new camcorder all over the place. I returned to New York invigorated and just in time to go on a weekend fam (familiarization) trip one week later with the rest of my office to the Nevele. I wasn't particularly keen on going, but figured it wouldn't kill me. Hey, free food! Plus I remembered the old commercials and thought maybe I'll get some swimming pool time or something.
Though I survived the trip, I have almost no fond memories of that weekend. First, I had to share a bed with my manager. Though she was a really pleasant woman, she was a smoker and I hated to complain, so I suffered in silence. It wasn't lovely at all to hear the giggles of the women that the guys brought into the suite two in the morning. The food was mediocre, it rained all weekend, and all the dinners consisted of prize contests that had the older travel agents show the WWF side of their personalities. So petty!
We returned on the day of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. That was the same year they made that Seinfeld episode revolving around the parade. I had similar difficulties. It was not fun to get back to Queens. I had to take the N train with all my luggage. A bag full of travel brochures was chucked before I could make it on the train.
There was only one photograph of our group that weekend. The rest of the office was smiling, but right in the middle was a frowning Catherine. I've never seen myself looking so miserable in a photo. I should have gotten a copy.
I wasn't cut out to be a travel agent. I'd had aspirations of being a travel writer, or perhaps working for a specialty tour company; for instance, literary tours, tea related tours... selling packages to Disney World and Sandals was not my thing. It's the only job I quit and my only actual profession with a title and my own business card. Clients must have seen the Nevele Frown on my face often, and that's not motivational. I do miss the discounts though.
I Couldn't Resist!
Yanni, ya-need to call a lawyer! They're gonna haul your mustache downtown! Ha!
Goodness, this guy has aged. How long has it been since I've seen his picture? The ravages of time...
02 March 2006
I'd Like to Thank the Academy
Sometimes, on a guilty pleasure rainy day, I'll watch those shows they do after the award shows (especially this time of year), where a panel of fashion critics make catty commentaries about the dresses worn by those on the red carpet. Of course, sometimes they are pretty funny. Usually, though, it's a real waste of time - bits of hours I will never get back. Thankfully I tend to multitask when the TV is on, so I probably organized my socks or something during the shooting off of a Rivers mouth.
Maybe I'm the only person in this world who thinks this, but what was the big deal about Bjork's dress? Do we really want to see her in a demure "red carpet appropriate" outfit, ever? She is not supposed to look normal, she's Bjork! That's her appeal! And, by the way, the shoes were pretty cute. I think the critics are kinda jealous. They could never attempt a bird-inspired dress and look cute anyway.
I may have gone for a peacock, though.
01 March 2006
Ack Ack Ack
I saw Billy Joel Monday night! Never thought I would go to see him, though I can't help but like his songs. Well, most of them. Our seats were in the nosebleeds, but I must say our view was just fine. It was a superb performance: I've never seen such nimble fingers. Plus, he doesn't try to act younger than he is, but he doesn't seem AARP either. Cathy and I heard all the old favorites, and sang along occasionally.
The only complaint of the night: about four girls sitting next to us were such trash, and I don't usually call another human being that. They were, though. I've never seen so much beer consumed in two hours, and they smoked! Yes, my pet peeve. I didn't say anything, though I did leave my seat to hear "We Didn't Start the Fire" in clean air.
Let me leave this open for comment: should I have said somethink to the drunk girls, or told security on them, or just endured the smoke despite it being a no-smoking building? (Madison Square Garden!)
The only complaint of the night: about four girls sitting next to us were such trash, and I don't usually call another human being that. They were, though. I've never seen so much beer consumed in two hours, and they smoked! Yes, my pet peeve. I didn't say anything, though I did leave my seat to hear "We Didn't Start the Fire" in clean air.
Let me leave this open for comment: should I have said somethink to the drunk girls, or told security on them, or just endured the smoke despite it being a no-smoking building? (Madison Square Garden!)
28 February 2006
27 February 2006
More than a "Scream"
(I wanted to put the Mermaid, but this is a "G" rated blog.)
Edvard Munch's paintings are many and varied. From what I could tell from the overcrowded free Friday night at Moma, this guy was talented and reached old age. What an amazing feat for an artist of his time!
I'm not much of an art critic, but I was moved. I would tell you to have a look at this exhibit.
Brunch
Probably the most enjoyable way of spending a late Sunday morning is a long, relaxing brunch. It's comparable to afternoon tea, just slightly earlier. (Of course, when I had "afternoon" tea on Friday evening, it was just fine to me, since I had Rooibos.)
Yesterday four of us tried a place in Astoria that all of a sudden has entered a collective awareness amongst my friends: Cafe Bar. I'm not a bar person, but during the day it's all right. Inside it's kind of funky, all kinds of couches and eclectively appointed. (Sounds like a hotel review!) One corner of the room looks a bit like the basement from "That 70's Show," without the chemical additives. I ordered a fine omelette, full of herbs and goat cheese. Absolutely adorable. Their french toast was good, and their fresh fruit perfect. My one complaint (yes, here it comes) was the tea. Of course. They boasted a large tea menu, and I ordered the Ceylon Green Tea. They served it in a bag! That was not the biggest problem, though. Not only was it just a bag in a glass, but it was four bucks!!!!!!!! What is this, Paris? The tea tasted just fine, but don't rob me blind!
Overall, I recommend it, but...(cringe)....get the coffee instead. Not that I got rave reviews of that either. Okay, get a Mimosa.
Otherwise, I'm quite relaxed.
Yesterday four of us tried a place in Astoria that all of a sudden has entered a collective awareness amongst my friends: Cafe Bar. I'm not a bar person, but during the day it's all right. Inside it's kind of funky, all kinds of couches and eclectively appointed. (Sounds like a hotel review!) One corner of the room looks a bit like the basement from "That 70's Show," without the chemical additives. I ordered a fine omelette, full of herbs and goat cheese. Absolutely adorable. Their french toast was good, and their fresh fruit perfect. My one complaint (yes, here it comes) was the tea. Of course. They boasted a large tea menu, and I ordered the Ceylon Green Tea. They served it in a bag! That was not the biggest problem, though. Not only was it just a bag in a glass, but it was four bucks!!!!!!!! What is this, Paris? The tea tasted just fine, but don't rob me blind!
Overall, I recommend it, but...(cringe)....get the coffee instead. Not that I got rave reviews of that either. Okay, get a Mimosa.
Otherwise, I'm quite relaxed.
23 February 2006
Dotty
Recently I remembered one of the odd characters of my childhood. Her name was Dotty, and she never came out of her house.
Dotty lived across the street from my family, and a few buildings away from the elementary school we attended. I have a vague memory of her being on the corner of our block with a dog, though I can't remember what breed it was. My parents explained to me that when her husband died she stopped coming outside, and only ventured to the corner with her dog occasionally. When the dog died, she stayed inside, though she always leaned outside her window, resting her arms on the window sill as she surveyed the block day after day.
Funny how when someone is eccentric or mentally unbalanced in your life as a child, it seems almost seems normal, or at least acceptable. My father didn't think the same way and tried to help her, offering to accompany her to public assistance places or whatever else required outdoor activity. She wouldn't accept this, and instead changed the kids on the block into beggar interns. Sometimes they would knock on our door, saying, "Dotty needs a can of soup and two eggs," or "Dotty needs a few pieces of bread." My parents obliged for the most part. I even went to the store for her with my sister at least once. Everything she ate was soft, because she lacked the teeth for anything else.
Come to think of it, she really looked like a sea hag. She had grey hair always died back, few teeth, and a weathered face. She reminded me of Lady Elaine Fairchild from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Her voice was much older than she was, as a result of many years of smoking. I guess Virginia Slime was modeled after her. Ironically, she was the first to report to my dad that my sister and I were smoking, even though they were only candy cigarettes.
I don't remember disliking her or even being scared of her. We all took her for granted as a permanent fixture in the neighborhood. She'd be there when we were playing with other kids across the street, and she was my own personal crossing guard (and I never got hit by a car during that time.) I have no idea what her legs looked like, as she only leaned out the window. That's probably why she seemed like a puppet.
One day when I was about fifteen I was home alone recovering from a cold when the phone rang. It was the NYPD asking if I knew a Dorothy H- I can't remember the last name. I didn't know who they were talking about until they gave me her address and told me our family's phone number was one of the few they could find in her home. She died alone, and we were the closest thing to the next of kin.
A few days later my dad took me across the street, and showed me Dotty's window sill. There were two shadowy markings from where she used to lean her arms. It was rather macabre.
Some family moved into that apartment soon after, and they painted the window sill. There's nothing left of Dotty except a photo of her in the distance, peering outside, never stepping out. I feel "Eleanor Rigby" coming on....
Dotty lived across the street from my family, and a few buildings away from the elementary school we attended. I have a vague memory of her being on the corner of our block with a dog, though I can't remember what breed it was. My parents explained to me that when her husband died she stopped coming outside, and only ventured to the corner with her dog occasionally. When the dog died, she stayed inside, though she always leaned outside her window, resting her arms on the window sill as she surveyed the block day after day.
Funny how when someone is eccentric or mentally unbalanced in your life as a child, it seems almost seems normal, or at least acceptable. My father didn't think the same way and tried to help her, offering to accompany her to public assistance places or whatever else required outdoor activity. She wouldn't accept this, and instead changed the kids on the block into beggar interns. Sometimes they would knock on our door, saying, "Dotty needs a can of soup and two eggs," or "Dotty needs a few pieces of bread." My parents obliged for the most part. I even went to the store for her with my sister at least once. Everything she ate was soft, because she lacked the teeth for anything else.
Come to think of it, she really looked like a sea hag. She had grey hair always died back, few teeth, and a weathered face. She reminded me of Lady Elaine Fairchild from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Her voice was much older than she was, as a result of many years of smoking. I guess Virginia Slime was modeled after her. Ironically, she was the first to report to my dad that my sister and I were smoking, even though they were only candy cigarettes.
I don't remember disliking her or even being scared of her. We all took her for granted as a permanent fixture in the neighborhood. She'd be there when we were playing with other kids across the street, and she was my own personal crossing guard (and I never got hit by a car during that time.) I have no idea what her legs looked like, as she only leaned out the window. That's probably why she seemed like a puppet.
One day when I was about fifteen I was home alone recovering from a cold when the phone rang. It was the NYPD asking if I knew a Dorothy H- I can't remember the last name. I didn't know who they were talking about until they gave me her address and told me our family's phone number was one of the few they could find in her home. She died alone, and we were the closest thing to the next of kin.
A few days later my dad took me across the street, and showed me Dotty's window sill. There were two shadowy markings from where she used to lean her arms. It was rather macabre.
Some family moved into that apartment soon after, and they painted the window sill. There's nothing left of Dotty except a photo of her in the distance, peering outside, never stepping out. I feel "Eleanor Rigby" coming on....
22 February 2006
The Gift That Wasn't
Almost 3 years ago I bought a teapot for my sister Pam in this shop in Covent Garden. It was appealing to me because the teapot was in the shape of a dog, which looked a lot like Pam's fantastic Cookie. Sadly, despite my instructions to label my luggage "handle with care," someone was a little rough with one bag of mine. It happened to have the teapot in it. The spout, or dog's head, was decapitated. I still haven't fixed it. Sorry, Pam.
16 February 2006
Tea Memories
Thought I'd share some old (well, 2003) pictures of me making a blend of tea at Whittard. (Somehow I placed the pictures in backwards order.)
I've written about this place before, the T-Zone where you can use different oils and fruits, some spices, to mix with base teas (Keemun, Assam, Sencha etc.) to make something really flavorful. Though I usually lean toward the teas without flavoring nowadays, like Darjeeling, I don't mind the occasional Mango Indica or, of course, chai, which is much more than tea. Still, I am slightly more snobbish about the quality of tea than I used to be, say, ten years ago when I was still a teenager. I took the time to have a refined tongue, though this usually only applies to tea and chocolate (maybe some pasta sauces too.) Yet when I look at my photos and videos from ten years ago, I looked a lot more like an uptight snot than I do now. Maybe I am a more relaxed person nowadays. Perhaps, like wine or Pu-Erh, it pays to age a bit.
15 February 2006
Writer's Cramp
When I pick up certain pens to take a message or to jot a note to myself, I get the sudden itch to write. Usually this happens when I simply don't have time to devote to literary greatness. When the opportunity presents itself, though, there are a certain amount of pages I can write before my hand gets tired, at which point I decide to do something else. What a baby. I was watching "Pride and Prejudice" (the Firth version, sounds like I'm lisping) and I noticed how many times a writer in Austen's time would have to dip their pen into the inkwell whilst writing a letter. Sometimes this happened a few times in a sentence! How did anyone write full books in those days?
How spoiled we are now, with our laptops and soft touch keyboards. How can we not write when inspired? Still, I do love the feeling of a fine pen on actual paper. It's lovely.
How spoiled we are now, with our laptops and soft touch keyboards. How can we not write when inspired? Still, I do love the feeling of a fine pen on actual paper. It's lovely.
Duforth
I don't think I devoted any space to Duforth. That's terrible, as she was the sweetest cat that ever lived. The less bratty version of Zenobia, and Cinnamon's companion. Really, he started falling apart after she died. Though they fought at times, she was the love of his life.
Me too
Marie posted her cat Maxie's double. I found a cat that looked a lot like old Sino in his heavier days, and guess what? This one's also named Cinnamon.
14 February 2006
13 February 2006
Snow...Duh
It obviously snowed this weekend. Record levels! But it's not qualified as a blizzard as the wind wasn't strong enough. Okay.... I still think 26.9 inches is nothing to sneeze at.I'll have more pictures soon, but I thought I'd leave these peaceful backyard shots as a reminder of how lovely snow can make things (when it's new anyway).
Nothing like a cozy day with a warm cup of tea and a number of good books, and Napoleon Dynamite. I also watched The Sign of Four, a Sherlock Holmes mystery with Jeremy Brett. What an old teatime favorite (for me).
And I still made it to work in good time this morning.
09 February 2006
Magazine Musings
I recently renewed my subscription to this magazine, and I'm glad I did. It is designed for tea lovers, and even the pages smell fantastic! The most recent issue features the only tea garden in England, which is quite extraordinary. I'm going to have to visit the garden next time I'm over there. There was also a recipe for chai, tea book reviews, an article about Serendipitea (see my links), and tea poetry. I'm sure most tea lovers know about this magazine, but if not, now you know.
I really can't be bothered with other magazine subscriptions. Although the glossies are appealing, I wouldn't want to receive any of them regularly. Sometimes I spend my lunch hour in Barnes and Noble with a cup of tea or hot cocoa and a stack of mags to look through. (It's not freeloading - I'm buying the drink! For goodness' sake.) Besides, once I look through the recent mags, that's it, I don't want to see them again. The only time I really want to buy them is before boarding a plane. I can't concentrate on a book when I'm in the air, and the light and mindless reading of Vogue, Bazaar, Elle, whatever, is just the thing to keep me calm. Sometimes I buy magazines in London when I'm there because of all the freebie attachments that one would not find in American mags. Cheap thrills!
Of course, (and I think I've written about this before but it merits a repeat mention) Victoria magazine was the best, and I still miss it. There were always articles on tea, but there was so much more. Rest in peace, Victoria, and if anyone wants to perform a periodical resurrection, I'm all for it.
07 February 2006
02 February 2006
Old Favorites...
When the Pathfinder was new (it's not mine!)
Giardino's: we used to go there all the time...and then it wasn't fun anymore. Still, their Penne Alla Vodka was good, and great on a budget.
Sino in 2003: so pudgy. My dad called his cheeks "snowballs". Sob!
Kitties 2003
From an old roll of film just developed:
A calico cat we used to feed in the backyard, Chubby thinking he's Buddha, and Chubby giving Moof Moof his tough boy stare.
01 February 2006
My Newest Acquisitions
I love Chococat, and Hello Kitty. I love being able to carry my own tea around. Now I can combine these two passions into with these thermoses, which I bought yesterday. I'm not usually into chrome, but the Chococat picture is just so appealing. Yes, it doesn't take much to make me happy. I feel young again.
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