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From The Economist, the English take on preparing for business meetings in New York (what to wear, how to use money, how to get around). The narrator sounds like he's about to fall asleep.
Though the site is no longer, my Mac adoration lives on.
This year, I've come to Macworld to commune with fans, artists and geeks of all stripes to see what's new, improved and cool for the faithful. Lots of other sites are covering the heck out of the show. Though I haven't had a chance to dig through the discussions at the Macworld Expo Ning site, I've been reading Macrumors and TUAW.
Some years, Steve Jobs blows people away with his keynote, affectionately dubbed the Stevenote, and his trademark "Oh, and one more thing." The Mac faithful come away floating on a cloud but they're not dazed enough to rain a little acid on the parade: This was cool, but it could have been cooler, etc., etc.
This year, there was plenty of ohhhing and ahhing, but the euphoria wore off within minutes.
Not only were there dead-on leaks, there was no "Oh, and one more thing." Immediate sniping came from all corners: The MacBookAir is too expensive. There's no swappable battery. There's not enough ports. The hard drive's too small and too slow. The Apple TV Take 2 offers nothing we don't already get through Comcast VOD. The iPod Touch software pack's a ripoff (though new buyers get it for free). The Time Capsule is sort of interesting but we wanted a 3G iPhone.
I shrug and say whatever. Having had the chance to play with the MacBook Air, my impression is it's cool but not meant to be a replacement for a full-sized laptop. That dream is at least another six to 12 months off. But it is light, extremely thin and as far as I can tell, durable. And it's a good fit for people who won't be doing processor-heavy work.
Meanwhile, there are some other neat things:
- MacHeist has a truly useful shareware bundle for $49.
- Frogpad was giving demos of its Bluetooth-enabled one-handed keyboard.
- People were going nuts for the new Solio Magnesium solar charger. It's not on their site yet.
- TechSmith showed off Jing Project, a free app that allows people to post screen captures (still and movies) to Screencast (which is hosted by TechSmith) and Flickr. A clever way to grow their Screencast user base, IMHO.
- TheBrain Technologies was giving away copies of PersonalBrain4.1, thought-mapping software similar to Inspiration, iMindMap and others. I was not impressed, but PersonalBrain did have potential for making it easy to visualize complex relationships. Network managers, in particular, might want to check it out.
Today I'll be scouting what I missed at the South Hall, seeing what the Google and Garmin guys are up to, and maybe picking up a portable hard drive.
Which reminds me: If you can't be at Macworld but want to shop as though you were, check out the growing list of Expo deals at Dealmac.com.
Missing Persons got it wrong in the '80s, and it hasn't gotten much better since.
My colleague Eric Hiss, a native Angeleno, set out to show people that L.A. is indeed walkable, with his 50-card pack of "City Walks: Los Angeles" released by Chronicle Books earlier this year. (Amazon|BN|Powell's)
On Nov. 28 (this Wednesday), Eric will be at Traveler's Bookcase in L.A. for a book (deck?) signing. Stop by, say hi and celebrate strolls through the City of Angels.
If you dig the idea, join him for a walk through Little India on Dec. 16. For the $25 fee you'll get a feel for the neighborhood, have a little lunch at a local restaurant, and hear from one of the coolest writers I know.
Update: If you can't make the book signing but want to do the tour, call Traveler's Bookcase at 323.655.0575 and reserve your spot.
I landed on a day when it was a balmy 60 degrees in New York.
As tourists and Macy's Thanksgiving Parade were floating by on TV, the flight attendant crackled in nasal vowels on the airplane PA, "If you brought a coat with you, you might want to put it on. It's 23 degrees out there."
Welcome home, indeed.
By the time I returned I'd brought the cold weather with me. It's not in the 20s yet, but they say we may have our first snow accumulation this weekend, and I'll be into my first real winter in New York.
When I announced to friends last year I was moving to New York, they replied with uncertain reactions.
Though my news was unexpected, it wasn't a foolhardy choice. For years, the nomad in me had been looking for dramatic change. Given my options, what could be more drastic than switching coasts?
Almost a year has passed (!) and still the culture shift has been like New York itself: tough. So every few months, I put a point of light on my calendar: a trip to the West Coast to get in touch with the sunny, downtempo familiar.
Last year I ran a half marathon in San Francisco. It was the longest, hardest distance I'd ever tried. Though my thighs ached for a week and my knees creaked for months after, I had such a great time I vowed to return.
Though it's a fun event, there is a serious side: the race raises money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.
In the freezing cold of an early morning start, the point was brought home by a young woman who was running for the first time and in memory of her mother in law.
As she described her sole reason for joining the race, tears welled in her eyes. I wasn't sure what to do or say in response, but never have the words "I'm sorry" had so many facets: I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sorry your still hurting. I'm sorry I asked the question.
I didn't get the woman's name, but I did see her during my own circuit around the city. Like me, she made her way alone. Unlike me, she seemed to be pushed forth by a dogged determination not to let a loved one down.
As for me, I was bouyed by the city itself. SF holds a great many good memories. Though I was ill-prepared to run, for 13.1 miles I delighted in the salt air, embraced the Embarcadero and plodded up and over endless killer hills. Toward the end of the race, I marveled at still-breathtaking views of the mighty Pacific crashing along Ocean Beach and reveled in the stately eucalyptus trees of Golden Gate Park.
Just being in San Francisco was a burst of joy, itself a dramatic change from my day-to-day life in New York. Though I walked almost the entire way, I went the distance and managed to finish close to last year's time.
Along the course, lots of people commented how they love this race for the feeling, the good weather and the general beauty of the course. On the shuttle back to the starting line, I did ask myself why I ever decided to leave this side of the country. After all, every time my plane touches down, I am instantly happier.
Perhaps it's true what they say: Friends often know you better than you know yourself.
Toronto calls itself the most multicultural city in the world.
It's hard to tell by walking around on a damp, cool evening but one thing's for sure, the city does have a wide variety of restaurants.
One night, a dear friend and a colleague went out for a bite in the hip Queen West neighborhood downtown. We wandered from door to door, looking pop-eyed at menu prices before settling on Indian food at Trimurti.
This was a lucky random find. Though the foods were so spicy they blew away precise memory of what we ordered, I do remember the chicken and lamb dishes, the fragrant and nutty basmati, the handmade naan, the mango lassi and the company were delicious.
The only unfortunate part was that between the three of us, the three main courses were more than we could eat.
It would have been nice to talk to the cooks, especially after watching this promotional video. If nothing else, I'd ask for the naan recipe. Now that I'm on the East Coast, a hop up to visit my neighbors to the north should be easy.
Hair is a funny thing — a source of vanity for men and women alike. Some people are lucky enough to be happy with what they've got. Most of us wish we had something else.
But not me. I'm in the former category. I have, however, had some awful things done to my hair over the years.
There was the plastic butterfly-festooned Princess Leia look, a specialty of my mom's inspired whenever there was an event that required we dress up (holiday parties, picnics, school concerts).
There was the Pigtail Period, during which my mom refused to let me wear my hair down because long, loose hair was an inappropriate, unkempt look for a girl. The phase ended when my mom decided I needed a perm.
That, of course, led to the Perm Era, several years during which my hair stubbornly refused to grow after being fried, refried and wrecked by nasty-smelling chemicals that were supposed to induce wave but burned my hair and scalp instead. Truly a low point.
Since then, my hair's been lots of different lengths, but mostly I've left it long due to being too lazy and too cheap to see a stylist every six to eight weeks.
In New York, however, there's a solution for the brave: hair modeling. The good part: the haircut is free. The bad part: the stylist gets to do whatever they want to your hair (though you can always refuse).
A few months ago, I attended a go-see and was enrolled at the Bumble & bumble salon downtown — an imposing coal-black building on a cobblestone street.
Today was shearing day. The stylist, wielding a slightly scary-looking razor, took about 12 inches off. Her technique was competent but the cut itself ... well, you get what you pay for.
Next time, I'm paying.
In Central Park, I ...
...walked alongside a wedding party riding to Tavern on the Green in a caravan of pedicabs.
...listened to a family playing in the park and speaking a mixture of Korean and English (Hangulish?)
...watched a Japanese couple having their photo taken — he, 40-ish and wearing a tuxedo; she, maybe in her 60s or 70s and wearing a peach-colored kimono and tan and green, flowered obi. A younger woman in a pink kimono and bronze obi watched and waited.
...should have brought my audio recorder.
A few weeks ago, the New York Times ran a great article about fried clams, which inspired several hungry colleagues to name their favorite places in the city to get them.
I opened with Trout in Brooklyn's Boerum Hill, which is great and relatively cheap. But for this discussion, we confined ourselves to restaurants on the island.
Someone mentioned Pearl Oyster Bar, but apparently they don't fry their clams.
I lamented the demise of Howard Johnson's, which wins my nostalgia prize for best fried clams ever. (There used to be HoJo's all over Manhattan. Alas, no more.)
Someone else mentioned Bondi Road, but no one had been there.
There was a pause.
"Have you tried Mary's Fish Camp?" someone asked. I shook my head.
"It's so good!"
I made a mental note to go.
Today, my dining companion and I went to camp — we caught a train to Greenwich Village, a pretty, peaceful neighborhood with a street layout that makes no sense. Though we consulted a map at the subway station, we were totally disoriented when we got aboveground and had to ask for directions.
Luckily, the woman we asked knew where we were headed. Minutes later, we were there.
Mary's Fish Camp is one of several New York restaurants with notable women chefs heading up the operation. The space is on the corner and pretty small, maybe 35 seats in all. My friend and I arrived toward the end of lunch service, so it was easy to get a table.
The locally revered lobster roll was on the menu, but I went straight for the fried clams (the bellies are still attached, and you can get the clams without oysters — or oysters without clams — if you ask). Being a little vegetable deficient this week, I also ordered a side of sugar snap peas from the "daily specials" chalkboard. My friend had the pan fried cod sandwich, which came with a big pile of greens.
It was joyous, and the servers were very accommodating, letting us stay a little bit past the lunch close.
Check it out: