The Fortune-Hunting Mobile

It may not have escaped my devoted readership that it is some time since I last posted. Simply put, I was stumped for an appropriate topic for this all-important tone-setting post after my first two weeks on the west coast. Should I cover the need for earthquake straps for furniture? Becoming reacquainted with the concept of free refills in restaurants. after years of fancy brunch places where even a second cup of coffee was a line item on the check? Drive-thru ATMs, drive-thru coffee, drive-thru food, drive-thru haircuts (O.K, I'm improvising with the haircuts, but I wouldn't be surprised)...And this last thought gave me my inspiration.

Driving is probably the single biggest difference between my life in New York and my life out west. And so the decision of which car to drive should have been a weighty one. Instead, I had half made up my mind before I even arrived. I was coming to California, and so obviously, I needed a convertible.

Fortunately, I did not have to make a quick fire decision. My parents-in-law-to-be (also known as Dick & Karen, which is a lot easier than all those hyphens) - had very kindly lent me their second car, a Toyota Forerunner while they headed off on a cruise in Europe. Last weekend, Eric & I made an expedition to two local car dealerships to check out some possible Fortune-Hunting Mobile candidates.

We started in Santa Cruz, which was cool and slightly foggy. Not ideal for convertible shopping. The vehicle I have been dreaming of is a VW Beetle. We took a stick shift model for a spin, but kept the top up. I was not in love. The car was fine, but critically, the color combo (exterior, interior and convertible top) was not what I was looking for. So we headed over Highway 17 (locally known as "the hill") to Sunnyvale, where, happily, the weather started to cooperate.

Our second attempt was in an automatic version of the car. The color combo was still off, but with the top down, the sun shining and the sky blue, it was difficult not to fall in love. Until, that is, we sat down with the shifty looking used car salesman who presented paperwork which showed that the car had previously been a fleet vehicle. Now we all know that fleet vehicles (whether rentals or company cars) rarely receive the same love and attention as our own autos. Imagining regular visits to the mechanic and other horrors, we decided to pass.

Thinking that this car purchasing lark might prove more difficult than I had anticipated, I decided to switch gears. On Sunday, we headed out to an open house in the neighborhood. (Can't buy a car for a few thousand? Upgrade, and start looking at houses in the hundreds of thousands!)

The house was a disaster zone. A beautiful yard and an astonishingly attractive price had attracted lots of interest. But when you walked into the house, you gasped at the work it needed. An easy decision to walk away...

As we were driving home, we decided to scope out a couple of neighborhoods. And that was when we saw her. Cream leather seats, cream exterior and a convertible top as black as midnight. The magic combination. For sale. On the spur of the moment, we stopped, rang the bell, and started to chat to the current owner. 21,000 miles. A full service history. Rarely driven, and lovingly polished.

You know what happened next, reader, because you've already seen the picture. Meet Lucky, my new fortune-hunting mobile.

Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

Every Fortune Huntress needs a financial backup plan, so before I go any further, you should know that what I am about to relate is not it. In the last 48 hours before I left New York, Eric and I were busy packing. But we found time to head up to ABC's studios on West 66th Street to audition for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the "weddings week" edition.


I can't say I was thrilled about the prospect. Gameshows aren't really my thing, since they sit in my personal ranking system just one rung above reality tv, which is truly dreadful. (Bring back thoughtful programming! Stop the dumbing down!).



But with a wedding to plan, and no job to speak of, who am I to turn down the prospect of free cash, should it arise? Besides, I comforted myself that since Slumdog Millionaire, this particular show has a newfound cachet.



Auditioning is not as glamorous as it may sound. There was no sound studio, makeup or wardrobe department. Instead, we were ushered into the ABC canteen, and given a Scantron form and a Millionaire pencil (ours to keep!) -and a brown envelope containing The Test.



On the wedding edition of the show (intended for engaged couples to help them pay for some aspect of their big day) conferring between the couple is allowed. But we were told that we had to take The Test on our own. Quite frankly, I was terrified. The problem is that if one of you passes, and the other does not, then the one who succeeded is eligible to be interviewed for the candidate pool. No problem if that happened to Eric, since is a major fan of the show, but it would be a rum state of affairs if I were somehow to get on the show on my own, given my relative reluctance to be there.


We had 10 minutes to complete 30 multiple choice questions, including something on Gnarls Barkley (those who know me won't be surprised to hear that I didn't get that one), a geography question on the location of the Smoky Mountains and a list of beers, where we had to identify which was known as the Silver Bullet (see photo above if you're not sure).

Having taken the test, I felt a bit more comfortable. I was pretty sure I had got 20 out of the thirty questions right. How high could the passing score be? There were about 35 other engaged couples in the room (and more lined up outside, ready to take The Test as soon as we were done). But from those 35 couples, only 5 passed. Plus one single. (Pity the other half of that couple).

You will be happy to hear, reader that the Fortune Huntress and her beloved made the grade. After a short interview with a staffer, we were invited to take a brief screen test (still in the canteen). It may not be much, but even getting to the screen test stage was not a given. One of the five couples who passed was dispatched without making it on camera.

We won't know for some weeks whether we made it into the (admittedly tiny) candidate pool. Of the thousands of couples who audition, only 7 make it to the show. I don't like our odds myself. But I have to confess that it was a lot of fun doing the test (especially once we knew we had both passed)!

On Tuesday night, after dining at the Panda Inn in Aptos, California with Eric's parents, we received the following fortune cookies:
Diana "You shouldn't overspend at the moment. Frugality is important". Pretty accurate, that.
Eric "You will be traveling and coming into a fortune". Huzzah on both counts!

I'll cover off the real financial backup plan in a future post. For now, I'm just lucky to have hitched my star to Eric's fortune-friendly train.

Swansong

I arrived in New York on Election Day 2000. The networks declared Florida for Gore, and then Bush, and then Gore again...until they finally admitted that they just didn't know. You remember how that worked out... My first four weeks were in the Hudson Hotel, which had just opened, and seemed to me to be the hippest hotel this side of the millennium. These were the boom years, and when I found my apartment, on East 81st Street, I had to put down $14,000 just to move in (the rent was $1800 a month) - because having just transferred from London, I had no credit history.

That Christmas, my grandmother and mother came to visit. My Mum's gift to us was a helicopter tour over the city. The day we flew was a perfect winter's day in New York. Cold, blue, crisp. I have stunning photos of the Statue of Liberty, Central Park and the twin towers.

Nine months later, my Grandma, and, catastrophically, the towers, were gone. In the days after, I remember two things. The wail of sirens. And the city, plastered with pictures of the missing - at subway stations, on lampposts, on billboards, wherever there was space. Many of the missing would never be found.

But New York rises. And in 2002, optimistic about the city's recovery, I started a business. The next three years were a fabulous rollercoaster ride. In August 2003, during the blackout, I walked home from my tiny office on Madison Avenue to Elizabeth Street, where I now lived. My phone there was old-school-number that plugged into the wall, not into an electrical outlet. So I got the call when my date that night rang to say that he wasn't going to make it, but could we reschedule? He didn't work out, but I owe him one thing: he introduced me to New York City's best borough.

In 2004, riding high on the profits of the business, I bought a little house in Park Slope, Brooklyn. House prices were skyrocketing, and it was difficult to find anything larger than a broom closet in Manhattan. But my 1910 row house had two bedrooms, and a garden.

A tree grows in Brooklyn because of me. There was a stump outside my house, so I called 311. I requested a street tree. The city faxed me a form, and - about two years later - as they had promised - they planted a tree where the stump had been.

When my biggest client disappeared in late 2005, I had to wind down the business, and find a corporate job. An ideal opportunity presented itself: heading up the New York office of London's foreign direct investment agency. Fascinating times...meeting companies large and small that might have plans to expand to London. We got the NBA to open their European office there. And I kicked off the process that ensured that Facebook had a London office. Interestingly, I also met with Stanford Financial, one of the companies disgraced in the recent economic crisis. I remember that we could never get them to confirm their expansion decision. They didn't like the disclosure requirements which the UK's Financial Services Authority insisted upon. Funny that.

Nineteen months after joining the London team, I was made an offer I could not refuse: to work for New York's most powerful business group, The Partnership for New York City. My decision to switch teams made headlines.

I stand by that decision today, even as I prepare to move on. New York is still the sexiest city on the planet. It's dynamic, dirty, challenging, frustrating, thrilling, entrepreneurial and just plain fun. It breaks my heart to be leaving this mischievous and marvelous monument which not to look upon would be like death.

Except, reader, except.... That I made it here. So I can make it anywhere. And...
I'll be back.

***

Click here to support the National September 11 Memorial & Museum.