Autumn in the Big Apple

Those Wholefoods organic turkeys are fattening up nicely on their all-natural diet of locally-grown pretentiousness. Which means it's nearly time to run the holiday gauntlet in the Big Apple. There's barely time to rush down to the West Village Halloween parade and separate the real goths from the down-and-out stockbrokers before it's time to rip down the ghouls and raise the Thanksgiving kitsch. And all that is before the big tree even goes up at The Rock.

What follows is a random pictorial tribute to what by J00ster's reckoning is the best season in the Big Apple. Assuming of course the Yankees can get it done against the cheesesteakers.

Rock pigging out in Hell's Kitchen.

Rock pigging out in the East Village.

Mei pigging out in the East Village.

Rock pigging out in the Upper West Side.

Was someone trying to claim there's something random about these shots? Maybe it's just me here, but I'm detecting a bit of a theme. A Non-Random Walk Down Main Street?

I bet the Mayflower didn't have any dark chocolate semifreddos with a touch of bitter orange. On the upside, the pilgrims didn't have to wait for an hour in the Wholefoods line just to get a couple of bags of cornmeal.

Central Park in autumn is a stunning cacophony of reds, yellows, oranges... and hot babes in spandex training for next week's New York marathon. Hang tight, any second one is going to race into frame.

Amazing that the founding fathers had the foresight to preserve such a slice of prime real estate. Or perhaps they lived in the penthouse of the tower over yonder.

That's quite a backyard. Unfortunately if you're lucky enough to live up there, you're also so famous that you can't even venture out without being mobbed by either the paparazzi, or more recently the FBI looking to drag you off to jail by your freshly starched white collar. Ponzi schemes just don't pay like they used to.

Hmph, I thought tourist season was over? No wonder pumpkin lattes are back at Starbucks.




With such idyllic scenes, it's hard to believe that it was only a few decades ago that the only one enjoying the view was your friendly local crack dealer.

The Central Park Reservoir no longer pumps water to the city, since some bright spark realized all it would take is one disgruntled Phillies fan to wipe out New York's water supply.

But it still makes a great backdrop. Especially for those who can afford Upper East Side lux.

The Ramble is a great place for... uhm... what's a synonym for rambling?

Belvedere Castle enjoys a stunning view over the park. Rock especially likes it because it's his kind of cheap, i.e. free. Especially compared to Top of the Rock. Although on the downside, he doesn't get to use the crude Mei on Top of the Rock joke that he's been saving up for ages.

Enjoy it while it lasts. A few short months and the only thing those glasses will be good for will be avoiding snow blindness.

Rock surveys the vast swathes of real estate that he can't afford. Don't give up dude, if you look really, really hard, you can almost see a shoebox in Queens over there.

Leaves are fun, until you have to rake them up. But it still beats shovelling snow.


Lights, camera, action! Gossip Girl season 3 filming is in full swing. Now where's the html tag for annoying voice over?



Columbus Circle is a dizzying blaze of lights on a foggy autumn evening.




Getting into the holiday spirit on the Upper West Side. In this melting pot of a city, even the Jack O' Lanterns hail from far away lands. Wuhan by the looks of it?

A New York minute on Broadway, Upper West Side.

The recently refurbished Lincoln Center gleams. Thank goodness the Dow is back above 10,000 - they might have a chance of actually selling some tickets for the upcoming ballet season.

Apparently this computer-controlled fountain can be programmed to perform in-sync with whatever is on stage in the Center. In other words, there's an app for that.

College Game Day(s)

There's a chill in the crisp autumn air, Central Park has more splashes of red than your average Bernie Madoff victim's bank statement, and the waiting list for an organic-grown-in-state-with-no-carbon-miles Thanksgiving turkey from Wholefoods Columbus Circle is longer than the backlog for Giants tickets. Which can mean only one thing: unless Rutgers is your idea of an elite football program, then it's time to go country.

Sure I said country, but I didn't quite mean this country. Nashville, country music capital of the world. Hitch your mounts out front and mosey on up to the bar y'all.

Aren't you a little short for a State Capitol? Not when you need to divert all funding into grandiose country music museums.

Who's ready for a hoe down? Rock warms up for his big blue grass solo. The audience warms up for a quick sprint in the other direction.

Who's this guy kidding? You mean other than no one? He's about as country as Keith Urban's Upper West Side pad.

The Vanderbilt Commodores cheerleading trials in full swing. An ability to keep a smile on your face even as your team crumbles to another defeat is a prerequisite.

Every university needs a good tower, and Vanderbilt is no exception. Every good university also needs a good football team. Unfortunately, Vanderbilt is the exception. (Ed - Hang on, there's always the Ivy League).

The stars arrive in Nashville. In other words, the opposing team is arriving. The Ole Miss Rebels look unfazed by the impending showdown as they saunter into the stadium.

Mr C., the Vanderbilt mascot. One wonders how much motivation an old geezer named Cornelius plugging away on a drum kit can generate. After the game, one wonders no longer.

Perhaps if we use the same low angle trick on the Vanderbilt offensive line then they'll look imposing too? Uhm, no.

Flying Pig, a restaurant by Jean Georges.

These days a tailgate isn't a tailgate unless you augment the Weber grill with at least a 42' LCD in the back of the pickup truck. You know, so you can watch teams that are, like, good play while you wait for Vanderbilt to run out onto the field.

The Massey Alumni are having a hard time understanding how a university could afford to waste valuable paddock space on a stadium. "But where do they keep all their sheep?"

It wouldn't be college football without the band. It doesn't matter how much your team sucks, there's always something cool about a marching band.

Who's ready for some football!

V is for victory right? Uhm, lucky your school's name starts with V.

Here come the Commodores!

And uhm... here come the Rebels. Again. And again. And again.

Half time gives the Vandy players a chance to regroup.... in theory. But with the band in full swing on a chilly night down south, who's complaining. Football... and the Rebels... are the winners on the day.

Now let's fast forward a couple weeks to a contest with slightly more on the line. When it comes to college football, there are few prouder programs than the mighty Fighting Irish of Notre Dame. And when it comes to rivalries, there are few as fierce as that with the reviled USC Trojans. Unfortunately for the Irish, the seven year, Pete Carroll-induced drought versus USC is making the ol' potato famine look like that time the South Bend Taco Bell ran out of hot sauce.

But hey, each new year brings the eternal hope that This Is The Year. Or if not The Year, at least the year that Charlie Weis gets fired.

There aren't many football programs where evening mass 45 minutes after the last down is as integral to game day as hot dogs, marching bands, and cheerleaders. Alas for Irish fans, the big ref in the sky seems to be too busy watching the Red River Rivalry on ESPN to nudge so much as a fumble Notre Dame's way.

The legendary Golden Dome. Although one suspects that the rabid Irish fans would gladly trade all the gold on campus for just one victory over the vile USC.

The campus fountain in a contemplative mood before all hell breaks loose on kickoff. Or until a USC student manages to break the blue and gold cordon with a pot of red dye.

Touchdown Jesus looms benevolently over the campus end of the stadium. Unfortunately for the Irish, when it comes to USC, the big fella is about the only one signalling a touchdown.

This is what it's all about. This is what you play for. The sense of anticipation permeates every corner of the fabled field.

How many champions have walked the hallowed halls? Unfortunately of late they've all been wearing cardinal and gold.

80,000 fans make their way to their seats. They better enjoy them because this is the only they'll be sitting in the next 4 hours.

The oldest band in college football history - the Band of the Fighting Irish. Their team may have been going downhill of late, but boy their band is having none of it. Sure the Trojan band has glitzy helmets that look like they were borrowed from the movie sets next door, but the Irish band lets their instruments do the talking. Now if only Jimmy Clausen and his troops could perform with half the precision...

Game day festivities kick off with a skydiving display.

"Let's gooooooooooooooooooooooooo IRISH!"

When it comes to college football games, the best fight songs are the simplest. As in "insert archrival here SUCKS!". Repeat for added effect.

Unbelievable. After trailing 34-14 deep in the 4th quarter, the Irish offense finally finds its rhythm and launches a last ditch drive to the line. And suddenly they find themselves just 4 yards short of tying the game, with only four seconds on the clock. Four seconds between glory and another devastating defeat to the arch rivals.

Alas, the pass is incomplete and the Trojans storm the field to bury their cheesy sword deep in Irish turf.

But wait, there's more! After further review, it turns out there's one second left! That's right, now there's one second between glory and another devastating defeat to the arch rivals. The stadium shakes to its ancient foundations under the weight of 80,000 screaming fans. Even Touchdown Jesus seems to be standing on the edge of his reflecting pool for a better view.

Alas, another pass goes incomplete, and the suffering continues for another long year. But what an epic finish. Unbelievable drama on the goal line. College football at its best.

Pacific Northwest Part 5: Eastwards Ho!

Ok, to be geographically correct, it should be Westward Ho for another 233km, and then back Eastwards Ho. But since when has J00ster let a good story get in the way of the truth?

The Icefields Parkway that connects Lake Louise to Jasper has, among other things, the coolest name on earth. Some of those other things though include roadside glaciers, gem-like alpine lakes, and jagged peaks.

Didn't you see the signs, it's illegal to feed the wildlife.

Peyto Lake is a ready made postcard. Just point and click. Even Rock can manage that.


Now that's the icing on the cake. Hur hur hur.

The Canadian Rockies turn geology into a spectator sport. Whole sections of the earth's crust have been thrust skywards by titantic geological forces.

Taking a breather from behind the wheel. It's hard work getting passed by two cars per minute.

So spectacular it's almost a shame to put a road through it. He says as he sinks back down into his comfy driver's seat, reaches for the steaming coffee in the convenient cup holder, and fires up the radio for the next 100km push.

The spectacular Athabasca glacier conveniently comes right down almost to the road. Also conveniently, the local Yeti took time out from a busy schedule of casting ominous footprints in the snow to pose for a quick pic.

Funny how the temperature drops when you're standing on top of a million tons of ice.


The glacier used to come right down to the edge of the road. Unfortunately, that pesky climate change issue means it is receding at an alarming rate. Which means that people have to drive further to see it... hang on a second, isn't that what caused the problem in the first place?

On closer examination, that appears to be a Cruiser in front of us! Oh the shame!

The quaint town of Jasper, end of a long but scenic haul up the Icefields Parkway. More of a backpacker hangout than an RV hub, Jasper is to Banff what Wanaka is to Queenstown.

The only black bear we saw on the trip had a pretty mellow personality.

Last day in the park, which means time to do it all over again and head back the way we came. All six hours of it. Fortunately, with a whole day to spread it over, there was plenty of time for... you guessed it... more waterfalls.

This is the mighty Athabasca Falls, just outside of Jasper town.


These days, the only thing this ancient water chute carries is overly energetic tourists who have been cooped up in a car too long.

On the other side of the maelstrom, things are quite peaceful. Just like when Mei finally gets her way.

More Icefields action. I hear Discovery Channel is taking auditions for dudes who want to ice skate in 18 wheelers. You could be looking at the next star of Iceroad Truckers, Season 4.

Taking another breather from the wheel. A long day at the helm means Hershey's is making a lot of money.


With a sun like that, it's a wonder the glaciers haven't melted already.

The long suffering Royal Canadian Mounties learned a long time ago it's better just to humor the tourists from south o' the boarder.

As if there was any doubt as to who this magnificent patch of wilderness belongs to.

A final stop before the luxurious *cough* Calgary Airport Travelodge beckons again: Yoho National Park. Something of a poor second cousin to Banff and Jasper, it turns out that you can't judge a park by the number of RVs pouring through its gates.

This is why. No paved trail. No interpretive signs. Just a narrow, unmarked trail though a peaceful grove of aspen and pines. And then this. Out of nowhere a mighty waterfall thunders into the valley below.

A narrow trail takes one to the very foot of the falls.

It's wet and wild when you get up personal with 255 cubic feet per second of glacial water.

The camera takes a pounding...

As does Rock's jersey.

What a way to wind up three amazing days in the Canadian Rockies. We'll leave things there, lest we need to mention the Travelodge again...

Pacific Northwest Part 4: Westward Ho!

Saddle up folks and hitch up the wagon, it's time to head west! Next stop (ok I'm taking a little artistic license here and avoiding all mention of the Calgary Airport Travelodge) is Banff National Park, about an hour and a half west of Calgary.

The bad news is this is Rock's first attempt at driving on the right hand side of the road. The good news is if he gets it wrong at least you'll have the satisfaction of knowing your entrails are helping a couple of cute black bear cubs fatten up for their impending winter hibernation.

First stop is fortunately not in front of the flashing lights of the local highway patrol, but rather in the gateway town of Banff, nestled in the heart of, surprise surprise, Banff National Park.

It's Main Street USA! Actually, that's not far from the mark. The town of Banff might as well have been designed by uncle Walt himself, given the picture perfect artificiality of the 'mountain village' kitsch. Which in J00ster's book is not a bad thing at all. Especially if they have a Casey's Hotdog Stand.

Any second Mickey Mouse is going to come bouncing into frame.

Even the churches look like they're right out of an America the Beautiful music video. Except this is Canada. Anyway, the mountain in the background gives a hint of things to come. Or you could just scroll down if you don't have the patience for hints.

Enough of the mountains-on-a-travelator experience, it's time to find the real wilderness. By which I of course mean stopping at every scenic pull-over along the road and waddling just far enough away from the parking lot such that no Cruisers or zimmer frames get in the photo.

Since when do you need to find a makeup kit for a 2 hour hike?

First hiking pitstop: Johnson Canyon, half way between Banff and Lake Louise.

The trail starts out as an easy boardwalk, but then transforms into a rugged... actually no, it pretty much stays a boardwalk the whole way.

So clear and clean you can almost taste it. Except your mouth is filled with... err.. wilderness provisions. You know, like Pringles. Imagine how much faster the West would have been won if they'd had Pringles to power them along.

The lower falls in the canyon is a spectacular jet of water that thunders over a precipice. Well worth the hike. Especially when hike should probably have inverted commas around it, and a cynical comment about zimmer frames after it. Luckily for readers, Rock already used that one up.



Sick of waterfalls yet? By the time this blog is over you'll be able to add mountains, lakes, glaciers, chili crab, and Rock's writing to the list. Actually, the latter has probably already made the list, hasn't it?

Hmmm... since it's upside down I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

This is pretty much the biggest land mammal we saw, despite three days in a park that is supposed to have one of the highest concentration of big land mammals in the world. This is true regardless of whether you choose to include your typical RV inhabitant in the mix or not.

The upper falls is even more impressive than the lower falls. Which is a good thing, given the extra hour and extra Pringles required to hike to them.

Next stop, Lake Louise. On the way, Castle Mountain looms large over the highway. With original nomenclature like that, it fits perfectly into this blog.

Home for the night - the Lake Louise Chateau, perched on the edge of the famous lake. Which probably explains the Manhattan-esque price for overnight parking.

Room with a view. If this were a real estate website, we'd call this intimate lake views. However, this is Rock's blog, so intimate views are probably best left to those who have subscribed to the pay-per-view version.

With a bed like that, trails can wait. And wait. And wait. Must be dinner time by now.

First look at the stunning Lake Louise.


Who are those hardy souls out there in that canoe? Probably the only tourists rich enough to fork over the exorbitant 50 bucks per half hour rental fee.

Call me a spoilsport, but will someone please remove those flowers so I can take more shots of the lake.

What did I say about being sick of lakes?


Before the sun sets there's just time for a quick hike up to a lookout. Quick being the operative word since it's prime black bear season, and dusk is their favorite hunting hour.


The next morning dawns clear and warm. A good thing for us, but a bad thing for readers, since it means a whole new set of lake pics.


Or glaciers. Did I mention glaciers yet?

Is this a slimming mirror? Unfortunately, the dry summer means Mirror Lake isn't really living up to its name. Hard to be a mirror when you can see the bottom through one centimeter of water.

The big beehive. If you're cool, you climb it for epic views of the surrounding Rockies. Needless to say, we didn't.

More glaciers. This is nothing, just wait till you read all about the Iceroad Parkway. Or am I being a bit presumptuous assuming you've even made it this far?

Epic vistas. Before Microsoft made Vista a dirty word.

Are we there yet? How come I can't see the teahouse?

So far no bears. But also no teahouse. Call it even.


Looks a bit like a giant cupcake. Or rather a giant cupcake before Mei eats all the frosting off and palms off the leftover cake bit to Rock.

Where oh where is the teahouse? Have we gone the wrong way? This is obviously all Rock's fault.

Hang on, follow the convenient, non-photoshopped pointer. Look up yonder in that grove of pines. If I'm not mistaken, it's a teahouse perched an a ledge.

Wow. Before Blizzard made WoW a dirty word.

Rock ventures out into a waterfall to get the perfect shot.

Lake Anges. Worth the strenuous hike. Well, worth it if the tea is good.
If you think you've seen this before, it's because you have. That's right, this was already put in the been-there-done-that-what's-next bucket by the good folk over at TwoPhat.
Hot chocolate never tasted, or looked, so good.

One last photo stop before heading back down the mountain. Heck of a long way to climb for a cuppa, but hey, there's more to life than food. (Ed - Really?)

But wait, there's more!

A fitting finale to Lake Louise and surrounds.

Next stop, or rather non-stop, the Icefields Parkway.

Pacific Northwest Part 3: Canucks Territory

You'd never guess the puck was about to drop on the 2009/10 ice hockey season, given the glorious weather Vancouver turned on as the J00sters rolled into town.

As far as harbors go, Vancouver gives Sydney a run for its money. Quite literally, when you tally up the price of the ritzy new condos popping up along the foreshore. On the downside, Vancouver weather is less conducive to topless sunbathing.

Any city where getting to the airport involves a stroll down to the dock gets Rock's vote. And it doesn't hurt that Vancouver also serves up some of the best seafood this side of the continent.

Aaaah, seaplanes - you can never have too many shots of seaplan... sorry dear, I mean the wife.

But back to seaplanes...


There's no better way to tour the city than on two wheels... even if it does involve lugging an underpowered Cruiser-esque rear wheel drive unit most of the way. Apparently this is where the players shop. Must explain why Rock isn't buying. Well, that and the fact he's cheap.

Nice digs. And walking distance to the Canuck's home face-off circle.

Bike-cam nearly became underwater-cam when this stunt went downhill. Rapidly.

There's that powerful rear wheel drive I was talking about.

All he needs is his goalie stick.

Monuments to a lost age. Or perhaps to an all too present age of mass tourism by the busload.

A beach? In Canada? One starts to wonder if big brother Uncle Sam's bullying of his northern sibling has something to do with an inferiority complex.

TwoPhat may have 744 heavies, but we've got these bad boys. No doubt loaded up with container loads of Made in China Canadian flags for all those patriotic Olympic visitors about to start streaming in from all corners of this land.

Two Chinatowns in one trip! We're on a roll here!

Who's hungry enough to eat the goldfish?

Vancouver by night. When the sun sets the city comes out to play. Except for team J00ster, who have long since hit the sack.

The famous Gastown clock is ironically powered by electricity. But don't let that detract from the vibe of the Gastown neighborhood - once a run down industrial sector but now a pumping mix of bars, cafes, and funky converted warehouse lofts.

The brand new airport train is a pleasure to hop on. It's nice to ride a subway system that was designed this century.

Kitsilano is the suburb where the rich folks live. Needless to say, Mei is just passing through.

Ok, I'm just going to come out an say this: does anyone else think this looks a little too much like the good old MUSA center at Massey? The University of British Columbia may be set on a picturesque peninsula, but alas the architecture seems to be more fit for a muddy sheep paddock in you-know-where. And this one doesn't even serve vanilla thickshakes.

Pacific Northwest Part 2: From Sea to Sky and back again

Next stop on the whirlwind PacNW tour - Vancouver. Or more accurately Whistler, site of the 2010 Winter Olympic Games in just four short months, although you wouldn't know it given the glorious autumn weather.

Warning, incoming Texans! These travel gurus are so hard to keep up with they're always a blur!

As the old cliche says, the journey is more important than the destination. And we at J00ster love a good cliche. In this case though, it's at least partly true. The evocatively named Sea to Sky Highway winds its way from Vancouver to Whistler, taking in some of the most spectacular sights you'll ever see... well, see on this blog anyway.

The road starts in the foothills, where the mighty Pacific laps gently at the base of towering peaks...

...and winds upwards past mighty waterfalls. And annoying tourists who seem intent on shattering the serenity with city folk antics.

BroTown comes to the mountains... in a silver PT Cruiser.

The resort village of Whistler is looking spic and span and ready for the eyes of the whole world to turn upon her when the Olympics kick off. One hopes there's going to be a few snowstorms between now and then, otherwise Usain Bolt has a decent shot at winning the Giant Slalom.

Nothing like the crisp mountain air to whet the appetite. Unless of course you're in the Andes, and its another alpaca steak on the menu.

It may still be shorts and t-shirt weather, but that doesn't stop the gondola from whisking hikers and mountain bikers up the mountain. Rock is always up for taking the quick and easy road. You know, like Vader did.

Oh Canada! As Mei so eloquently put it, it's just like New Zealand, except big. Which is hard to argue with, especially after tasting the darn good mochas they whip up here.

The peak-to-peak gondola is something of an engineering feat. Stretching between two towering mountains, the system boasts the longest unsupported span of any gondola in the world. Which in less technical terms translates into epic views of the valley far below and the majestic peaks on either side.

Mei doesn't appear too worried about being suspended by a single cable almost half a kilometer above the valley floor. As long as this is the quickest route to the cafe on the other side.

That's Whistler far below. Fortunately from up here you can't see the silver Cruiser.

Taking 11 minutes to cross the 4.4km chasm, there's plenty of time to admire the view.

This is one spot where you don't want to lean on the doors.

The view from the other side is stunning.

Even Mei is moved to salute the view, notwithstanding the lack of chili crabs at this altitude.

You know you've lucked out weather-wise when you don't even have to hold on to your hat on the top of a mountain.

Time to leave the rest of a gondola passengers to their lattes and hit the wilderness trail.

After the Inca Trail, this is a mere amble up a few hills. Show me the challenge! Actually, take that back, it's nice to enjoy some scenery without the constant threat of oxygen deprivation. Although a roast guinea pig would go down a treat right about now.

Give it a few more weeks, and there will be plenty more snow where that came from.

Speaking of roast guinea pig, does this remind you of something? Hopefully something other than Rock's highest outhouse in the world experience.

Mountain men. All that's missing is a couple of coonskin caps. And perhaps a banjo...

This ain't central park folks, this is the wilderness. Stop posing and start fending off black bears. Or at least that enraged greenie behind you who is about to admonish you for daring to step off the trail.
At least you'll scare away the bears...

Mirror, mirror, on the... err... ground... who's the shortest of them all?


Sick of mountains yet? Trust me, you will be. Just wait till we get to Banff... or until you read about it all over again at http://twophatkiwis.blogspot.com...

Time to float effortlessly back across the valley, courtesy of some quality German engineering.

This is a shot you'll be seeing a lot of on TV in a few month's time... minus the usual suspect of course, who is way too cheap to pay the Olympic premium.

Sun sets over Whistler village on a quiet autumn evening. Which can mean only one thing: where's dinner?

See what I mean, always a blur. In the time it takes J00ster to unpack a couple of bags, the intrepid team at TwoPhat has already circled the town four times, downed a dozen local brews, and skinned a raccoon with their bare hands.

So much for wilderness. Whistler has more fine dining per square kilometer than black bears. The Araxi restaurant in the heart of the village serves up contemporary Pacific fare in a decidedly unrustic setting.

Pacific Northwest Part 1: Sleepless in Seattle

Ok, so the title has less to do with the charms of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport Holiday Inn than it does Rock's inability to come up with anything remotely witty... but hey, it got your attention. Ok it didn't. But let's face it, you're still gonna read this, because it still beats whatever else you had planned for your day.

Let's start things on familiar turf, shall we?

Every city has a chinatown, and every chinatown has a big gate. But how many have a dragon as well?

Hawking bubble teas in the land of Starbucks? Just make sure you don't step beyond the dragon gate.

Seattle has a bit of a thing for snazzy architecture. This is the new public library, which has some remarkably cool lines for a public building. It's almost like they realized you can't sell a city on Iced Venti Lattes alone. Although Mei would beg to differ.

The salubrious Fairmont Olympic Hotel. One glance at the price tag sends Rock scurrying for the nearest Travelodge.

Seattle's 5th avenue is where those who haven't frittered away all their savings at Starbucks shop. Needless to say, Mei won't be hitting Louis Vuitton.

The famous Pikes Place market occupies a spectacular piece of real estate perched over the Seattle harbor. Why they could almost cast a line right from the famous fish stall to reel in the day's catch.

What?! An alley with no Starbucks is like a J00ster post with no food.

It's hard to stand still for a quick snap when the aroma of steaming seafood is wafting this way.

Zhu meets zhu. I can see the family resemblance, can you?

If you can't, just wait for the lunch stop, then I'm sure you'll concur.

Anyone care to guess what's on the lunch menu?

Yeah, yeah, sure it's scenic and all, but where's my crab?


Incoming fried calamari! Someone has food on their mind.

It's waaaay better than Wholefoods. Primarily because you don't have to wait in a line that does a dead ringer approximation of a lissajous figure.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Actually no, it's just another lame pose for the J00ster cameras.

Q: What do modern sculptures and impersonating Egyptian hieroglyphics have in common? A: They both help kill time until it's time to eat crab.

It's a glorious day... to be eating crab!

Rock contemplates the deep questions in life. Should he order a crab steamed with ginger and shallots, or a salt and pepper crab. Or both.

Mei contemplates the deep questions in life. How can she stop Rock from getting the juiciest claw meat before she can.

Mei is hungy enough to fly right back up to the crab market.

Between stomach rumbles, there's time to capture a few shots of Seattle's picturesque harbor.


And finally, Zhu gets to do what a a zhu does best.

Look closely and you'll see the original Starbucks logo was a little more risque than today's mom, dad, and 2.4 kids version. Must have taken more than coffee beans to get the old sea salts to stop by after a long voyage.

The sights and sounds of the bustling market. But this being J00ster, it's really only the tastes that we care about.

Next stop, the grandiously named Space Needle. Perhaps back when Sputnik was humiliating a generation of American scientists building a 180m tall tower was an impressive feat, but these days it's looking just a little... well... short. Mei can almost jump over it.

Nonetheless, by cunningly placing the "tower" well away from the city and the plethora of nondescript skyscrapers that are actually taller than it, and by using the shortest model they could find to pose in front, the designers do manage to pull off the illusion of height. Sort of. You know, like when Mei tries to wear high heels.


Despite Rock's cyncial rants about the last relics of an empire in decline, the view from the top is not bad. Not bad at all in fact.

Why from up here all the other buildings do look short. Unlike Mei, who always looks short.

Look down there, another two cruise ships are disgorging their waddling cargo straight into the convenient dockside Starbucks.


The definition of long time, no see. 17 years is a long time between drinks, or rather kick the can games. Rock and James reminisce about old times. And new times. A lot happens in almost two decades.

Take me out to the ball game!

Gotta love the Big Apple in Autumn. On one side of town Federer and Del Potro are trading baseline blows, while out in the Bronx the mighty Yankees look to continue their league-leading run with a victory over the LA Angels. And out in Meadowlands Eli and the Giants are kicking their NFL season off with a win.

With a fastball like that, Joba Chamberlain better watch his spot on the rotation...

Stunning sunset in the Bronx. Things always look better from a brand new $1.5 billion stadium.

The gleaming new monument to the excesses of a team with a Goldman Sachs sized payroll. At least they still have peanuts and crackerjacks... to go with the organic fruit stand.


Let's play some ball!

Rock spends more time admiring the stadium, and misses another home run.

Derek Jeter is the Yankees. Some would say he is New York. Except today when he goes 0 for 3.

One of the greatest closers of all time in action - Mariano Rivera claims save number 40 as the Yankees shut down their west coast rivals.


"Ballgame over! Yankees win! Theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Yankees win!"

Game, Set, Match, and Hotdog

A break in the autumn rain clouds is about as frequent as a break in Federer's serve here in the Big Apple, but fortunately the day of the 2009 US Open men's semifinals dawns warm and clear. Let's play some tennis!

But first, let's look at some random photos to set the scene.

Welcome to the US Open! Need I say more? Thankfully, no.

Time for a little celebrity spotting on the concourse of champions. Who's the babe in the hat? Must be a star from the Real Housewives of Wuhan.

The scene is set for two epic semifinals. Del Potro vs Nadal followed by Djokovic vs Federer. Followed by Rock vs Footlong Hotdog.

Wall of Champions. What does it take to get on this wall? Probably a bit more than a bit of free advertising for Continental.

The men's honor roll reads a bit like this blog. Same old, same old.

Before Serena's pleasantries, John McEnroe was considered the bad boy of center court.

Unless I'm very much mistake, Mr Bronze Dude in the background seems to have failed to take advantage of the numerous tennis gear shops around the grounds to kit himself out. Brings a whole new meaning to 'new balls please'. Fortunately for those readers who actually made it this far, Rock takes a much less Olympian approach to his game. In both senses of the word.

The cauldron of champions.

The stage is set. The ball boys are in position. The crowd is expectantly hushed. And most importantly, the ketchup is on the darn good crinkle fries they serve outside of gate 20.


Let the games begin! Nadal launches into his first serve of the match...

...but as things go on, it becomes clear that the time for another crinkly fry is now. Oh, and that Nadal is struggling valiantly with the stomach strain that has hampered him all tournament.

Forget Federer, forget Nadal, here comes the real star!

The brunch of champions.

Rock succumbs to the relentless marketing drive: if you dress like the stars, you'll play like the stars. Advantage Capitalism.

No way! It's the 42nd president of the United States of America! The crowds still love him.

Back to the action. Federer steps up with an incredible US Open record. The man just doesn't know how to lose here (disclaimer: most of this was written before the final)

Poetry in motion. The only poetry you'll get on this blog.

The roar of the crowd competes with the roar of twin turbofans every few minutes as another jet lines up for short finals to La Guardia.

The DirectTV blimp takes great delight in circling Rock's seat and launching an aerial bombardment of ridicule on those poor fools stuck with Time Warner Cable. You mean you can't watch eight football games simultaneously?!?

Apparently the dude in the hat and sunnies looking right this way is Justin Timberlake. Must be trying to work out who the cool chick in the hat is up there in the cheap seats.

Sunset over Arthur Ashe stadium. Magnificent.

He must get sick of doing post-victory interviews. There's only so many times you can laud your opponent for putting up a good fight before you just have to tell it like it is: everyone else sucks. Of course, the alternative is you can throw away the final...

Here come the bulldogs!

There's a dash of yellow in Central Park's dense summer foliage, and just the slightest hint of a chill in the morning air. And the swarms of peak-season tourists in Times Square are suddenly a little less dense (in numbers, not IQ and certainly not body mass index). Which can mean only one thing. It's autumn in the big apple. And more importantly, it's football season again!

So what better time to continue the Tour de Ivy than on the eve of another year of epic victories and crushed dreams in the cauldron of college football. Ok, fine, so Yale's Bulldogs aren't exactly setting the AP Top 25 alight, and most the students are probably more interested in dissecting the finer points of Sotomayor's (LAW '79) rulings than arguing the relative merits of Florida versus Texas, but one mention of Harvard Crimson and suddenly we've got a game on our hands.


Cahan (PHYSICS, 'never) and Zhu (IT, 'never) wonder why they never made it through the hallowed gate.

Founded in 1701. Stop and think about that for a second. This storied institute was handing out degrees before Massey even had a country to be put in.

The Master is in the House.

Oh look, a water feature other than a big puddle outside the MUSA shop after another soggy Manawatu day.

Yale Law School. Notable alumni include Bill and Hilary Clinton and Robert Rubin. Notable visitors include the J00sters.

Lux et veritas! Light and truth!

One of the extracurricular activities at Yale is the Guild of Carrillonneurs, charged with ringing the bells in Yale's many imposing towers. At Massey you can usually find a rusty cow bell or two in the paddock out the back of Ag Hort.

Talk about building brand equity.

This is just a library, not the library. Yale has 22.

How do you say nice digs in Latin?

Watch out for those crafty Slytherin boys. They might try to snatch you snazzy EliBucks(tm)swipe card before you can secure tonight's Thai red curry rotation.

Attendance always spikes before finals. Or before Yale and Harvard football go head to head in "The Game".

Hurry up, you'll miss today's all important "why Harvard sucks" lecture.

Believe it or not, this is one of the student dorms. No wonder graduates from this fine institution barely blink when they misplace a billion or two of shareholder funds - why it's just pocket change.