So I barely make my flight yesterday afternoon to New York, only to find out when I arrive at LaGuardia airport that my luggage didn't make the one hour non-stop flight with me from Toronto. I tell myself to stay calm and think fast. It is 4:55 and I have an interview set up with Gwen Stefani for L.A.M.B. in two hours. Anyone who knows me knows that, post 9/11, I wear tracks and flip flops to the airport to ensure a seamless dance with U.S. Customs and Immigration. I have nothing else with me and I am told that the bag containing all my armour to face the fashionistas at Bryant Park will be arriving at my apartment around midnight just in time for bed.

I pull out my shiny new Amex and rush to grab a cab from the airport. What's that you say, Mr. Mean NYC Taxi Commissioner? The yellow cabs went on strike, and I have to line up in that queue that's starting to look like a scaled-down version of the Great Wall of China? Desperate times call for desperate measures, so half an hour later I partner with a dashing New York investment banker and a lovely couple who look like they are visiting from Oakville.