iPhone – AdventuresOfTheRattyPack

Broadway, Balthazar and Camel Balls

Published on October 8, 2013October 8, 2013 by Kim Ratcliff5 Comments

Guest blogger: Tanner

It all started with my manic mom. She saw Kinky Boots on Broadway in August, and called us hyperventilating after the show.

“OHMIGOD, OHMIGOD, that show was amazing,” she said. “JIMMY! You have to bring Tanner when you come here for your podiatry conference next month. He needs to see there is more to life than MINECRAFT!”

So, that’s how I found myself spending a whirlwind weekend with my dad in NYC.
We arrived at JFK exhausted after catching the red-eye, and my dad promptly forgot his iPhone in the taxi. Luckily, the guy who got into the taxi after us was a bro. He arranged to meet us at Rockefeller Center so he could give Jimmy’s prized iPhone back!

We dropped our bags at The Days Inn on the Upper West Side, and headed for Cafe 82, which my dad called a “glorified Dennys.” Since I have Celiac Disease, my mom researched gluten-free friendly restaurants before we came. We were pleased to discover Cafe 82 even offered a separate GF menu.

After I finished my delicious GF chocolate chip pancakes, we hopped aboard the subway headed for the NYU campus for our tour. The campus was absolutely beautiful. Unlike most colleges that have a closed off campus, there is no gate at NYU. It was open to the whole city. We got to see the gigantic library that houses over four million books and the living quarters. The student-guides also showed us a sun-filled, modern classroom, which looked so sophisticated equipped with comfy desks and chairs.

After our tour ended, we walked to a completely GF restaurant famed for its delicious breadsticks, Risotteria. The food was tasty and our waiter was a cool dude who was Tahoe bound!

Later we checked in only to discover my mom had booked us a total 1-star ghetto hotel. We had one bed to share between the both of us. Our room smelled like strong, poisonous house cleaner and was probably infested by bedbugs. I shot off a text: Thanks, Mom, for the shit-shack of a room!!

Room with a view...not! — Room with a view…not!

We had maybe an hour to chill before we had to get back on the streets to go see Kinky Boots. My dad was bitter when he discovered there was no wine opener in our room even though he was paying three bills a night to stay. While I checked my Facebook, he went down and gave the front desk a piece of his mind.

No glassware for Jimbo's vino so a Dixie cup had to do. — No glassware for Jimbo’s vino so a Dixie cup had to do.

The show was phenomenal. Stark Sands and Billy Porter both did an amazing job at their parts. After seeing the show, we were pooped and headed back to our room to relax before the next adventure packed day! Saturday I navigated the City alone while my dad dug into some yummy cadaver feet at his lab in the Bronx—who doesn’t love the smell of formaldehyde in the morning? First, I hit up Cafe 82 again. I was becoming a regular. This time I gorged on fluffy, homemade mashed potatoes and GF pasta with marinara.

Afterward it was time for It’Sugar. Even though I’m almost 17, I still love candy. The place was filled with huge-sized Laffy Taffy, SweetTarts, and Nerds. I got myself some treats, and even brought back a box of extra sour bubblegum “Camel Balls” for Saxon.

Nothing like a big bro who buffs you out with camel testies!

Then it was time to see Book of Mormon. I had to take the red one line to Times Square-42^nd Street. I proceeded to walk the seven blocks to 49^th and 8^th Street where the theater was located. My seat was so swank, about eight or so rows back, but snack-dab in the middle of the row, perfect view of the stage. Couldn’t ask for better (thanks Katie for the tix!) The show was amazing. It was written by the same people who did South Park, so it was hilarious in a crude humor way. The acting was superb as well, consisting of college-aged men belting catchy tunes that I couldn’t stop singing the next day.

After the show, my Dad, our cousin Katie, and myself went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, Balthazar. I gobbled up plenty of their delicious oysters while Jimmy and Katie proceeded to down several bottles of beer and wine (Partiers!!).

The restaurant’s bathroom even had their own employee that would offer you towels after you had finished washing your hands. They also had a small plate of mints, matches, and other miscellaneous crippity-crap in an attempt to achieve a tip.

I am very big into acting as I have been performing in musicals since the 5^th grade. Seeing these shows on Broadway was eye-opening for me to see what it would be like for me if I continue on with my acting through college. I was so impressed by the skills demonstrated by the actors in the musicals.

On our final day, my Dad and I went on a beautiful walk up on the Highline trail. Although the path was packed with deodorant shunning, slow-walking Euros, I enjoyed the unique perspective of the City. We even were able to watch a guy make us snow-cones by scraping ice off a huge block of ice.

Overall, this trip was one of the most important experiences I’ll ever have. I am so fortunate I was able to go to NYC and see the fantastic city. I’m happy to claim this experience has opened my eyes to many opportunities that I have access to in my life.

At Eataly's Beer Garden. Later NYC! I'll be back. And hopefully I'll be old enough to try the GF brews. — At Eataly’s Beer Garden. Later NYC! I’ll be back. And hopefully I’ll be old enough to try the GF brews.

Ironman and the Yoga Queen

Published on March 4, 2013March 6, 2013 by Kim Ratcliff6 Comments

“Hi,” I said to the ranger inside the booth at Big Basin Redwoods State Park. “We’re doing the Skyline-to-the-Sea Trail.”

“You know it’s already past 3 p.m.?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, we know.”

I’d masterminded the ultimate adventure—a “strenuous” hike followed by dinner at Laili, a Mediterranean-Afghan restaurant in Santa Cruz—and no ‘noid ranger was gonna stop me.

Who did this guy think he was dealing with anyway? Jimmy is an Ironman and they don’t call me the chaduranga queen in yoga for nothing.

“We can hike 12 miles in 2 & 1/2 hours easy,” I bragged.

“Thirteen. It’s actually 13 miles,” said Mr. By-the-Book, who insisted we leave a note on our dash for his night relief.

“Dearest Ranger,” I wrote, “We pre-parked a car at the finish near Waddell Beach. Please don’t worry if we don’t return for our Prius until after 9 p.m. See you soon!”

Then, map in hand, Jimmy and I were off. “What’s his problem?” I scoffed. “There’s plenty of light.”

We trekked through stunning old-growth redwoods and fern-lined canyons, and in no time passed Mile Marker 1. “Only 12 more miles to go!” I exclaimed.

Forty-five minutes later we came upon Berry Creek Falls, the crown jewel of Big Basin. The 60-foot waterfall was so tropical it felt like Hawaii…

…except darkness was closing in and we still had 10 miles left, so back onto the trail we hustled.

Moments after leaving the Falls the trail suddenly dead ended. Through the dusk, I spied another path — on the opposite side. The only way across was atop a wobbly gutter MacGyvered across the deep, gushing creek.

One slip and down we’d plunge into the icy water.

We crossed unscathed, but a rained out, mucky Slip ‘N’ Slide of a path awaited.

Ironman took the lead, mud skating over the puddles, his neon orange Nikes beacons guiding us through the ever darkening forest.

Thirty minutes later we found ourselves enveloped in blackness.

We clicked on our iPhone flashlight apps, a sorry light source for the dark, creepy forest. Just then a mountain biker coming from the Falls zoomed past, his headlight momentarily illuminating the woods.

“Hello!” I cried. “How much longer to Waddell Beach?”

I expected him to say three, maybe four miles MAX.

“About eight miles,” he said.

“Nooooo!” I wailed.

Having depleted our almonds ages ago, all I could think of was the roasted pumpkin borani we planned to devour at Laili later–that was if a hungry mountain lion didn’t devour us first.

“I’m scared, Jimmy. What if we wind up like that couple in the ‘8os who got stranded in a blizzard for five days. They made a TV movie of the week starring Neil Patrick Harris, remember?”

“If they make a movie about us who would should play you—Rob Lowe?”

“No way,” sniffed Jimmy. “Rob has man boobs. I need someone like Marky Mark, only more yoked.”

Time passed–An hour? Five hours? Time drags when you’re so cold you’re dreading losing your toes to frostbite. “How many days do you think Tanner and Saxon will keep playing Minecraft before they notice we’re missing?” I asked Jimmy.

“Dunno. At least a week.”

Just when I could not take one more step there it was: Mile Marker 13!

We hugged, then looked around.

Maybe my fuzzy vision was distorted from staring at the tiny pinhole of light for so long, but our car was nowhere to be found. All we saw was an unlit paved road leading into the dark unknown.

Little did we know the additional three miles out to coast where we’d parked ratcheted our hike to 16 miles.

Shivering, hungry, clutching our phones with swollen sausage fingers we soldiered on, until…

…finally, off in the distance…wait, could it be? Yes, high beams of cars whizzing down Highway 1 beckoned us like a lighthouse.

We dragged ourselves the remainder, then collapsed in the car.

Ironman and the Yoga Queen ate some serious humble pie that day.

Then, after thawing out, we hit Laili and feasted on pumpkin borani.

“We made it!” we said, clinking frosty mugs of Belgium pale ale.

“You didn’t have to amputate our toes in the middle of the forest!” I exclaimed.

“And Rob & his moobies didn’t have to star in my life story!” Jimmy added.

If you’re craving adventure, this is a great one. Just take our advice~park at Big Basin Redwoods State Park, hike the Berry Creek Falls loop (7 miles roundtrip), then head straight for Laili for roasted pumpkin borani. Cheers!

Oh, and Jennifer? If I don't make it out alive next time, are you available? — Oh, and Jennifer? If I don’t make it out alive next time, are you available?

Barry Bringing It!

Published on December 8, 2012December 10, 2012 by Kim Ratcliff4 Comments

Yesterday I scored a free pair of Barry Manilow tickets from my mechanic. The only dilemma? My man is NOT into Barry. Mr. Manilow may have sold more than 80 million records, but Jimmy would rather get a colonoscopy sans anesthesia than see him in concert.

“Dude, I did a 7:30 surgery today,” he whined when I bugged him at the office. “I put a titanium screw in somebody’s foot. I’m exhausted, plus the Raiders are playing. I’m not into this at all.”

So what I did was trick him. “Totally empathize, but since you’re commuting on 280 from Menlo Park anyway, want to grab dinner?”

We met at our fave Vietnamese place, 19 Market. After we’d polished off the last of the garlic prawns, I said coyly, “You know…HP Pavillion is right down the street. Let’s go to the concert. Just a fly-by. I PROMISE!“

“Oh, alright. But we’re OUT after two songs.”

When we arrived, the arena was packed-ish.

“Are you sitting in the wheelchair section?” Laura, my music snob friend texted me.

“Yeah! And my hearing aid is cranked to 10!” I cheerfully texted back.

Despite the median age of 65, the audience was showing Barry some serious glow stick love. That arena was an undulating sea of neon green.

Botoxed and bronzed, Barry looked fabulous and sounded even better–and, he was strutting his stuff with a sexy, black back up dancer half his age. He also played piano on most songs. Luckily we were late, so we only had to endure a couple of his lesser-known cheesy songs.

At first Jimmy was a total dud. He just sat there, arms crossed while checking SportsCenter on his iPhone.

“Let me take your pic,” I said.

“No way. I don’t want anyone to know I was here!”

Barry couldn’t have been more personable. Right before he launched into the Christmas-song schmaltz , he revealed that he’d attended a sketchy high school in a tough part of Brooklyn. “Being in the orchestra saved me,“ he said. “Obviously, I wasn’t sporty and can you image me in a gang?“

Not in that sequined fuchsia blazer I couldn’t. Or any of his other 20 other costume changes for that matter.

Finally Mr. Manilow delivered a tune I recognized. “I’m going to play the most romantic song in my catalog now. If you can’t get lucky to this one…” Barry laughed, before performing “Weekend in New England.”

I don’t know if it was the crashing waves projected on the big screen or Barry’s superb showmanship, but the song totally brought me right back to sloshing around on my waterbed, making out with my 7th grade boyfriend, Paul Michael.

“When will I see you againnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn?” Barry hit the high notes like a pro. Even Jimmy seemed impressed. “He’s got a nice set of pipes and I like his piano playing. How old is Barry, anyway?“

“Hold on, let me Google it…OMG he’s 69!”

“Wow! Barry’s BRINGING it!“

Then things started getting really good. Barry sang “Can’t Smile without You” which totally reminded me of sloshing around on my waterbed, trying not to lock braces with my 8th grade boyfriend, Joe DiDuca, then “Mandy“ (slutty/sloshy–you know the drill) and finally, the piece de resistance–“Copacobana.”

The AARP crowd went wild for Lola and Rico, twirling their glow sticks, and when Barry thrust his mic toward the audience, hot damn if we didn’t whip ourselves into a frenzy singing the chorus…

“At the copa (CO!) Copacabana (Copacabana) / The hottest spot north of Havana / At the copa (CO!) Copacabana / Music and passion were always in fashion…”

He wasn’t dancing in the aisles like me, but even Jimmy seemed into it.

Barry might have done an encore, but I can’t say for sure; we hightailed it out to beat the wheelchair gridlock.

On the street, I was positively high–it was as if I’d just taken a couple hits off a big joint of medicinal Barry-juana. “LOOKS LIKE WE MADE IT—through the concert, that is!” I crooned, locking arms with Jimmy as we headed to our car. “So what was your favorite? “Mandy?“ “I Write the Songs?“ Wait, I know—“Copacabana?”

“No, it was that I love you, baby one,” he said.

“Oh, you mean ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off You?’ That was Barry covering Frankie Valli,” I said. “Yay! That means we can go see “Jersey Boys,” the musical about Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.“

“Don’t push your luck.”