Today I met a celebrity

Okay, my title is misleading... I didn't meet her. But she did smile at me. Or at least in my direction. Maybe it wasn't to me, but the person sitting next to me.

Let's just say she smiled and acknowledged my section of the audience, a number of times, and I was sitting in the front row... so it's highly probable that at least one of those smiles was totally for me.

I'll stop being annoying and tell you who it was. 

Meredith Vieira, the host of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire!

I had the wonderful privilege of being a studio audience guest for three tapings of Millionaire this morning in New York.

No cameras were allowed during the tapings, but I did manage to snap this one in a commercial break... that's her in the pink jacket. 

Super interesting thing I learned today... apparently Meredith tapes a whole years worth of Millionaire shows in 4 months. I was told by the lady sitting next to me that she works 4 days a week from August until November and after that, is done for the whole season. The shows air as normal, but they've all already been taped!

This makes sense because the tapings this morning will be aired in either December or January. I don't know the date yet. 

Just for the heck of it, I'm going to give you the run-down of my day getting to/being at Millionaire. 

6:25 a.m.  Alarm goes off. I press snooze. My husband grumbles beside me. 

6:30 a.m.  I jump out of bed, excited for the day, but also quite sleepy.

7:30 a.m.  I am dressed to impress and out the door.

8:00 a.m.  I miss my stop on the subway because I am praying and not paying attention.

8:07 a.m.  I get off the subway and get on one going back the other way. 

8:15 a.m.  I walk the wrong way once off the subway. I backtrack again. I joyfully remember how directionless I am and am thankful I left myself plenty of time to get to the studio. 

8:30 a.m. I get to the studio

9:00 a.m. I am in a waiting room with a whole bunch of avid fans, one who later claims to the whole group that he just got off parole for an attempted bank robbery. Joking? Perhaps. Or... perhaps not. 

10:30 a.m. I am in the studio audience in the very back row... but then....

10:33 a.m. I am asked to come sit in the front row! Woo! Perhaps because I have a pretty red shirt on? 

1:05 p.m. After watching three tapings I am still pumped up, but with a coarse voice from yelling and cheering. 

Honestly, I absolutely loved my morning at Millionaire. So much in fact, that I'll be in the studio audience again next Tuesday! 

The only sad thing about this whole experience is that Canadians can't be contestants on the show. Only Americans or U.S. residents can.

It actually doesn't shatter any dreams for myself... but my dreams for my husband. I have said for months "Honey, promise me you'll audition someday. You would win for sure."

He is like a walking encyclopedia, and has random trivia knowledge on almost any subject.

So much knowledge... and no trivia game show to test it on... Oh well. What can you do?

Don't cry for me Argentina

Tonight, my husband's wonderful cousins who are visiting took us to Evita, the musical.

It was phenomenal. I loved the dancing, the singing, the set, the lighting...

But most of all, I loved it because it reminded me of my granny.

It was one of her very favorite plays. Granny especially adored the song Don't Cry For Me Argentina.

I can hardly remember a visit at her house without her playing her VHS recording of the song, and saying "girls, come watch this with me! Isn't she a beautiful singer? Isn't this a beautiful song?"

She would stand in front of the TV, totally enraptured, sometimes with tears streaming down her face. Sometimes she would sing along... sometimes she would just listen. I'm not sure why the song touched her so deeply. I wish I would have asked.

Granny had a beautiful voice. I get nostalgic when I think back to the days she would sing us all the old-time songs she loved. I remember her singing these three the most... Showboat's "Ol' Man River", Dean Martin's "Gimme A Little Kiss"and Johnny Mercer's "Goody Goody".

me and my friend the library

I feel like the library and I have a one-sided friendship.

I take and take and take.... use its facilities, rent its books and movies, read its magazines and newspapers... and it gives and gives and gives without expecting anything in return.

I'm not totally sure what I give to the relationship.

At this point, nothing.

I've often thought the library can be compared to a wimpy friend who lets you take anything from him, anytime, without even saying please or thank you.

When the library doesn't have the books I want I'm annoyed.

When the library reminds me gently that I have to return the books/movies I borrowed, I get defensive and don't want to return them.

Usually, it's because I haven't read or watched them yet.

Example: This morning, I discovered one of my movies is overdue, "America: The Story of Us".

I have already renewed it once. The NYPL website said I can't renew it again because someone has it on hold. Naturally, I don't want to return it because I haven't finished it. And terribly, I sort of feel entitled to keep it as long as I want...

Does anyone else out there treat the library as miserably as I do? Maybe I'm alone on this one. Maybe everyone but me is nice to the library. On the "Friend to the Library" scale, I would rank maybe... 2/10.

In any case, I better get my butt up, and return this movie.

Off I go. Until next time.

toques, runners and washrooms

I don't feel like a foreigner.

But I am one.

It's so weird.

Canada and the U.S. are like twin sisters separated at birth. They look basically the same, but had different upbringings.

So, even though, on a typical day, I don't think "Hey! I'm an alien! This isn't my country!" there are certain things that make me different from Americans.

People can tell I'm not from around here when I use the words...

1) toque
2) runners
3) washroom

Toque vs. Beanie...   Runners vs. Running Shoes/Sneakers...   Washroom vs. Restroom

The third one, "washroom", has given me the most trouble. Especially during the first couple weeks here.

This was a way too-common occurrence: 

me: "Excuse me, where is the washroom?"

store employee: "Sorry ma'am... what are you looking for?"

me: "I'm just wondering where the washroom is..."

store employee: [blank stare]

me: "oh wait... you don't call it that here... where is the restroom?"

store employee: "right over there ma'am"

I haven't had the privilege of using the other two all that much, and therefore, they haven't caused too much alarm. But winter's a-coming, and I will surely put "toque" to good use, even if no one but my husband knows what I'm talking about. 

People can also detect that I'm not from this neck of the woods because of my accent... let's just say that I get a lot of people asking me where I'm from. 

The first few times people asked, I was shocked...

In my head, I was thinking "What gave it away?! I thought I sounded just like everyone else!"

Now I know it's how I say "about" and "oh" and "house"... people say I sound like I'm from Minnesota. 

I even had one person ask me if I was from Ireland or Scotland. 

Very strange indeed...

doggies doggies everywhere

I had many perceptions of Manhattan before arriving.

Most of these perceptions turned out to be false... which makes living here all the more exciting.

My most recent inaccurate perception that was debunked: "there aren't many dogs in Manhattan."

My logic:

1) apartment life doesn't allow for dogs, especially big dogs (there are apartments here that can barely house one person... why add a dog to the mix?)

2) dogs need yards to play in and there are no yards in Manhattan.

3) where do the dogs go pee?

Pretty logical, right?

Wrong.

1) apartment life apparently does allow for not only small dogs... but big dogs. (unless all the dogs I see on the streets are commuting into Manhattan every day...)

2) the dogs might not have yards to play in, but as the picture to the right shows, there are off-leash areas where they can get together for doggie-dates.

3) Well... this one is a little hard for me to accept... but well, our furry friends relieve themselves on the sidewalk or curb or road. And sometimes, if you're lucky, you can get a waft of one of these smells totally unexpectedly...

For certain things, I'm not happy to be proven wrong (I'm a woman after all, and we like to be right), but for something like this, I'm content that my overactive imagination led me to yet another faulty conclusion. I adore dogs and can't wait to get a couple of our own one day.

A few days ago, I found out that we're allowed to have animals in our building, and although it's tempting to go out and buy a cute little puppy with floppy ears (and believe me, I've already proposed it to my husband), I know I must resist.

Soon, hopefully... once we have a yard and a porch and a little bungalow of our own, we will have some happy dogs wreaking havoc in our lives and tearing up our grass.

The day Manhattan became home

Before moving to NYC, I didn't expect our new city would ever feel like home...

I thought that we'd look back on it and remember it as "the city we lived in for three years".

First of all, we were about to be dropped into a new country. And I have never lived anywhere but Canada.

And second... it's New York City.

This was seriously my image of Manhattan: tons of beautiful and fashionably dressed models with stunning high heels rushing around, looking fabulous at every moment of the day. I thought I would be the only one in flip flops.

Only a few hours after arriving in my new city, my perception of NYC (that was based on my imagination and a few movies) quickly changed.

Our apartment superintendent welcomed us with a smile and wonderfully thick accent, and we met all the folks who work in our building.

We began to discover all the tourist spots in the city with my husband's family (who drove down with us) and one of my very best friends.

But even after all of this... it still didn't feel like home.

Let's fast forward to a week later. Everybody's gone. It's just me and my husband and our little apartment.

I decide I want a New York Public Library card, and march up to the nearest library. After proving I really am a New York resident, I land myself a card, and start searching for the first books I will rent.

I find a few, including "301 Questions You Should Ask on Your Interview" and leave.

I start walking down the street, sun streaming down on my face, books under my arm, and suddenly it hits me...
"I'm home. This is my city. I belong here."

My defining moment didn't happen when I saw my apartment for the first time. It didn't happen when I looked out on Manhattan from the top of the Empire State Building. It didn't happen when everyone visiting left and we were in our city alone. No, the moment Manhattan became home was when I rented my first library books.

I know that sounds super dorky. But it's true.

That day, a few weeks ago now, I walked back to our apartment feeling utterly joyful, and all I could think was "I'm home. I'm home! I'M HOME!"

Art in unexpected places

I like to smile.

And I've noticed that it's usually the silly and simple things I come across that make me break out in a huge grin.

Lately, I've been noticing these little graffiti people on the crosswalks of Manhattan.

And I think they're hilarious.

I'm not totally sure why, but every time I see one, I feel like I've made a new discovery and wonder why others aren't as excited as I am. I quickly check to see how much time I have left to cross the street, pull out my phone and snap a picture.

Now, don't get me wrong... Times Square and other notable NYC landmarks have their merit... but for now, I'm much happier going on a treasure hunt for my newfound robot graffiti friends.

I've also come across a couple of these ones:

Living above a bubble tea cafe

I once heard that every good blog asks a question, then tries to answer it.

So, I guess my question for this blog would be: 

How does a small-town Canadian girl make a big American city home?

If my math is correct...

- I have been a Manhattan resident for a grand total of 64 days
- I have not been off an island for 66 days
- I have been in America for 70 days
- I have been excited to move to New York City for... let's say... 400 days

So who am I?

I am a Canadian gal who has made a little home in Manhattan for herself and for her husband.

I am a Christian who loves Jesus.

I am a broadcast journalist and communications specialist by education.

And I'd like to think I'm a quirky person with an adventurous, fun-loving spirit.

I started this blog mostly because I'm curious about the blogging world... and I'd like to experience it for myself.

I guess, from here on in, let the blogging begin!