Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Where The Sushi is YOUshi

At the ripe young age of 20 + 21 (you do the math), having seen, done, sweated, feared, embraced, confronted, stared down, and jumped feet first into a plethora of experiences, I have become many things.

I'm an oenophile.

Yes, I know that sounds like something filthy, on a par with necrophiliac or philatelist (yes, I do find something slightly off kilter and unstable about a person who gets wood from tracking down and owning a stamp with a dead person printed on it - although not quite so off-kilter as someone who gets wood tracking down and boning a dead person), but it's not. It simply means I like wine. Having only been exposed to the 70's era standard of Lancer's by my parents, who would turn every bottle into some Itali-nouveau objet d'art by shoving candle in it's neck after the bottle was empty, my appreciation of all things grape expanded greatly when I met my husband.

He likes wine. No - scratch that. He loves wine. He appreciates wine. He understands wine. Wine has never known a bad week in his house. So through the years, I have come to appreciate the subtleties, can argue the merits of screw top vs cork, and have learned that the right wine can not only enhance a great meal, it can make it exceptional. I still rank Napa as one of my favorite vacation memories - although those memories are a bit fuzzy...the main activity being hopping from one vineyard to the next, imbibing at every stop.

I'm a soccer fan.

And believe me, being passionate about a sport is nothing I ever would have thought could happen to me. I grew up in a household where Steelers worship bordered on lunacy. Even today, on game days, my father will dress in full Steelers regalia, raise his black and gold flag in front of his house, and genuflect as he passes the miniature football (encased in Plexiglass, no less) signed by the entire team many years back. My husband managed to procure the rare gift for him when the team stayed in his hotel in Kansas City. (I am fairly confident our place in the Will is secure.)

For me, soccer is the sport. Two kids play it, I manage it, and our TV is superglued to Fox Soccer every weekend. It's not just a Beckham thing - it's a passion thing. OK, ok - Beckham and passion are fairly synonymous, but I watch teams from all over the world, not just Becks warming the Galaxy bench.

I'm a spa addict. A true hedonist.

No vacation is complete without a trip to the spa to be lovingly mangled, ripped apart, and put back together again by a total stranger. Shiatsu, Lomi lomi, Hot Stone, Aromatherapy, Deep tissue, Swedish, you name it - I've tried it. The only problem is that when it's good, and massages vary by therapist, it's very good - so good you find yourself sliding off the edge of consciousness, which tends to make me stress - Dammit! You can't fall asleep! Do you know how much you're paying this woman?!? - the total opposite of what you're there for.

I'm a sushi lover.

Having grown up on a steady midwestern diet of meat (cooked to well doneness), potatoes (mashed, au gratin, baked...), and canned fruit suspended in Jell-o, sushi was, in my mind, some exotic, yet disgusting, bowl of sloppy raw fish entrails eaten with chopsticks.

Enter my husband.

He will tell anyone who asks that the moment he knew I was the one is the moment I agreed trust him and go eat sushi (a longtime favorite cuisine of his). In the years since my first belly-up to the sushi bar, I have expanded not only my knowledge, but my palate.

Sushi is not, as I had wrongly assumed, all raw – it is often cooked – and the word sushi describes how an item is prepared (on rice) – so not all items found in a "Sushi" bar are actually sushi. Sushi is not sloppy either. In fact, it is one of the most pristine, elegant, artistic types of cuisine you will ever see. And while I draw the line at some items – like uni (sea urchin), which is an acquired taste – akin to acquiring a taste for licking outhouse toilet tanks which have marinated in the hot Texas sun for three weeks – I have tried the majority of items available – raw and cooked.

Our daughters have all been regulars since they could chew and all have their favorite items. There’s something to be said about an eleven year old whose favorite meal is edamame (steamed soy beans), maguro (raw tuna), raw salmon, and tobiko (bright orange or red fish eggs) – that’s an adventurous child who could dine happily anywhere Anthony Bourdain happens to squat.

It’s these last two addictions of mine which are likely to be included in every travel opportunity. Spa-ing and sushi-ing – both sure to put a smile on my face no matter the locale.

Which brings me to the actual topic of today’s piece. It seems I may have a new world to conquer in terms of those favorites of mine.

But it would involve my willingness to turn the tables and enter a spa where I would be the sushee, not the sushior.

Welcome to the Ooedo-Onsen-Monogatari spa in Tokyo. A hot springs facility now featuring the Doctor Fish treatment.

Are you ready?

Employing tiny fish, Garra rufa, specially imported from Turkey, the spa provides pedicures, manicures, back treatments, full leg, etc – in which the fish dine on the dead skin cells of the clientele during the treatment.

Yes, dine on, as in eat off of you.

As new agey Jaws theme music plays softly in the background - dun, dun, dun, dun, dundundundundundundundun (ok, fine, I'm making that part up...) visitors have described the sensation as "a very nice and natural way to remove your dead cells."

Others say that the sensation during their full leg "pedicures" would have been relaxing if it weren’t so disturbing – describing feeling the flutter of fins, the slight pinch of sucking little fish mouths, and the view of them swarming over their appendages. Some cling with such suction they need to be brushed off after the treatment.

All agree, however, that the result is baby soft, dead-skin-cell-free skin. And at roughly $4.50 to $8.50 per treatment – that’s a steal. Then again, they don’t have the employee overhead of salaries, benefits, sick days...

I don’t know. I like to think I’m an adventurous sort, but I guess I’m a little squeamish around the edges (although I’m sure those fish would be happy to suck those edges right off).  And plunging my nakedness into a pool of pseudo-pirahnas doesn't do it for me.

So, even if my travel plans suddenly happen to include a Japanese stamp in my passport, it's safe to say I’m still packing a loofah.

Etiquette Takes A Vacation

This morning found me in one of the more prime people watching venues on the planet - an airport.

My daughter was leaving for a take-Chicago-by-storm shopping trip with my sister.  As she was taking her first solo flight, we arrived extra early so as to arrange all the unaccompanied minor details with the airline.  This also afforded me the opportunity to peruse the never ending variety of human beings en route to numerous points beyond Austin.  We share airspace with some truly unique individuals.

It got me to thinking...

Growing up around the airline industry, I had occasion to travel more than the average kid. From Florida to Hawaii, my family availed itself of the friendly skies (and free family passes). As I grew older, I even took an airline job so as to continue my affair with wanderlust.

I have seen airlines come and go, split and merge. I’ve been on everything from prop planes to 757s, have toured Air Force One and the Concorde, flown in the cockpit jumpseat, and sat in front seat of fighter jets. I even managed to snag a ride aboard a Goodyear blimp at one point.

Yes, I have seen many changes in the industry and the aircrafts throughout the years, but the biggest change I have noted is in the people who travel.

More specifically, the behavior of the people who travel.

It used to be that air travel was a big deal. People would spiff up for their trips - suits, ties, dresses and heels being the expected attire. Manners prevailed and civility was the watchword. Stewardesses wore white gloves and meal service was divine.

Yet somewhere along the way, something began to happen. Somewhere between the glut of available airline seats and the opening of the first Walmart, more people were able to afford a ticket and began to travel. Unfortunately, no one informed these newbies about expected behaviors, attire and rules, and soon the airports began to take on a decidedly "bus terminal" feel.

The well dressed, well mannered traveler was going the way of the Do-do.

Flight attendants, now permanent candidates for casual Friday in their polo shirts and khakis, no longer deliver hot meals with a smile. They are too busy clearing the bathrooms of Mile High Club wannabes.

Sweat pants, flip flops, a laptop and a bag of McDonald’s are now the standard uniform of travel. Even in first class, once the domain of the really beautiful people, Abercrombie & Fitch trumps Dolce & Gabbana. With the exception of business travelers who will be walking straight off a flight into a board meeting, seldom do you see someone who gave any thought to their apparel or appearance.

Once on board, if you‘re lucky, you end up next to a grandmother who bathed in a gallon jug of Eau de Roses and who will talk your ears to bleeding about grandbabies and bunions.

Worst case, you end up sandwiched between a fat guy with a sinus infection and aversion to wearing deoderant and a traveling salesman who, while watching porn on his DVD player, eats a bag of hard boiled eggs. And just as you ask yourself, "What fresh hell is this?", the person in front of you slams their chair into recline and begins to paint their nails.

There just seems to be no etiquette, no concept of personal space and definitely no savoir faire in terms of human interaction. And this phenomenon is not restricted to the skies overhead - No. Once you land and head towards your hotel or motel, the trend towards bad behavior becomes even more acute.

Especially if you are staying at the ones that offer the ubiquitous FCB - Free Continental Breakfast. You know the ones - the Holiday Inns, Super 8s and Best Westerns of the world.

As my summer typically include much in the way of road travel, I have had occasion to frequent many of these establishments, as I make my way to and fro across this great land of ours.  A recent stay in a hotel-which-shall-be-nameless still has me shaking my head.

Screaming children running through the corridors, including one little boy (age 3), who was alone and going from room to room on my floor knocking on doors trying to find his. There were teens swimming in the pool with their clothes on and toddlers leaving crackers all over the pool deck. But all of this paled in comparison to the Human Buffet I enjoyed watching the next morning at the "Free Continental Breakfast".

First of all, you would have thought these people had just been airlifted from Darfur, the way they were clawing and clamoring at the food. My youngest daughter, age 11, a savvy traveler herself (and not raised by wolves) whispered, "I feel like I’m in prison."

Wrong, honey. Prisoners have strict dress codes that include shirts, shoes and pants.

These people, and they were not unique - I see a version of them everytime I partake of the FBC, anywhere I travel - had literally rolled out of bed and down to the lobby. Bare feet, bed head, men with no shirts, women with curlers in their hair or hair wet from the shower, and kids running amok in their underwear.

I would have probably left well enough alone and ignored yet another demonstration of how ill mannered and socially inept so many travelers are, but then HE passed by my table.

It is because of the barefooted, bedheaded, nose picking, obviously underwear eschewing man who toyed with his "tea bags" as he passed my bagel, that I offer these guidelines for the traveling impaired. Follow them, because I’m out there, I’ll be watching and from now on, anyone who dares walk into my eyeline while scratching their testicles is going to redefine FCB as I F*cking Cut off your Balls.

1. Airplanes are essentially sardine cans with wings. They are compact and crammed and everyone is trapped for the duration. Wear deodorant. Brush your teeth and carry breath mints. If you must bring on food, be cognizant of the accompanying odor. A five hour flight to Maui is not the best time to indulge your craving for boiled cabbage or Easter eggs. And NO, the seat fabric will not magically suck up the smell when you fart. Your butt breeze will be recirculated through the plane until arrival.

2. The Mile High Club is over rated. Plus, anyone who thinks they can get real satisfaction in the confines of an airplane bathroom deserves to be caught by the flight attendant or have their foot slip into the blue water of the toilet.

3. Dirty diapers do not belong in seat pockets or handed to the flight attendants. People understand that babies poo, but it is your responsibility to mitigate the smell - bring a supply of Zip Lok bags and dispose of them when you land.

4. Porn is for home use only. For God’s sake people, can’t you do without it for a few hours? Never mind - I saw the callouses on your hands, I guess not. At least have the decency to turn your laptop or player away from the rest of us.

5. At the hotel - yes, the breakfast is free, but it is not being served in your home. Unless you have ordered room service, your pajamas, or lack thereof, are not appropriate dining attire.

6. I have yet to see a food establishment, outside a beach bar, that doesn’t follow the "No shirt, no shoes, no service" rule. Put your shoes on your feet - your corns, plantar warts and chewed up toenails really put a person off their bowl of Special K.

7. Corral your children. Again, this is not your home, but their atrocious behavior offers a pretty good glimpse at what goes on there.

8. Take what will neatly fit on one plate and sit down. You can always go back for more. Filling two plates to overflowing is bad form - especially when you end up dumping the majority of it in the trash. Besides, I have yet to see the Motel 6 that has run out of Froot Loops.

9. Chew with your mouth closed. Period.

Finally...and I cannot stress this one enough

10. Wear underwear under your floppy shorts and do not rearrange your genitals while people are eating. It is a Free Continental Breakfast, not a Free Appalachian Breakfast.

Besides, I’m still having nightmares and don’t think I will ever be able to eat a bagel again

Etiquette Takes A Vacation

Growing up around the airline industry, I had occasion to travel more than the average kid. From Florida to Hawaii, my family availed itself of the friendly skies (and free family passes). As I grew older, I even took an airline job so as to continue my affair with wanderlust.

I have seen airlines come and go, split and merge.  I’ve been on everything from prop planes to 747s, have toured Air Force One and the Concorde and sat in fighter jet cockpits.  I even managed to snag a ride aboard a Goodyear blimp at one point.

Yes, I have seen many changes in the industry and the aircrafts throughout the years, but the biggest change I have noted is in the people who travel.

More specifically, the behavior of the people who travel.

It used to be that air travel was a big deal. People would spiff up for their trips - suits, ties, dresses and heels being the expected attire. Manners prevailed and civility was the watchword. Stewardesses wore white gloves and meal service was divine.

Yet somewhere along the way, something began to happen. Somewhere between the glut of available airline seats and the opening of the first Walmart, more people were able to afford a ticket and began to travel. Unfortunately, no one informed these newbies about expected behaviors, attire and rules, and soon the airports began to take on a decidedly “bus terminal” feel.

The well dressed, well mannered traveler was going the way of the Do-do.

Flight attendants, now permanent candidates for casual Friday in their polo shirts and khakis, no longer deliver hot meals with a smile. They are too busy clearing the bathrooms of Mile High Club wannabes.

Sweat pants, flip flops, a laptop and a bag of McDonald’s are now the standard uniform of travel. Even in first class, once the domain of the really beautiful people, Abercrombie & Fitch trumps Dolce & Gabbana. With the exception of business travelers who will be walking straight off a flight into a board meeting, seldom do you see someone who gave any thought to their apparel or appearance.

Once on board, if you‘re lucky, you end up next to a grandmother who bathed in a gallon jug of Eau de Roses and who will talk your ears to bleeding about grandbabies and bunions.

Worst case, you end up sandwiched between a fat guy with a sinus infection and aversion to wearing deoderant and a traveling salesman who, while watching porn on his DVD player, eats a bag of hard boiled eggs. And just as you ask yourself, “What fresh hell is this?”, the person in front of you slams their chair into recline and begins to paint their nails.

There just seems to be no etiquette, no concept of personal space and definitely no savoir faire in terms of human interaction. And this phenomenon is not restricted to the skies overhead - No. Once you land and head towards your hotel or motel, the trend towards bad behavior becomes even more acute.

Especially if you are staying at the ones that offer the ubiquitous FCB - Free Continental Breakfast. You know the ones - the Holiday Inns, Super 8s and Best Westerns of the world.

As my summer has included much in the way of road travel, I have had occasion to frequent these establishments, staying in one as recent as this past Saturday night as I made my way through Missouri.

I, apparently, finally reached my boiling point for what I saw still has me shaking my head.

Screaming children running through the corridors, including one little boy (age 3), who was alone and going from room to room on my floor knocking on doors trying to find his. There were teens swimming in the pool with their clothes on and toddlers leaving crackers all over the pool deck. But all of this paled in comparison to the Human Buffet I enjoyed watching the next morning at the “Free Continental Breakfast”.

First of all, you would have thought these people had just been airlifted from Niger, the way they were clawing and clamoring at the food. My youngest daughter, age 8, a savvy traveler herself (and not raised by wolves) whispered, “I feel like I’m in prison.”

Wrong, honey. Prisoners have strict dress codes that include shirts, shoes and pants.

These people, and they were not unique, I see a version of them everytime I partake of the FBC, anywhere I travel, had literally rolled out of bed and down to the lobby. Bare feet, bed head, men with no shirts, women with curlers in their hair or hair wet from the shower, and kids running amok in their underwear.

I would have probably left well enough alone and ignored yet another demonstration of how ill mannered and retarded so many travelers are, but then HE passed by my table.

It is because of the barefooted, bedheaded, nose picking, obviously underwear eschewing man who toyed with his “tea bags” as he passed my bagel, that I offer these guidelines for the traveling impaired. Follow them, because I’m out there, I’ll be watching and from now on, anyone who dares walk into my eyeline while scratching their testicles is going to redefine FCB as I F*cking Cut off your Balls.

1. Airplanes are like flying sardine cans. They are compact and crammed and everyone is trapped for the duration. Wear deoderant. Brush your teeth and carry breath mints. If you must bring on food, be cognizant of the accompanying odor. A five hour flight to Maui is not the best time to indulge your craving for boiled cabbage or Easter eggs. And NO, the seat fabric will not magically suck up the smell when you fart. Your butt breeze will be recirculated through the plane until arrival.

2. The Mile High Club is over rated. Plus, anyone who thinks they can get real satisfaction in the confines of an airplane bathroom deserves to be caught by the flight attendant.

3. Dirty diapers do not belong in seat pockets or handed to the flight attendants. People understand that babies poo, but it is your responsibility to mitigate the smell - bring a supply of Zip Lok bags and dispose of them when you land.

4. Porn is for home use only. For God’s sake people, can’t you do without it for a few hours? Never mind - I saw the callouses on your hands, I guess not. At least have the decency to turn your laptop or player away from the rest of us.

5. At the hotel - yes, the breakfast is free, but it is not being served in your home. Unless you have ordered room service, your pajamas, or lack thereof, are not appropriate dining attire.

6. I have yet to see a food establishment, outside a beach bar, that doesn’t follow the “No shirt, no shoes, no service” rule. Put your shoes on your feet - your corns, plantar warts and chewed up toenails really put a person off their bowl of Special K.

7. Corral your children. Again, this is not your home, but their atrocious behavior offers a pretty good glimpse at the stellar parenting skills you practice there.

8. Take what will neatly fit on one plate and sit down. You can always go back for more. Filling two plates to overflowing is bad form - especially when you end up dumping the majority of it in the trash. Besides, I have yet to see the Motel 6 that has run out of Froot Loops.

9. Chew with your mouth closed. Period.

Finally...and I cannot stress this one enough

10. Wear underwear under your floppy shorts and do not rearrange your genitals while people are eating.  It is a Free Continental Breakfast, not a Free Appalachian Breakfast.

Besides, I’m still having nightmares and don’t think I will ever be able to eat a bagel again.