Mystic!!!

So after my last post, I figured it was definitely time for me to get out of the city for a little while. My sister C-Lovely kindly obliged and whisked me off for a weekend in Mystic, CT, courtesy of her firm's rather generous alt travel policy. Having spent countless hours over the last four years (pretty much since my family went without me) planning a Mystic minibreak, I was over the moon when she suggested it. And, minus the hassle of getting there, it was everything I thought it would be. Here are some observations from my trip:

1. Never, EVER take the George Washington Bridge if you want to go to Connecticut. It's not the 95 you want, and it will add HOURS to your trip.

2. A Cadillac is a nice way to go, but OnStar is pretty useless.

3. The Inn at Mystic: I'm not sure why it's featured in 1,000 Places to See Before You Die, but it was a charming and convenient place to stay, with gorgeous harbor views. It's not a bed and breakfast, but it comes close and provides more privacy and better amenities. Plus, the full breakfast buffet at the Flood Tide restaurant is delicious (and comes with your room). Dinner at the Flood Tide is quite a treat, as well. Down side -- the not-so-friendly staff and the power issues. Warning: Do not try to use your own hairdryer.

4. Penguins: The highlight of our visit was the Mystic Aquarium's Penguin Contact Program. Ten of us sat in a very small, relatively sterile room with a seventh-month-old penguin chick named Green Pink (colorful naming convention, right? Each penguin has a two color combination name and wears those colors in a beaded wing braclet), who waddled among us, played with buttons and tassles on our clothes, hair, strings, camera cords, and anything she could wrap her beak around. We were able to pet her back and scratch her neck and even listen to her heartbeat with a stethoscope. Since we sat near the door, she seemed to gravitate towards me and the man next to me, so we had TONS of penguin contact. It was amazing. Run, don't walk to participate in a program like this if you ever have the chance.

5. Mystic Pizza: Truly a slice of heaven and not remotely on my diet. Strangley, we ran into the special agent's favorite IT guy there on his way back from the WVU/UConn game and a detour to Gillette Castle (which I am saving for a future trip. Bottom line: Delicious pizza, great service, and the movie's not bad, either.

6. Paolo Coelho: He has nothing to do with Mystic, CT -- unless discovering Mystic is my Personal Legend (Although Mystic is delightful, I rather hope this is not the case). Sister C recently discovered The Alchemist, and we explored every bookstore in town in search of more Coelho books for her. After much urging, I decided to buy myself a copy of The Alchemist (I borrowed Dawne's a few years back, but I don't remember much about it) and rediscover it for myself. When I finally update my links in the sidebar, it might appear under "What I'm Reading," along with several other books, including one by my hero, Coach K.

7. B. F. Clyde's Cider Mill: The last steam-powered cider mill, this anacronistic gem was pretty nifty. We watched them press apples, and I picked up a half-gallon of cider for Thanksgiving, along with homemade, no sugar added strawberry preserves and maple pumpkin butter (way too sugary, but who cares?).

Well, folks, that hits the highlights. Definitely worth repeating. Maybe I'll retire there...

Grouchy Smurf

Tonight I hate New York. I hate whiny nieghbors with their screaming kids. I hate leering doormen and security guards. I hate the infinite exercise in torturous tedium that passes itself off as my job. I hate Times Square with its tourists walking slowly four abreast. I hate the crappy grocery stores with their half-dead produce and illiterate cashiers and stockers who don't know the meaning of customer service, let alone how and when to employ the phrase, "excuse me." I hate my ass of an associate who tried to blame his utter incompetence on me this afternoon when he forgot to include labels on a chart. I hate loud people on the subway. I hate whoever knocked on my door and left a nasty note this evening while I was singing in the shower. I have to suck up all the noise in this godforsaken apartment building -- your kids, all the running and jumping around, the drummer upstairs, the screaming boys on four, all of the yippy dogs, and the car alarms that go off at 3am. The least you can do is grin and bear it while I finish rehearsing what I have to audition with tomorrow evening. It's called New York. If you can't take it, move to Purchase.