crossthatbridge

Playtime on the Pier

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Mon, 12 May 2008 07:20:00 +0000

It's raining cats and dogs when we bolt from the parking lot into the Old Spaghetti Warehouse at Laclede's Landing. Historical Laclede's Landing in downtown St. Louis is minutes from the Arch, with clubs, restaurants, theaters, a brewery and even a casino.

The weather has been nasty here in Missouri including turbulent gusts from a tornado that touched down a little over 50 miles from us. But we're a hungry bunch and even the middle-of-the-road chain restaurant, Spaghetti Warehouse, appeals to our palettes. The OSW is housed in a building with handsome red brick, dark cherry poster beams and rich cornices. The interior and observant waitress make up for the lack of Italian staples like fresh parmesan cheese, a peppermill and al dente dishes.

While we wait for our order.... "Don't encourage him," whispers Rutherford.

I'm laughing not at but with Paul, our Executive Producer who can memorize, recite and tell a joke like nobody's business. Some jokes are better left for stranger company but the majority leave me in stitches, clutching at my sides and wishing I could contribute my own funny pages. Finally the food arrives and we plunge into the feast like ravenous vultures. Topping off the mediocrity we settle on 2 slices of decadent chocolate and espresso cake. Dripping chocolate and caramel these were a wise choice on a wet evening.

Kabobs and Calypso Salad in St. Louis

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sat, 10 May 2008 01:50:00 +0000

I'm back in the Gateway City shooting a documentary about family roots, American values and a couple who launched a pet food dynasty. Just outside our apartment is this dressed up fire hydrant in stars and stripes. I'm bunking in Benton Park in an adorable 3-floor Victorian home restored to it's original beauty.

There's 10 of us who would otherwise be squeezed into a insufficient hotel unless our boy Paul didn't do some digging for this find. And what a find it is! This palace would go for a few million in NYC but here in St. Louis the selling price is just under $350,000. Yesterday we spent the day roaming the good and the bad neighborhoods of St. Louis, both sides of the Missouri river.

East St.Louis is crumbling to pieces but a bright ambitious local by the name of Rocco is doing everything to save it. And it's working. He and the mayor, politicians and area residents are pulling out all the stops to denail boarded up windows and doors to places that have potential at future use again.

Later that evening we stopped at The Venice Cafe, a quirky, colorful, Caribbean bar with a bearded old hippie named Uncle Bill "Green" that both collects the door charge and sings like Johnny Winter . I dragged my Republican cohorts to this peace-loving dive where fountains spray bohemian pattrooli oil and mosaic tile envelope the stairways. They were reluctant at first until I scouted a location on the patio with a wacky speed boat-turned-table to dine at. The table, chairs, hanging paintings, mannequins, bottle caps, license plates, dolls and abstract mosaics were great conversation starters.

Tom ordered the jerk chicken (how apropo), Jay had the sesame pasta (too cold for his liking) and I went for the fried plantains (not bad). Good stuff with a great waitress to help us refresh our thirst but decidedly we all left hoping for a little whiff of something more than chili sauce and tabouli, if you know what I mean!

Clean Teeth, Dirty Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Fri, 09 May 2008 05:11:00 +0000

It was time for my bi-annual cleaning and guess who had to go to Dr.Simon Rosenberg on 399 East 72nd Street between First and York Avenues? You guessed it. He and his crew are my favorites and they'll be yours too if you need the world's best dentist, a professional who can make you laugh while pulling out your molars.

The 125 mile trip from Albany to NYC is so worth it, especially if your a photographer, straight chick or gay guy wanting to take in a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit. A voyeuristic journey awaits you at the International Center of Photography called "Notes in the Margin of the Black Book." This installation is a series of photographs exposing “the black man.” The images were highly controversial at the time they were taken because they forced the viewer to accept and/or critique the stereotypes of black, gay culture.

The lighting of each image isn't half bad neither!

The Ladder Theory

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Tue, 06 May 2008 01:35:00 +0000

Maxwell lives in one of the residence halls on the sprawling 25-acre campus known as Pratt Institute of Brooklyn, NY. He's a senior at one of the most highly acclaimed industrial design schools in the country. In fact, Pratt receives almost twice as many applications as any other art school with over 5000 applications for 645 freshman spots.

In exchange for a messy dorm room to bunk Sunday night I took Maxwell to a fabulous Italian haunt on Myrtle, a stretch of road that, up until just recently, was littered with drugs and violence. Now, the neighborhood on historic and ethnically diverse Clinton Hill is one of the safest places in Brooklyn. Dozens of hip, funky bars, clubs and restaurants complement the tree-lined streets topped with Victorian homes. Maxwell knows this area well and took me on a tour of many 19th-century brownstone mansions and rare architecture. There's definitely an electricity and creativity here and it shows in Pratt's outdoor art installations, like this one called... hmmm.

Well, I guess you can call it whatever you like - maybe "Climbing the Ladder to Success at Pratt" or maybe "Jacob's Ladder," though this school isn't exactly known to quote a biblical patriarch. What they are known to do is teach graduates to go on to lead hyper successful lives in engineering, architecture, illustration and communications design. The library is another unique gem and Maxwell wasted no time escorting me up 5 flights of Tiffany-influenced glass floors and ceilings before closing.

90-Year Old Rips up Roads in Long Island

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sat, 03 May 2008 20:39:00 +0000

This weekend I'm in Nassau Eisenhower Park to shoot the Long Island Marathon, Half Marathon, 10K and 5k. I got the call late last night and because a large swath of roads get blocked off as early as 7a for the events I jumped in my own race mobile at 3a and got here by 6a. Whew! A draining ride but smooth sailing with zero traffic at that ungodly hour.

One of my favorite runners of the 5K this morning included a spry youthful 90 year old by the name of Emmanuel Cappello or "Poppy" as his kids call him. Donning bright red sweats and a custom blue tshirt that said "Poppy, 90 years Young", the former furniture store owner jogged lightly alongside his children and grandchildren for 3.1 miles. His oldest granddaughter, a runner herself, convinced him he could do it and she was right. Amid a cloudy chilly morning, I caught sight of him at the start line when police detail informed me that he was the oldest gent in the pack, nearly a Centenarian.

Sure enough - there was Poppy - gathered with his energetic family alongside his grandson holding a video camera to document for posterity and Poppy's wife, who, unfortunately, couldn't attend. Before the gun went off he sucked in as much air as physically possible and launched himself forward within a crowd of 400 runners. Soon after that I lost sight of him. Security and police presence laughed that he'd probably need an oxygen mask before the race was over but Poppy triumphed leaving dozens of others trailing behind him.

As he neared the finish line just under 51 minutes I jumped at the chance to jog with him the last 500 yards while my shoulder camera rolled on his smiling mug and bright red sweatpants. Surprisingly, he didn't look winded or exhausted or drained whatsoever.

After receiving a medal for his impressive participation I asked, "Poppy, what's the secret to your longevity?"
Poppy looked to the sky for a moment and then down at his sweatpants... "it's all in the genes, it's all in the genes."

Because this is Poppy's first but not last 5K something tells me it's much more than just genes.

Table Scraps on Wolf Road

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Fri, 02 May 2008 03:04:00 +0000

Wolf road in Colonie, NY, never seizes to amaze me. How it continues to accommodate so many chain restaurants, many only six degrees separated in quantity and quality, without draining the pool of privately owned restaurants is a real blessing.

In a city with fewer than a million hungry mouths every parking lot at Chili's, Moe's, P.F. Chang's, Fuddruckers, The Fox and the Firkin, Cheesecake Factory and Buca di Beppo was full tonight. Full parking lots say a lot about the economic health and wellness of the Capital Region and while our waistlines stretch so do our wallets. I'm sure Mayor Jennings couldn't be more pleased that the recession isn't affecting our appetites.

Of course, this is not haute cuisine we're talking about. Chains offer cheap, greasy, dependable and convenient food with quick service. Generally chains are overrun with customers but that's never a bad thing for the bottom line. Waiting in line at Ruby Tuesdays, Ninety Nine or Old Chicago Pizza and Pasta is a privilege for anyone who loves deep fried mediocrity. The other problem with busy chains is the decibel level in conversations. Between the background music, babies wailing and general chatter, there's an assault on my earlobes and who do you know who's good at reading lips?

But chains serve a purpose and if some could make a small effort to serve intricately seasoned, fresh-tasting entrees with local ingredients, I'd wait in line as well. If not, I'll still go because there's always a boffo view of a hockey or football game at the bar counter.

Summer Thrill Seeking in Chamonix

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 00:10:00 +0000

I snagged this shot right before leaving the French Alps last Thursday. I love it because it shows how both extreme seasons, winter and spring, co-exist in higher altitudes like Chamonix. All on the same day you can be swooshing down vertical death traps and then swinging a nine iron into sand traps. It's dynamics like this that make the locals love this wonderful French village of 10,000 - until the summer that is, when 90,000 tourists discover what makes this town so unique. Let me repeat that: 90,000 tourists! That's more fresh faces than during the height of ski season! There's hiking, biking, climbing, parasailing, Nordic walking, white water rafting, canyoning, fishing, camping, tenting, golfing, donkey tours, tennis, archery, swimming and a thousand more activities to wear you down before you retire to your hot tub and chalet. And because the glaciers and pistes are omnipresent, even in the dead of summer, the cablecars and tramways stay open for beautiful balcony walks and breathtaking views over France, Switzerland and Italy.

A Biblical Plantscape

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 00:35:00 +0000

The Biblical Garden, established in 1973, sits on the grounds of the Episcopal cathedral at Amsterdam Avenue and 112th Street in NYC. The blossoms, a peace fountain and a live peacock welcome parishioners to Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, the mother church of the Episcopal Diocese of New York and the seat of its Bishop. Angela invited me for a stroll through this beautiful and tranquil place, right after stopping at The Hungarian Pastry Shop, last Friday. There we munched on fresh buttery croissants, admittedly better than those in France and sipped caffeine treats.

The Gothic Cathedral is an incredible but unprotected landmark on the upper West side. It claims to be the largest Anglican church and third largest Christian church in the world. It definitely competes with St. Patrick's cathedral in architecture and grandeur, even from the outside. Angie and I didn't get the chance to walk inside but from the photos online I'll need to return for a tour.

I don't know how I managed to miss it but high above the front doors is a window called the Great Rose Window. It's made of 10,000 pieces of colored glass and is the largest stained-glass window in the United States. I was probably too busy photographing the small whimsical figures circling the Peace Fountain along with the several dozen Crabapple, Pear and Dogwood trees, to notice. Behind the cathedral sits a water fountain and over 125 varieties of flowering shrubs, plants and herbs. The garden was founded by a deceased writer by the name of Sarah Larkin Loening who hoped that visitors would find meditation, inspiration and a quick study on horticulture. If your in the neighborhood, especially before the blossoms fall, check it out and count yourself lucky if you catch a glimpse of the rare snow white peacock. It sings a lovesick calling to its pretty partner but Angie and I couldn't track her (or him) down.

Feministing

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 02:16:00 +0000

No sooner am I back from the French Alps when reality sets in: laundry to wash, bills to pay, a lawn to mow and a dog to walk. It's frustrating being the man of the house but somebody's got to do it and, no offense Rocco (my Goldie), but your too old and too lazy to take the lead. And despite blackened fingers and a deep slice to my middle knuckle the lawnmower sputters back to life- no thanks to testosterone.

It's a proud moment - when the stuff I fix actually gets FIXED rather than merely bandaiding a problem back together. After the lawnmower, I set my sites on replanting tulip bulbs, hoeing the compost pile, taking the dog for a splash at Normanskill and checking out a late night flick with my "prego" friend Deb. She's busting at the seams but prettier than ever! Still, I'm lonesome for the protection of my Mountain Gods from Chamonix. Not that the French Alps could help transplant hydrangeas for me but I bet that beautiful sunshine couldn't hurt.

A French Chalet on a Slippery Slope

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 11:06:00 +0000

After my crash and burn episodes on Mont Blanc I abandoned the mountains for safer recreation. Our party shares a wonderful chalet that sleeps 18 but there's only 5 of us so we have the run of the place. There's a fireplace, outdoor hot tub, stocked kitchen with granite countertops, private baths and free wi-fi access. The hot tub is the ideal remedy for bumps and bruises.

At midnight we squeeze our way into the perfumed waters and soak up the peaks that surround us. It's a scene from a movie. How we manage to score such luxury is beyond me especially after dancing on table tops in the last resort. A private cook sneaks in every morning at dawn to prep us a European smorgasboard of croissants, baguettes, jams, jellies and fresh coffee. In the evening he returns to bake cookies, finger food and pop champagne corks. The owner of the chalet is a wonderful woman by the name of Colleen Olianti. She stops by frequently to say bonjour and offer advice on restaurants, museums, parks and apres-ski venues.

Last night was our last dinner together and we made it worthwhile enjoying a 5-course dinner with 5 British journalists, a Johannsburg writer, a Russian photographer/presenter and a French PR rep. It's a wonderful thing to listen to others viewpoints on politics, the environment, art and family when everyone knows English, an universal language that too many Americans take for granted.

Life is good in France - too good to leave but leave we must. This morning we drag ourselves to the airport envying lucky Kent who decides to hang back for another couple days while the weather is perfect. Kent will be hanging out in Chamonix and Lyon with stories to share so visit his blog for more vicarious living in France.

Ski Tripping in Chamonix

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 14:56:00 +0000

Blue skies, fresh powder, warm temps and a camera full of tape and batteries - what more is there in life? Donning 50 sun block to keep the burn to a minimum; Steve, myself, a gal from Russia and Jackie, our guide, head for the hills early this morning to tackle Grands Montets.

Grands Montets is part of the Chamonix Mont Blanc ski zone with a height of 4,810m it's the highest in the Alps. It's a world renown ski destination with spellbinding vertical drops and glorious pistes. The area has 5 glaciers, a couple of them skiable like The "Mer de Glace" (sea of ice), also the second largest glacier in France. The mountain remains open for only a few more days but still has several feet of the soft stuff.

Yours truly made a definite mockery of herself - falling flat on my face, back and derriere every few feet. I could almost hear the mountain Gods roaring with delight. After shaking myself free of snow and presumption we dined at a restaurant/hotel that Mary Shelly vacationed at to write Frankenstein. Due to the scary sounds of avalanches, breaking ice and howling winds she was inspired to write one of the best known novels ever.

Cuisine du Terroir

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 23:27:00 +0000

Even though the portions are smaller cuisine here is super rich, creamy and filling - that is if you like it. Right now, I'd do better with a good old fashion burger, french fries and a hardy bowl of French onion soup, none of which are available in France. What you will find is plenty of cheese and dairy products and if you pace yourself correctly, you may actually be able to make a meal out of it.

I found the Restaurant L'Etable d'Alain in Val d'Isere able to just that. It's an unique eatery with three windows peaking into the pens of several dozen cows hard at work supplying milk. The owner, Jean Luc, confessed that producing dairy is much more profitable than the ski industry. His products are sold to area restaurants, grocery stores and of course on his menu. His milk is all-natural: no artificial ingredients, additives or preservatives. I was impressed and asked which cow was his favorite. He pointed out a lazy silver bovine by the name of Comma (as in the punctuation) and gave her a quick head scratch.

After knowing how the cattle industry treats cows in America I felt like I had just clicked my heels three times and landed in Oz or the cow equivalent.

Torch Lit Parade after Wine and Cheese Party

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 10:02:00 +0000

My legs feel like jello and my nose looks like Rudolph. I'm short on breath, long on thirst and pock-marked from pelting sleet. To make matters worse, I've lost my magnificent seven, my crew of 7 international writers who ski far better than moi, especially since yours truly insists on breaking in the middle of every heady run for kodak moments. Oh, yah, and did I mention? My brain is still a bit soar from a pair of skis crashing down on my temple the day before.

Skiing the Alps is a challenge beyond anything I have ever imagined and Mother Nature is relentless - bursts of sunshine, blinding snow and icy precipitation. Still, we wasted no time conquering about 20 of 80 lifts (yes, I wrote lifts not trails) including a night torch run after a 3 hour dinner party.

My fellow journalists include Eve, a former ballerina turned ski extraordinaire that writes for Ski magazine, Steve from Men's Health (Abercrombie model look-alike with tree-trunks for legs), you all know fearless Kent from GoNomad, and Liz, a youthful Mom who's built up endurance and strength living with an athletic husband and 2 boarder boys. We are but 4 writers from a crew of 80 invited to ski Val d'Isere before next years 2009 World Cup Races, the second most important event after the Olympics. The World Cup is to skiing what the World Series is to baseball or the Superbowl is to football.

After an exhaustive day of skiing we reconvened at a lodge for appetizers and drinks on an outside patio dancing to polka music and swing by a rag time band. The merrimaking continued inside where famous foie-gras and au-gratin soup were served, much to mine and Kent's displeasure. We passed, merci beaucoup. In the cellar there was a cheese and wine making facility big enough for the party and band to continue shaking.

But that wasn't the end of it. At midnight, we all donned our boots and skis again for a 30 minute run back to the hotel carrying torches to light the way. Heavy winds blew out most of the torches leaving us to rely on snow cat and snow mobile headlamps to lead the way. It would have been nice having some twinkling stars above but all I could make out were the silhouette's of sleeping giants (aka, the Alps) as I survived another first in my list of crazy adventures.

Paradise on the Piste

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 13:03:00 +0000

Snow started falling on the windshield just as the cab driver switched gears to ascend the windy back roads of the Savoie region in the French Alps. I'm minutes from Val d'Isere and anxious as a kid at Christmas to experience skiing on the best mountains in the world.

"Welcome to Paradise!" announces my driver Francois. In true French fashion, Francois jumps out of the cab to graciously open my door for me and escort me to my funky hotel by the name of Eagle Hotel. The hotel has a perfect carefree ambiance; stone walls and fireplaces, tree stumps for coffee tables, candle lit hallways, funky colors and unfinished wood tables. There's a party of 20 college age kids toasting their wine glasses in the corner and a piano player belting out American classics. This is perfect. I'm too tired for words but manage a 15 minute stroll through the town stopping off for a Crepe pizza with champignons (mushrooms), oeuf (egg) and fromage (cheese). Tres bien!

Dragging my tired body back to the hotel I'm in need of major Zzzzz's to keep up with the sun tomorrow. And it comes earlier expected. My wake up call jolts me back to work at 8am this morning with camera in hand and tripod in the other. We're off. It's 45 degrees and no need to bundle up. Skiers are mounting their boards and opting to go glove and hat-free for the day. Book readers and tan worshippers lounge on chaises soaking in the sights. Kiddies are everywhere taking in instructions in French, Italian, German, English and every other language this resort caters to.

The chalets glisten with heavy snow drifts collecting on the stone roofs while the birds whistle a morning tune. Oh, yes, this is paradise and it's nearly drawing me to tears it's so beautiful. Better I don some sunglasses if I'm going to get this choked up in paradise.

High Flying to France

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 10:17:00 +0000

Free newspapers for all - that's one perk you won't find at JFK unless your privileged enough to gain access to the Air France-KLM lounge. But here at Charles De Gaulle airport, it's civility and equality for all with newspapers in a wide variety of languages at all terminals.

My flight in last night was semi-uneventful other than sitting through three showings of the same movie because my in flight entertainment systme was busted and wouldn't turn off. Try watching balding apocalyptic monsters chase down sole survivor Will Smith in "I am Legend" 3x in the span of a 6 hour flight and you too will want to hurl yourself out the nearest exit. The flight in was overbooked so there was no bouncing seats or upgrading. The bird I flew is nicknamed the "Superjumbo" and is the largest passenger plane in the world. It carries over 800 passengers split into 3 classes, first, business and then the normal people. That's 10 seats across or 3 on each side and 4 in the middle, enough seats to get lost in. It's only been in service for a year and I was lucky enough to enjoy a flight over on one last night.

The Lure of the French Alps

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 12:43:00 +0000

Nothing beats Spring skiing in Vermont except maybe Spring skiing in France! Forget Aspen, Tahoe and Vail, France is the world's true ski destination this time of season.

I'm off on another far-flung adventure this time atop the jagged spine of the French Alps in Val d’Isère and the Chamonix Mont-Blanc valley. The part of France I'll be skiing is called the Espace Killy region with an extended string of picturesque villages tucked between towering vistas and challenging terrain. It's one of the oldest and largest ski resorts in the world. Snow in late April is more abundant than ever with some packed powder surfaces scaling the tops of 2-story chalets.

The 1992 Winter Games were held in Val d'Isère so the mountains have a reputation for fast, tricky, hairpin turns. It's also 4x as big as Vail - the largest single-mountain resort in North America and boasts hundreds more acres of skiable terrain. The website even says that daily lift ticket cost about half as much as in Colorado. Sounds good to me. Stay tuned for daily briefs on the adventure!

Boom Pictures in Lower Soho

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 11:43:00 +0000

Anybody need a lift? Even with a heavy chain strapped across the frame of this poor Huffy, the thing was assaulted by vandals on the streets of New York like the carcass of a viscerated animal left in the wild. Vultures sweep in and pick at the bike bones until there's no more. Poor thing.

My 2 days on assignment in NYC ended with a visit to Boom Pictures on the border of Chinatown, where this poor bike was left for dead. All that was forgotten meeting up with friend and former colleague Matt G., an award-winning Executive Producer/Director of big name documentaries, broadcast series and commercial specials. His genius is responsible for prime time docudrama "Inked", "Extreme History" with Roger Daltry, the A&E 1-hour special "Forbes Celebrity 100", a 2006 Ashley Judd documentary called "Tracking the Monster" and the list goes on and on. Matt's mastery for projects with depth and visual impact have toured the international film festival circuit and won him awards for Best Audience, Best Documentary and respect from the biggest names in the industry.

If PilotGirl can, one day, achieve only half the success and talent as the accomplished Boom Pictures, she'll be a very happy fly-boy, I mean fly-girl.

Spring into NYC

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 16:07:00 +0000

Back in the City already and just in time for the blossoms to poke through in Central Park!

Dominican House of Studies

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:25:00 +0000

Pope Benedict XVI is arriving in D.C. later this week, first stopping off at the White House first and then for a gathering of U.S. bishops at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It just so happened that my assignment this weekend was with the friar preachers at the Dominican House of Studies prepping for the Pope's visit. A little ironic I'd say. First, a 3-week shoot in October at the Vatican with the Pope addressing everyone and now a U.S. gig with the Pope trailing not far behind. Weird how threads of paradoxes happen over and over again.

The 800 year old Dominica order take lifetime vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. The friars live in a beautiful self-sufficient ministry (circa 1905) with clean polished rose-colored marble and old wooden beams. There is a theological library, administration offices, classrooms and a dining hall facing the cloisters or courtyard area. Mistakenly our crew walked through the cloister square unescorted, a faux pas for outsiders that we were quick not to repeat. The friars treated us to a solid German dinner of red cabbage, pork and spaetzle, just like Mutti makes. The enrollment program wouldn't be able to make it without follower donations and government subsidies.

Quick Trip to Federal City

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 12:46:00 +0000

Starting and stopping for tolls in New Jersey would be true torture without EZ Pass. Fortunately, Tom's rented Toyota Highlander had one locked to the front dash and got us to D.C. in record time.

PilotGirl took off for the Nation's Capital for a weekend assignment with the same messy crew I was sent to Italy with last year. We hit the road from Manhattan at 5:30p and got in a little under 3.5 hours. Finding our hotel was a complete fluke. Our onboard navigation went hey-wire crossing the Potomac when the next thing we know we're pulling into the valet parking garage. Weird how things like that happen.

There's no time to explore any of the urban possibilities on this trip but future travelers should be aware of D.C.'s 'Power Trip Campaign' that helps visitors see the sights. I caught a brief interview with Mayor Adrian Fenty last week talking with CNN about the yearly cherry blossoms at the Tidal Basin. A record number of visitors come for that. We got in too late for that but stumbled upon a fabulous restaurant called Old Ebbitt Grill. It's Washington's oldest, most historical saloon, founded in 1856. A hostess by the name of Ms. Stanton will give you a detailed biography of the buildings legends, if you ask.

This gem is worth dining at if not for their renowned crab cakes but for the beaux-arts facade and mahogany, velvet and brass interior. It's been a favorite watering hole for several past presidents including the present peanut gallery and a place where actors of NBC's West Wing have celebrated martini-style. The best part is it stays open and serves long past the witching hour.

SUNY Alumni

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 02:20:00 +0000

High school or college reunions are scary business, especially if your not married, have no intention of ever having kids and are still knee deep in debt after 15 years. But, hey, what the hell - there's also the beauty of not caring what people think as you get older and wiser. So, I attended my 15th year college reunion from SUNY Plattsburgh at the Italian American Club in Albany on Saturday night.

As usual, I was running late and I got there while everyone was lined up for grub at the buffet. Thank God for name tags - it was the only way I recognized my motley crew of 3 Mass Comm majors from my class of '93. It was pretty obvious we were the oldest students in the house; balding heads, wrinkled faces and cynical attitudes - yah, we looked and sounded more like our professors than the fresh classmates from recent years.

Still, it was a good time catching up with everyone. Derek works for 30 Rock, Brian is at Fox in NYC and Chris has been with Channel 13, like, forever. We all thought better of sporting tie-die YES shirts we wore during PSTV meetings or whistling our favorite rock song from the Pearl Jam "Ten" album.

The journalism professor responsible for my becoming a complete news junkie, especially of the New York Times on Sunday, was even there - Dr. Kim. Both Dr. Kim and Professor Peter Ensel would be happy to know that neither look a day older than the day we graduated.

Terror-Free Gas Stations

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 08:55:00 +0000

The other day, I stopped by the Glenmont Hollywood Video and rented "Blue State" with actors Breckin Meyer and Anna Paquin. Great romantic comedy with just the right amount of political discourse. The movie got me thinking about gas stations and where they get their petrol from other than the Middle East. That ignited an internet search for alternative gas stations that sell oil from places other than countries that support terrorism and ignore women's rights, like Saudi Arabia.

It became clear that the top barrel buyers are Shell, Mobil and Chevron. Hess, Citgo and Sunoco claim to buy from Venezuela but having been cornered by one Hugo Chavez's henchmen a few years ago (a very scary story) I'm reluctant to support his crazy persona as well. Besides, it's proven that he helps guerilla groups too, FARC for one.

So who to turn to? If only it was as easy as finding free-range chicken or sustainable light bulbs! I find it interesting to note that every banana, orange or grapefruit I buy has a little barcode to tell me where it comes from. Likewise with the FDA regulating the ingredients list on the back of cereal boxes, milk cartons and loaves of bread. Even clothing has 'made in' labels on the collars as does furniture and appliances. But today, most people are spending triple as much on gasoline and we have no clue where the oil is coming from.

Upon talking with a helpful sales assistant at the headquarters of Stewart's Shops in Saratoga, it seems that gas stations are not to blame. Buying crude oil on the open market is nearly impossible to determine it's source. Blending is also used to help the sale price or process the lower grade crude oil into better quality standards. So, not only is it difficult to determine gas grades but it's also impossible to find out where the airline industry buy their jet fuel or where heating oil for your house comes from.

Fossil fuels aren't necessarily bad, they're simply oil, coal and natural gas originating from decaying plants and animals millions of years old. But because most the surplus originates from countries run by corrupt governments and fossil fuels hurt the environment when refined and the supply is destined to dry up in 50 years, it's obvious that alternative energy, solar or wind energy, is best.

A hybrid is already in my budget for this year but in the meantime, it sure would be nice if the I knew the answers to these questions...

From Sea to Shining Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 03:01:00 +0000

Tori Niess is a German expat who says Adidas like 'Add-dee-das' and knows how to cook the meanest potato pancakes on the planet. He's in love with Jennifer, a graphic associate of a law firm by day and freelance web designer by night. Tori has been in the states for 10 years now, living, where else but in Manhattan and just recently finding his true calling as a handyman.

No visit to the states would be complete until my cousin met up with all my foreign friends and who better to convince her that living here is worth putting up with a dysfunctional redheaded government than a star-crossed expat from Germany?

Over Korean chow in Little Korea, Marion, Tori, Jennifer and me spoke about the great melting pot that makes America so positive. Especially the diversity of influences that shape the Big Apple, turning its' grit to charm and chaos to genius. Every ethnicity, every socio-economic background and every discipline stirs this stew of energy and vitality and visiting Europeans add to that flavor. Touring New York, Maryland, New Jersey, Massachusetts and Vermont in less than 2 weeks, Marion got to see how multiculturalism, not assimilation, makes this country so culturally savvy.

Towards the end the trip I hoped to take Marion to see the Statue of Liberty but the noon ferry left just as we were arriving. She'll need to come back for the torch tour and view of Manhattan's awesome island skyline.

Hugging fair-well at the JFK gate, Marion didn't want to say goodbye, but, like Tori, I'm pretty sure she'll be back, if not to flip potato pancakes but to finish her Ph.D in math, biology and psychology next year. She's so smart. But, hey, who else but a cousin to be so determined and disciplined, right? Ha.

Stratton Mountain Skiing

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 13:26:00 +0000

Sloppy, mushy and clammy: three new english words for Marion to store in her vocabulary bank. Unfortunately, these are three new words to describe the conditions skiing at Stratton Mountain yesterday. Not the Spring time ski fluff I was hoping for.

The rain fell in buckets when we arrived and the gondola dripped with moisture, half frozen to the plexiglass, half spilling onto the seats inside. Views of the Green Mountains were obstructed by a heavy blanket of moisture lifting off the snow. The winds were whipping so hard on top we were like toothpicks caught in a hurricane. Like a car without wiper blades driving through a swamp there was zero visibility.

My cousin from Germany has only 2 more day to see the states. Not nearly enough time for me to prove that New England is the best place in the whole wide world for architecture, sport and sightseeing!

3 States in 3 Days

noreply@blogger.com (Sony Stark of PilotGirl™) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 03:01:00 +0000

History likes to repeat itself when it comes to my beloved tv equipment. The never ending saga of United Airlines misplacing my luggage continued when I flew home the other day. Yes, the Miller tripod went MIA, again, when I arrived in Albany on Monday. I couldn't believe it either.

What are odds of an airline misplacing luggage on 2 consecutive flights in less than 96 hours? Presumably pretty high because I stood in line with plenty of pissed off passengers commiserating our bad fortunes. Any other airline would issue vouchers to placate our dispositions but not United. We are all forced to write lengthy snail mails to the corporate offices before we get, or if we get, any retribution.

But on a nicer note, my 26 year old cousin from Germany arrived today and thank goodness, all of her bags were accounted for. It's her first time in the states and I intend to treat her to everything in the Northeast that makes our area so wonderful. No, that wouldn't be Walmart, McDonalds or bowling. With only 3 days to split the fun, I was thinking quality outlet shopping in Lenox/Lee on Thursday, downhill skiing in Vermont on Friday and a historical tour of Albany on Saturday.

If time permits, maybe a heartfelt comedy at the Spectrum 8 in downtown Albany followed by a specialty martini at a hip lounge bar in Saratoga. The euro goes a lot further in the states than in Europe and the cost of stuff here is half of what it is there. So, with so much to do and so little time we're making every precious second count!