Welcome to Queens

Well, welcome to Queens!  Or Jamaica!  Okay, so Dad and I are not so enthusiastic about the hotel that he picked out in what can really only be called a not so nice neighborhood.  I can see why Dad picked it, there was, after all, no other hotels this cheap so close to the airport.  However, due to conditions and ominous signs posted in the lobby, I am now completely freaked about leaving my stuff in the room for fear that it will be stolen by some marauding ne'er-do-well.  My dad and I might not be fantastic dressers, but it is rather obvious when looking at us that we have money and are probably carrying some expensive gadgets.  

In all fairness, the hotel quality itself is not all so bad, but when our crazy driver of the hotel shuttle drove us through what can only be described as a movie set for Step Up 2: The Streets, Dad and I exchanged some looks (me trying to catch his eye with a "whoa, why is that guy standing in the middle of  the street waving around a 7-Eleven slurpee?!"  And Dad looking at me like "Um, so maybe I was wrong about the neighborhood."  

Never fear though!  We are perfectly safe!  We even got to have a visitor today.  I nicknamed him little Frank.  He crawled into our room while our door was open.  He was black, short, kind of shiny.  Did I mention that he was a little cockroach?