I could take the local train- get a seat- have some elbow space- read my over sized W magazine...But why do that when you can spend 22 minutes on the express train- rather than 40?
I'll take a gander: European Tourists who have not taken ownership on hygiene practices such as: deodorant. Said tourist also took the liberty to hold the rail above my head and rub his putrid scent over my clean hair (while his equally pungent friend stared at my chest). The commuter train was packed making it nearly impossible for me to escape the grasps of his armpit. Additionally, they both used their paws to pry and hold the doors open. Hello, don't hold up the train, those people on the platform will get the next train that arrives- in three minutes or less. This isn't the last safety boat in the middle of the ocean.
The doors opened at Canal Street, allowing enough movement for me to weave to the other side of the car. I took hold of a rail and for whatever reason, a woman reading, "Romance God's Way," elected to position herself where she could breath (complete with moist sprays) on my arm. I know what you're thinking: move your hand. Four inch pumps and a jolting train nixed that option and I winced all the way to 14th Street. At Union Square, an entire bench cleared. I plopped down, Romance God's Way decided to sit next to me...where she jabbed her elbow into my repeatedly.
The moment I landed in my office, I was in the kitchen dousing antibacterial dish soap on my arms, a coworker tossed some antibacterial spray to me and insisted that the smell in the Paris Metro trumps NYC.
Within the limits of my Mum's homespun wisdom, 'If you find something that fits you beautifully, buy it in every color.' Following suit and coupled with the emerging Autumn trend of ruffles, I purchased three of these blouses. Gorgeous tucked into a high-waist skirt, or loose over a pair of tasty skinny jeans and your favorite boots. I prefer the buttons undone, the satiny fabric allows the show to rest and appear natural in this wear.
Adjacent: Another way to wear ruffles. Simple and tasteful with flashes of citron and vert!
(Above: Designs by Chris Benz)While balancing myself on the Subway commute this morning:attempting to avoid touch with the questionable man adjacent- I took in the pages of the June Harper's Bazaar-
Sans-Cleavage is the new sexy. Designer such as Nini Ricci, Chris Benz & Thakoon are producing gorgeous blouses, Spring dresses and Fall-Pre-View collections that yield no cleavies.
Do not be mislead, although the designs are less, 'overt,' they maintain edgy hints of sex in their cut and shape.
As Summer sets in, it's clear that our attire needs a revamp. Carrie is BBQ perfect in Fairfield County, CT with her loose curls, Marc Jacobs sunglasses, edgy Forever 21 tee and black-faded Diesel jeans.
Carrie and I discussed F21 as a decent way to pick up a trend-following piece to fill out your nicer pieces- as well party-pieces that may take a little more distress with heavy use. It's done with class and poise- when paired with a great denim and bone-structure flattering glasses.
Above: Catskills Rest Stop. Taking a sandwich, after meeting, and choosing Pilgrim.
Deserted barn. No other structure present, for some distance.
We rose at five a.m. in Fairfield, the roads were clear. Gas prices guaranteed that. Rest stops and iced espressos. Four hours of rural turns, and we settled in Saranac Lake.
Not quite eleven a.m., we sampled the empty streets. Each time we crossed back or forth, the approaching car would stop, to allow us to cross. A large black mutt slept in the middle of the side walk.
Eleven approached, a handful of stores opened their doors. Large, shaggy dogs slept in them. A shopkeeper offered us chocolate colored cashews, another kept focused on her newspaper.
A few kids gathered on a corner, standing next to their bicycles. I tucked into a shop-trendier- things you might see on my home town. Named Pink, it offered trendy distressed leather bags, Joe's Jeans & Splendid tees.
The pregnant cashier smiled to me,
"I can't imagine being anywhere else than right here, in the summer." Appropriately, I purchased a vibrant pink Splendid tank, ultra soft. She expertly wrapped it in tissue with a metallic sticker while her friend perched next to me insisted, "This is the best coffee- gesturing to her cup, "It's kind of a hike, but worth it. The place is called, 'Bean To.' "
(Later, I would discover that is short for, 'Bean to Coffee.' )
Not too far, a ten-minute walk- slightly out of town, I had to ask some kids conducting a car wash for further direction.
They swung their arms up a hill and I forged on. The place was a tiny room, with a covered porch. The operation: a single woman, who stepped into a kitchen, behind a folding table. A few homemade cinnamon buns waited to be chosen on the counter. I ordered two iced coffees. She spent about five minutes crafting them in paper cups.
As I waited, an overdo pregnant girl laid herself back on the covered porch with her mother, sipping a smoothie. Another woman walked in stopped, "Wow, you are beautiful, when is it to come?"
She warmed up, "Six days late." The woman returned, "May I touch your stomach?" She shared that with her while her mother inspected a knit hat. As I stepped out with, what was admittedly excellent coffee, I turned to the pregnant girl to smile, she offered, "Would you like to feel too?" I spoke to her a while, she wore lavender contacts in her eyes and dark brown Ugg boots with jeans tucked in. Her mother piped, "I'm up from Florida to help for when she comes. Next Thursday they will induce, if she doesn't decide to come before." Her skin well-tanned. Her eyes were an earnest brown.
Memorial Day Weekend marked a roady Upstate, to the Adirondacks. The town of Saranac Lake tossed feelings of Bellingam, Wa- where I studied for my Bachelors, yet on a smaller scale. Some things- the way locals interact, the air- the coolness seem to be universal in these mountain-lake towns.
Unable to face the empty apartment, Vadim and I met my co-worker Andrew and his lady friend, from Texas, for a few sakes in Midtown. We attempted to sip slowly through easy conversation.
The downpour cleared and we stepped outside to a brisk walk to Elizabeth Street.
Vadim had been anxious to take a meal at PUBLIC- a fusion of New Zealand, Asia & the Mediterranean in it's design.
A gorgeous municipal design- simple concepts of keys, books, everything in neat stacks and rows. Dropping lights- even the unisex bathrooms lounge in the hallway.
The host was very gracious, although we neglected to square away a reservation. He led us to the bar for a cocktail while we waited for a table, (15 minutes, he promised).
Tempted by the Guava-Chili Margarita, I involved myself in easy sips of subtle chilies and rounding guava. You cannot disengage from the experience of this cocktail. You lips buzz with the heat and spice. Vadim chose a robust Hitachino Nest Beer-
We elected to rest at the bar when the host arrived to collect us- Sunken, yet open-aired stools amongst easy-to-look-at folks, we ordered another cocktail as well the Grilled Scallops, which rested on a bed of greens with chili sauce, creme fraiche and a long strip of fried plantain. Although we weren't particularly hungry- we also decided to try the Fillet of Kangaroo with Coriander Falafel. Two stunning dishes!
The scallops are gloriously plump, expertly grilled and well matched with the greens. Avoid the awkward texture and consistency of the plantain. It was a bit harsh comparatively. The kangaroo is a beacon of lean precision. The falafel: a lovely marriage- the presence of Coriander: quite appropriate.
210 elizabeth street, ny, ny
Night Cap, Dram Shop.
Wisconsin-Native bar keep ruffles conversation- (I have something you should check out). He picks up a pen, a bar tab, and begins to sketch,
B, O, N I, V
(Bon Iver?!)
He drops the pen, a child-like grin forms.
(I know it, I love it.)
He walks to his IPOD, jars the song on play, switches to skinny love.
The cut on Bon Iver, (a take off bon hiver, or ' good winter,' en Francais) is Wisconsin based Justin Vernon's produce while spending four months alone in a remote cabin. He independently released his album: For Emma, For Ever Ago in 2007.The catalyst: melancholy from the closure of his relationship with girlfriend, Emma.
He will be in NYC this Summer (..with the Bower Birds!) July 29 (Bowery Ballroom) & July 30 (Music Hall of Williamsburg).
Vogue UK: 1990 ( Christy Turlington by Demarchelier) from the online cover page archives.Check it out<3
Covers date back to 1916, I like to consider the happenings and developments of the year selected. You may also browse by model...
New to the Slope!
Barrio teased for weeks...doors open, consistently packed- Spanish Tapas that will make you mmm...
The servers push the guacamole on you, but the cocktails are excellent, the ingredients impossibly fresh, lightly (and strategically apparent) spices, beautiful portions. Their tortillas are homemade and taste much like the ones my mother makes (this is a good thing).
The plantain & black bean empanada could use a little punch, but the queso was well-crafted. The bartender instructed us to wrap tortillas around the dense chili-dusted cheese and eat it like a taco.
7th Ave & 3rd St.
The Scallop roll special attracted Vadim and I to Hanabi for lunch. ("Fireworks," Thank you for the translation, Erin)
I'm still working out the details of the meal- it was good for a warmish day in Brooklyn, but nothing to write home about. Peruvian- Cocina Japanese fusion in a low ceiling, charcoal walls and open to the streets.
We chose the miso soup, cornflake crab cake, scallop & the Winter roll (spicy white tuna & crunchy, topped w/super white tuna & tobiko). The Tobiko was generous and delicious, the soup too hot- and we settled it w/ sips of hot sake. Decent. I prefer Ginger in Manhattan.
Don't even get me started on the crabcake- Is there some sort of ordinance in Maryland that prohibits outside restaurants from making great crab cakes? I pine for them.
I picked up these flats at Urban Outfitters in Union Square (14th St).
Easily tucked into your satchel when you're wearing wellies, or thongs, to acclimate on your commute- they look nice enough for the office, and casual enough for denim & blazer for a neighborhood apertif.
Comfort level: Like buttah.
The icing on the cake? They are only twenty-eight dollars.
In the Summer of 2003, I was in Denver- warm & dry, the rain would stack on the streets- then dry in moments. I ducked au theatre to see Swimming Pool.
A few hours later, I emerged into the still-light having harbored an obsession for yellow terry clothe shorts & locating a yellow bowl. I accomplished these things, the bowl in Fairhaven, the shorts at American Apparel. These are some of my favorite things.
The bowl had an unfortunate end dans box shipped to NYC- (as did an alarming amount of my cookware above my income bracket)...(Thank you, Mum). And now it is clear that I need to locate another. Perhaps anthropologie.
Wrapped in our Pacific Northwest roots, Travis and I were non-phased by the downpour this afternoon: We decided to snag a seat on the downtown bound R to pick up a few small pies at Waldy's.
The thinnest crust (perhaps thinner than Grimaldi's?) Distinctive cheeses, I chose the Braised Lamb, Oregano & Lemon Peel- Travis decided upon the Wild Mushrooms & Red Onion.
We scuttled through the rain and into the train station- Travis offered,"I'm going to be a hobo and eat a slice now, " I glanced down the dark tunnel and confirmed, "Me too."
Now I'm not entirely enthusiastic, let alone amped up about pizza, but Waldy's locks you in a wilderness of delicious. Delicious lunch for less than 10 bones? I'm in. Try an off-lunch hour- it gets busy in there.
Clouds at sun settling, captured from my back yard, NYC.
Park Slope. Fifth Ave.
A longer night in the city, and a forced ride on the F- and I didn't want to walk much further for my late dinner.
aji opened this past week in Park Slope, quasi sexy- from the outside, the inside exhibits exposed brick a yellowing light and a high ceiling.
I sat at the bar and ordered a sangria, ($3 on special that evening). Strangely warm (Is that a Peruvian/Argentinian thing? Because Coco Roco serves it cold...)
I took stock of the other offerings, six beers on tap from Bud Light, a few micros and the 'highest brow,' they carried: Chimay Bleu. I looked through the brief menu, which seemed to have one small selection of daily items and another page of chef picks.
I asked the bartender what she would recommend, "The Empanadas are pretty good, and I had the Jaleita yesterday, I don't know, it was really good." Yikes. At least the service was more attentive/less abrasive than Coco Roco.
About 15 minutes after I ordered, a pile of deep fried seafood was plopped in front of me, as well a small dish a corn-nut tasting snacks. I stared down, then precariously tasted what is described as: "deep fried shrimp, calamari & fish with yuca surrounded with onions and spices." On that note, I typically prefer to avoid vague descriptions such as "fish," What kind of fish? I'm fairly certain that even the staff at aji did not know the answer to this question. Also- the seafood was very obviously previously frozen. I don't think I would have decided to go past the first few bites if I wasn't a little buzzed and ravenously hungry-
I looked to the corner and noticed a wine chiller, that was set 7 degrees below the standard. Good luck hanging in there, aji.
Popping into 41st & Broadway Starbuck's this afternoon, I took stock of the usual chaos that was in play (This is the only Starbuck's I have ever been in that implements walkie-talkies to expedite the intrepid line).
I snagged an ethos bottle and requested a skim cappuccino w/ caramel drizzle. The wait promised to be savage as a dozen or so people perched themselves in corners- snagging splenda packets and mischievously smashing them into their bags.
Three girls ahead of me exhibited the tell-tail signs of their entry-level fashion careers: sharp with Marc Jacobs bags, Ferragamos & expertly tailored jeans. They clung to lengthy, semi-complicated lists of coffee preferences and lunged rhythmically over the counter to correct and dictate the the baristas.
Although my good faith was directed to the barista side of the counter, I couldn't help but think of myself with my caddies of beverages, paper tote with cookies in smaller bags within, straws and napkins peaking out- and then in the future, someone would be bringing me my tall, skim capp w/caramel drizzle (sauce! I cannot stand the syrup!)
Perhaps one of the best covers I have ever seen. Perched on the desk at home, I plan to frame and place.
Coarse with sexuality and femininity- My coworker Travis exclaimed, "Slutty!" when he noticed it peaking from my Longchamp Le Pliage, I lit up and chattered about the composition, color- the way her heel very nearly punctures her thigh.
Poised, and BAM, cheekbones.
I'm still not entirely sure what happened here-
Crab cakes were the plan and according to City Search, this was meant to be the spot.
Petite Crevette is situated in Brooklyn Heights: a few cozy rooms, (which did not actually offer crab cakes on the menu that day) an overtly excited/overbearing server (he smashed several business cards in our hands as we left), a cash only policy, bowls of tomatoes on the verge of rotting nestled themselves into corner tables, runny mashers before me & don't forget the BYOB.
Easily one of the favorite images that I have captured. Gowanus Canal.
Flatbush.
Young entrepreneurs, they sold me a bottle of Poland Spring for one bone.
Hues of gray sliced by chunky concrete- a littered ally way: old band fliers & few hipsters settled adjacent this mark of expression. SoHo.
Captured while standing on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge.
The youngest in a set of three street performers adjacent Bryant Park in Midtown Manhattan. All donning Miami Heat gear.
Large trees framing child in fountain.
While exploring Brooklyn's Cobble Hill neighborhood, we found Chicory one afternoon. The tiny take out/eat in is a great place to get a quick bite and a cool bottle of water on a hot day. They have an inviting selection of "side dishes" (mmm sweet potato mashers!) to enjoy with your yummy hot dog all described with funky picture drawings.
Last weekend, Vadim and I had the distinct pleasure of Carrie and Andrew's company. Andrew had come down to the city from Boston for a bike race- and apres we cajoled them into Park Slope for a dinner at Babouche.
Tall ceilings, sunken couches and mountainous portions of divine hummus. Sadly no longer BYOB, but they do have a decent selection of wines. The Moroccan Rose matched well with the flavor of the balsamic reduction and simplicity of the warm pita.
The servers are fabulous, in white linen, beautiful face, on cue and they always welcome us as good friends- rubbing our backs and clasping our hands as we enter and depart.
