Travel

99 posts

Is Your Vacation Killing You?

TIME Magazine is the latest to kill your summer vacay buzz.  They report on an interactive map  from the American Trauma Society that allows you to determine how quickly you could access potentially life saving trauma care.  As this helpful article points out, the areas suffering a dearth of trauma centers encompass a bunch of popular vacation destinations.

Actually the article is mostly about disparities in care in urban and rural centers, particularly with high risk emergencies – not just accidents, but strokes, heart attacks, etc.  It’s sad that to make this point, we need to appeal to wealthy vacationing urbanites and their fears of not being able to access emergency care.  Too often, we forget about the folks that live in our favorite vacation spots year round  – often in near or outright poverty.

And now I’ve killed your buzz too.

Three Easy Steps to Have a Great Vacation

Ocean City, NJ

It’s that time of year again, summer is officially (according to the unofficial calendar) upon us.

Can you sense my excitement? No? Have a seat, let me explain.

I grew up in, and currently live in a beach resort – America’s Favorite Family Resort, to be exact. It’s a small island where 9 months out of the year the population hovers around 15,300. The streets are quiet, the stores and restaurants (the few that remain open, anyway) are easily accessible (no wait times!) and you rarely hear a police or fire siren. The population trends older (or at least if feels that way) and sometimes, when the wind blows just right, I swear I’m living on the set of Gilmore Girls … just a little more Jersey-er. As boring as it can be – I have grown to really appreciate and enjoy it; and by the time the last weekend of May passes, I’m clinging to those “happy thoughts” with every fiber of my being. Continue reading →

A Short History Of The Vegas Pool Party

Over the last 10 years, the Fertitta brothers spent a boatload of money promoting the Ultimate Fighting Championship and getting it licensed to exhibit fights in Nevada. Once the UFC was a legitimate sport, the makeup of the Vegas crowd changed. Gone were the moms and dads and their children. Vanished were the retirees in gem sweaters and orthopedic shoes.

Suddenly, young men puffed up on steroids, swilling eau de toilette and wearing skin-sucking Christian Audigier t-shirts covered with far too much glittery crap, started invading the Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock hotel/casinos. They brought their Lucite platform heel wearing, Forever 21 dress bearing, spray tan having, foul mouthed girlfriends. Continue reading →

NYC On a Budget (Of Nothing)

As someone who’s done their fair share of couch crashing, I feel I’ve become somewhat of I’m definitely an expert on being poor in New York City. Yes, I moved back home to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my failure of a life and, more importantly, be able to eat on a daily basis, but you know what? Being poor in New York rocks. Well, as long as you’re young, pretty and know the right people. The following may not work for anti-social uggos.

1) Be a Good Actor

Did you spend all the money your parents sent you on bagels and coke and now find yourself in the middle of Times Square at 1AM, in drag, without any way of getting home because you’re borrowing your friend’s bike and she went upstate for a few days and it’s locked away in her dorm at NYU?

It’s not a problem! You can’t hop a turnstile in this area, it’s too heavily policed, but while walking down 40th, give yourself a panic attack, walk into the subway station and start freaking out about how you just got mugged and mutter about how you used to think the Garment District was safe these days!.

The station operator will alert a police officer who will ask if you want to file a report. Say no! You just want to get home. He’ll ask you where you live. Say Brooklyn, off the G. He’ll feel bad for you and let you in. Congratulations! You have just conned your way to free transportation. Get home safe, buddy!

2) Know Your Parties

Have you not eaten in days? No worries, go downtown! I know, I know the Meatpacking is so five years ago, but, you know what? A lot of those clubs serve dinner, and they’re actually really good! I had some great burgers and a mind-blowing grilled cheese at Avenue one time. They have really good steak too, and, as long as you’re with a promoter, that’s all free, along with a couple bottles of vodka!

SoHo Grand’s been cutting down on their promoters and, my favorite (who no longer works there, unfortunately), the fabulous Sofia Lamar always ordered us fried octopus, pizza and fries. No food tastes better than free food.

It’s also a good idea to know which open bars work best for you. The answer to that? All of them. My favorite is the Vandam party which serves free vodka drinks for the first half hour. It’s my favorite because my friends and I have a system that nets us around 30 free drinks during that period.

2a) Don’t Discriminate

Forever 21 makes really cheap clothes, but if you ever get a chance to go to one of their parties, go. They throw the best damn parties. Champagne flowing like it’s water, hors d’oeurves of amazing quality that never seem to run out and gift bags with free clothes! And they’re always early! We finished around 1130, then popped up to Hudson Hotel for more bottles before heading downtown for yet more free alcohol and cute boys.

2c) Know Your Bartenders

I can’t stress this enough. Tip them when you have money and tip them well. You will be rewarded with free drinks after enough time. This one bartender shot me a missed connection after seeing my most terrible karaoke performance of all time in Williamsburg and while I never got to his bar because it was all the way in Greenpoint (seriously people, I just don’t do the G late at night. It’s traumatic. I’d get off the A and walk to get home), I have drink tickets for when I’m back in New York because we stayed in touch.

3)  Sleep Around

Explore the city by letting others explore your body. You don’t have to sleep on your friend’s floor every night! Just meet a cute guy and go back to his place. After all, you have an insane roommate, so you obviously can’t go back to your place! Finally, a good night’s rest!

4) Be Into Art

Did you know that you can get into the Met for a penny? Surely you can scrounge up a penny. That will give you hours of air conditioning during those sultry, summer months.

There’s also a gallery opening every night, and you know what’s at those openings? Free food and booze.

5) Be Social

You never know who you’re talking to. It might be the owner and then you might get more free booze. Happened at B.E.S., happened at B.East, and, basically, it can happen anywhere. Everything from cocaine to Patron to Margiela can be yours for free as long as you’re a social butterfly who knows how to work the game. It’s not easy, but you can do it! I know you can! Get out there and enjoy being young and poor in New York City! To be in poverty is to be in bliss.

Motorcycle Pr0n… because I can

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When I created Crasstalk, I wanted to give everyone a chance to write their own posts. There are no rules here, no themes and no limits on what Crasstalkers can write about. So here’s the deal…. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take a few minutes and write a post. Don’t worry about whether you’re boring other people. If you take the time to write about subjects that interest you… you probably won’t. Continue reading →

The Freaking Happiest Place on Earth

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Tonight, as I sunk into a steamy, near-scalding bath, I cursed myself for planning this vacation. I must have been feverish when I browsed online travel packages at Orbitz and Expedia. I must have been in the throws of delirium when I breathlessly talked my unwitting husband into “five days at Disney – for a pittance – really, a trifle!”

Somehow, I’d forgotten how much I hate being in a sea of people, how weirdly germ-phobic I get at theme parks (I am convinced that I would be able to see the collected amalgamation of germs and bacteria on the hand rails that divide the cattle lines IF ONLY DISNEY WOULD TURN UP THE DAMN LIGHTS. How do all the tottering grandparents see where the hell they are shuffling?) and how much I really, really hate Disney for how aggressively they market to children.  I also forgot how child-like my husband becomes in these situations. He is not a childish person, but when forced into situations like this, with little hope of escape, he cycles between petulant, needy, and exasperated. “Do you have any gum?” he asks, huffy and expectant as a teenager as I riffle through my bag. Engrossed in the work email he can’t help but read and respond to, he wanders off in the wrong direction while typing missives on his phone, forgets where we’ve left the stroller that Little A must have because her “feet hurrrrrt,” and sighs dramatically at every sign posting the wait time for every ride.  In this relationship, I usually own the sarcasm, but enforced enthusiasm brings it out in him: “Oh, you’re hungry? Well, I spilled mustard all over my jacket and my sweater. You could lick that off. It should tide you over until we can find something to eat.”

I should have known the vacation was going to be a disaster when we told Little A that we were going to Disney World.  Last week, when we told her, she cried. Not tears of joy, but bitter, spoiled tears. “I don’t want to go! I’ve already been there! I don’t need to go again! Your plan to surprise me has been crushed!”

I should have transferred the vacation plans right then. I should have called my desperate to babysit in-laws and asked them to take her for a week while my husband and I went to Key West or visited friends in New York or spent a week anywhere but here. But I didn’t. I powered through, plowed ahead, bound and determined to have a good freaking time regardless of all the signs in the universe and tears of my child telling me not to do it.

I’d just taken her last spring, for one whirlwind day while my husband had a business meeting in another part of Florida. She and I had a lovely day at the park. I’d packed my bright orange carry everything bag well, prepped my child well, had a specific budget and a plan, and I stuck to it. Little A had a plan for that day, too, and it involved a princess makeover at Disney’s on-site salon (and by “salon” I mean child beauty pageant warm-up station). Although it went against every fiber of my being, I let her do it. When she emerged from the salon, she was delighted by her glitter-encrusted princess bun and loved her purple eyeshadow and red lip gloss. At least she chose to dress like Belle because, according to Little A, “she’s smart and loves to read.”

All day, she was fawned over by park staff and complimented by strangers (child beauty pageant approving strangers, I assumed). She screamed with delight on the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride, dashed through the Pirates of the Caribbean line to squeeze in a second ride before the park closed, and cheered during the fireworks display over Cinderella’s castle at the end of the night. “Momma, all my dreams came true today,” she said as we made our way out of the park.

It was too good. I shouldn’t have messed with it, but I did. One great day was not enough. No! Daddy was busy last time and missed it! We should go as a family, share the magic, blah de freaking blah. Why can’t I ever just leave damn well enough alone?

I try to laugh in the face of adversity, even my own homemade variety, but instead, today, I whined, grumbled, cajoled, and hand-sanitized my way through the happiest place on Earth. As I soaked away the pain (and croup germs some little weasely toddler spewed in my direction), I felt a bit better. I made it through, a little battered and bruised, vowing never to come here again.

Of course, we are going back on Friday, for one last day. I mean, while we’re here, we might as well…