Ruminations on the New

I have been in NYC for a year already.

As I have renewed my domain name, I am reminded of this and it is painfully evident of how quickly the time passes and tends to catch me at moments that are recalled so sharply it takes my breath...

Ruminations of this past year...hmm...I guess the 'newness' of New York City is wearing off (what's that little saying about the bloom being off the rose? well nevermind, it's not fitting anyway, I'll explain momentarily). I still feel like there is so much more to know and love and discover.

I have met and made beautiful new friends...people who constantly amaze and inspire me in all the ways they reveal themselves through their passions and goodness. I have taken in some riveting skylines, works of art floating in gallery spaces, and not, + carefully crafted libations that deserve their spot in said galleries. And I guess this feeling of still being a 'newcomer' comes with an incredulity--a fascination with the little moments that make up a 'New York experience' and reveling. Examples may include ordering delivery from the place whose ceiling may as well be the floor you just woke up on...a discovery of the too few points of separation to the girlfriend of the guy you're seeing...scrawlings of familiar names and numbers in the subway hub you're stranded on...

And I guess what I really want to say is that one should be and remain joyful throughout the exploration.

I was recently told that it was evident that I was not a native New Yorker due to the fact that I smile too much. And if that is the case, then I am thankful to remain a tourist. Humbled even. Because you can not successfully live in a city without a sense of humor. And irony...though I would advise to use this sparingly as it lends itself to a jadedness that makes you realize just how long you've been 'doing this.'

Be light. Enjoy your 'New York moments' wherever they may occur. And facial lines and risks of outing yourself as the NKOTB be damned, don't forget to smile.

Right now (& always), www.wearehunted.com...listen

TV-D-tox, just say 'NO' to HBO?

What does one do when there's no Pamela sashaying across your boob tube in HD? When all the 'big bang', '30 rock' talk is all heresay? More often than not I have heard of Manhattanites that either do not own or do not watch their televisions. Cable can be pricey and with so much else to do when not at your 9-7 5x a week, it can become only an afterthought. Personally, I have an all or nothing approach. I want my particular shows (True Blood, HowToMakeItInAmerica, Family Guy, Kell on Earth, Project Runway when I have ample patience to tune the Klum out) and I want them when it's convenient for me. I was holding out for extraordinary cable. And in the meantime, I was attempting to re-familiarize myself with my high school language of choice: French.
Think of the hours that you watch television. Chances are one program runs into 2-3, especially if you're the type to leave it on as white noise while you cook/eat/half-ass chores, and sleep. Now think about the influx of productivity; the recipes you could be trying; re-centering yourself at mealtime and honing in on the flavors that you slaved over to make (or take-out). The extra thing-youve-been-meaning-to-do while you do the thing-you've-been-putting-off (as the screws I was meaning to tighten pop off with my purse hook grrr).
Now this is all well and good in theory, of course. One I was seriously testing until I realized HBO On Demand was being factored into my new apartments rent (may as well get my moneys worth right?) But if you have the opportunity and your roomie is amenable to the idea (aka hippie or tight-wad?:) TRY and do a TV D-tox and forgo digital cable for a month or so. Come to terms with and keep me updated with your new-found efficacy. In the meantime, I will be 'curb'ing my enthusuasm for francais and getting my Larry David fix as I dig out the duck tape and jury-rig these purse hooks for the time being...

Right now, Discovery, "Osaka Loop Line"

Seeing Red: The Rock-Bottom Line

I avoided my budget all month like the plague: snacking on praline pecans, painting my nails and Polyvoring (see procrastination post) instead. (And yes, I have a budget, duh, my CPA boyfriend, Colin, made me). Now here I sit in bed, bundled up in a big, down comforter and April receipts, feeling anything but comfortable about my uncertain financial near-future. I have been in New York now for officially one month; this having been made abruptly clear two days ago by the cut-off of my unlimited subway card during morning rush-hour.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” I said as the daily grind bumped their way impatiently into the adjacent ticket terminal. But of course it’s no joke the way time and money flies here in NYC; especially when you’re having fun (as evidence by the cringe-inducing sum in the “Entertainment” expense field).

I knew I was going to come to grips this reality when I took a leap of faith; letting go of the suburbs and embracing a city where the skyline is the limit...(that, and your bank account, of course).

I didn’t want to see the numbers. Tearfully expressing this to Colin, I used the metaphor as someone who is gravely ill that doesn’t have much time left. If I were truly dying, I would not want to countdown the days I had to live out the rest of my life. Because life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take…ok whatever. I bucked up and did the damn thing and determined that my current inflow of cash & assets (minimal, but larger this month due to large lump sum of tax refund, thanks to darling CPA boyfriend), is considerably less than the outbound expenditures, i.e., rent, loosely classified “Entertainment” category, & Jeffrey Campbell rainboots (I won’t look back! Compliments and clearly envious stare-downs have solidified confidence in purchase decision).

I got three months*.

In the meantime, I will continue with an internship that enriches me, albeit mentally and emotionally; scouring real-estate ads for diamonds-in-the-rough at a grand or less a month (know of something, e-mail me here), and toying with the idea of selling my virginity on e-Bay (HA!)…ha.

Right now, Ingrid Michaelson, "Be OK (Live at NYC's Terminal 5)"

*This number is at best, an estimate that includes a buffer zone of roughly a couple thousand, give or take, just in case there is some unforeseen disaster, i.e., I really did have three months to live, or I had to visit a “specialist” of something or another which is not covered under my current indemnity health insurance plan which is not to get sick. (Falling off balcony/hit by cab, OK).

Full Disclosure: The Hush-Hush Shop Events of 9 undisclosed

Tucked away, on a quaint NYC rooftop, there are fabulous women amidst Prosecco and ranunculus, slipping on Louboutins for 80% below retail. Who are these women and how can you be one, you ask?

They are among a very descreet and discriminating clientele; those that adore designer vintage but hate the consignment connotations, i.e., the musty smells and often stuffy, spaces up on a second level. No, no. These women prefer their 'gently worn' DVF on a penthouse with a side of lilac macaroons and the opinion of stylist and shopping extraordinaire by the name of Lindsay Burka. Lindsay is the mastermind and entrepreneur of 9 undisclosed, an exclusive, invite-only shopping event company. Lindsay, originally from Chicago, held her first 'party' on the corner of Bank & Washington in the West Village where she presides to this day. After doing a 'cleaning house' of her closet, she realized she had many designer duds that were either unworn or hardly touched, and knew that they needed to be in the hands of someone who would love and appreciate them. Having a background in fashion publications, Lindsay knew who to call about her pop-up closet shop, and soon she had swarms of women mad for Margiela buying up her stock. She found that she had many friends with similar stories to her own; racks of high-end clothing, shoes, and bags that do little but gather dust. Lindsay knew she was on to something.

This past event (on the 18th of April) was her largest, by far. It was co-hosted by LA Times fashion director, Keren Eldad, in her Hell's Kitchen high rise with breathtaking views of both the New York skyline and the Hudson River. In attendance were jewelry designer, Flavia Masson, and publicist, Jenny Talbott, as well as press from Pink Memo, and many others. Guests lined up to purchase such notable items as a Missoni knit dress, a Marc Jacobs timepiece, a Burberry Trench, and my personal favorite, a pair of silk, floral, Louis Vuitton hot pants! The items were impeccably wrapped and placed within a shopping bag stamped with 9 undisclosed's intentionally enigmatic emblem. Guests also left with a gift bag filled with special offers and samples from Amrita Singh, L'Artisan Parfumeur, and Kiki de Montparnasse. There were even a couple gift bags for the guys, with a travel shaving kit inside from The Art of Shaving. This event, like so many of her past ones, was an utter success, and so much so that Lindsay hopes to expand and bring her shopping soirees to L.A., and internationally to Milan and Paris, as well. But the question still remains, where will the next one take place? Your best bet is to invest in some binoculars; you may get a peek of their Pucci in a penthouse window near you!

Right now, Ellie Goulding, "Starry Eyed"

Zac Posen for Target Pop-Up Shopping Event: More "Pop" than "Shop"

The latest designer to do a capsule collection for Target is NY-raised fashion darling, Zac Posen who has dressed such Hollywood heavyweights as Gwyneth Paltrow, Rachel Bilson, & Rihanna.

For 24-hours the pop-up shopping party was set up on a corner in the fashion district as a sneak preview before the line ships to stores and is available online on 4/25. Tuxedo-clad security and candy-touting cocktail waitresses sashayed through the luxe-lounge-inspired space. Walking in I felt like I was going V.I.P. past velvet ropes to a nightclub for cocktails--low overhead lighting and hot pink neon lights lit up silver beaded pan

els. Baroque chairs angled just so encouraged shoppers to take a load off after their bargain hunt. It was a good 12 hours since the sale began (11PM on 4/15), yet the place seemed dead. Racks boasted several styles (at the most) with multiple size XS's. A nearby shopper who stopped on her lunch break said she heard that they're nearly sold out, which accounted for the fact that much of the collection I had spied on New York Magazine's The Cut had yet to make an appearance that afternoon. I was disappointed in the fact that I was more inspired by his chic, pop-up packaging than I was in the collection itself. It strips the glamour when you water down great design by cutting back on thread count, seaming, and hardware. Posen is known for impeccable tailoring; body-skimming silhouettes, structure, and creative use of color and shape. Robbed of his signature stylistic elements, the pieces that were left seemed bland and lacking in ambition. Evidently, there must have been enough early-bird fashionistas that disagreed and were more than happy to snatch up a ZP frock for under a bill. Highlights included a bright crimson leather motorcycle jacket for $200, black slim tuxedo pants with contrast navy detailing for $40, a strapless two-piece removeable-ruffle cocktail dress (cool concept) for $80, and the multi-tier floral topiary at the entry-way. As Posen dates architect and interior decorator, Brian Callahan, one can only assume that he is the one responsible for dressing the space. Perhaps he follows suit and does a discount line for Tar-jay? A frugalista can only dream.

Right now, "Fancy Footwork," Chromeo

Brooklyn Brings it Home

Although I was not able to bus it down to see my family (and partake of my mom's homemade mac 'n' cheese) for Easter, I was able to be downright at home with some fabulous friends to celebrate, in a couple of Brooklyn's trendiest neighborhoods.

My girlfriend, Ashley, lives in Greenpoint, which is not too far from the first stop into Brooklyn on the E/W-running

L line (or "gray", for DC metro hoppers; just don't get caught referring to colored trains here). The menu included my fillo-wrapped asparagus with parmesan and walnut fruit salad with honey dressing (thanks, Paula Deen), various types of homemade pierogies and sausages (you can find the best ones here in Greenpoint, a historically Polish neighborhood); marinated ham steak from acclaimed butcher shop, the Meat Hook; and mac 'n' cheese with broccoli (got my fix after all).

Check out her cute shelving; what a great way to utilize a small kitchen space, hooks under shelving with coordinating steel utensils and containers. She said she got the look straight outta Ikea; check out their style pages and see how their schemas and organizational tips might

work for your own lifestyle.

Meanwhile, a mile down the road in Williamsburg, a buzzing backyard barbecue was in full swing. I pushed open my buddy, Tejas's, back door to reveal a colorful agglomeration of boho-hipsters enjoying the hell out of the beautiful day. Amp wires and clotheslines full of thrift-store finds weaved around the crowd like streamers, a flatmate roller-skated by in a tiny neon romper, others, barefoot, swayed to the music from the self-made stage and touted yellow solo cups full of bloody mary. In the yard next door, what could only be described as a red and white lotus tree, was in full-bloom (later, the band would request a moment of silence to admire it in all its splendor).

I drank in the scene with the gusto of a culture-starved suburbanite and helped myself to one of those bloody mary's. I bought half a box of candy-colored Indian bangles for $20, and shook 'em around as I moved to the sounds of the Desert Stars, a multi-talented group of girls based out of Brooklyn. At one point, the lead singer, Janelle, clad in a string bikini and Janis Joplin shades, pulled out the cello and rocked. that. thing. out. Up there with one of

the coolest things I've experienced in NY yet. Something else that made the list that day? A little ragtag group of neighbors from across the

street complimenting us on the noises they heard. We invited them in to enjoy them at a closer view.

Right now, "Home," by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

Hanger Snobbery & the Butler Table Breaks

After a day and a half at my new UES abode, I must confess that I have discovered some unforeseen truths about NYC apartments, in general, and myself in the process...

1. There are 15 steps between each level.

At least in my walk-up. But it's steep enough to be equal to a leisurely-sloped 30. Especially when carrying luggage that would not get the green-light at the baggage claim.

2. It's OK to be a hanger snob.

I unsheathed my Ikea wooden ones (cheap but uniform) only to discover that my closet was filled with (generic Halloween scream) a mish-mash of blue, rust, white, & seafoam green plastic hangers. I'm not sure about you, but when my closet is opened as often as mine is, I don't want to open it to find my garments draped across racks reminiscent of a ball pit (talk about a scary shared space).

3. Filth is inevitable, but that does not mean an extreme drop down, drag out, balls to the wall cleaning is necessary.

Yes it was brown & crusty before. It's still brown. But now it's more of a Pantone sienna with a burnout of where the crust once existed. Deep breath (mmm Comet). My work here is done, thanks to a fervor for hygiene and a whimsical, old Cinderella toothbrush.

4. Fresh flowers make everything better.

After I scrubbed-till-my-cuticles bled, I decided I needed some fresh air to get the bleach from my lungs. That, and, as you will read below, I needed to venture out to find a hardware store that had mini-hinges. Hydrangeas, white ones, are classic, and look good in almost any makeshift vase. They are also Michael Kors's favorite. No decor is as chic without fresh flowers (as in "living", leave silk to Kors).

5. Something's gotta give.

That something in my case was the butler table, proudly rigged by a previous renter. And in the efforts to retract it to sweep beneath its sole leg, the hinge snapped off as if it was a plastic bread bag tab. I don't care where you're moving, when you do, something will break and those odds triple if you're in a city. So have your tool set readily accessible, and bring the odds and ends with you to the hardware store. Bonus points for those that call ahead to ensure that the parts are there, 'cause if you're like me, you'll go to three before you find that damn hinge. In the rain. With bloody cuticles.

Right now, (but actually yesterday, as it came on "shuffle" while installing the new butler table hinge) "That's Life," by Frank Sinatra