Soon for Summer Saturdays

The toddlers in their prams babble and mumble,
amongst the city's overall jumble, jumble.
Mothers reach out for sprinkle laced cones.
While the children squeal gleefully, returning to sunlit homes.

Then there's the student on his used bike,
Flying through Washington Square with all of his might.
"Look at these tourist," he'll reprovingly say.
But then he too shall grin, because it's a beautiful day.
(And because he was a "tourist" two years ago anyway.)

Now watch for the dog people milling around.
With bulldogs, and beagles, and any kind of hound.
Their pets will undoubtedly start the conversation.
While the puppy-less onlookers stare in bittersweet frustration.

Ah, over on your left! What do you see?
A brunch plate with bacon, coffee, and tea. 
Unlimited mimosas are for those of a certain age.
While "just a side order" of eggs for those of a certain wage. 

Don't stare; please don't! But on that bench over there,
is a man who has two dirty pigeons in his hair.
Had maybe this been any other town?
I would have said something - now I don't make a sound.

The reader, the writer, the artist, the singer.
The family, the loner, the people - we all want to linger.
There’s a sense of connectedness, a type of attraction.
 Yes - on a city Saturday, we crave subtle human interaction.



Cheers to the beginning of the warm weather months. May they bring you ecstatic, sleepless nights and restful weekend days. 

Things I Never Thought

Well kids, we’re coming up on two years time living in New York City. A lot has changed, and a lot hasn’t. (I think that’s the way it should be, no?) Anyway, despite most characteristics remaining intact from the pre-city days, there are a few new little quirks in my personality. Listed below are the things I thought I’d never own, wear, see, or do:

I never thought I’d… not notice when a man dressed up as a large male reproductive organ walked down the street next to me. I can’t say I even blinked at the costume.

I never thought I’d… eat PB&J for nearly 9 months straight.
Or bump into Stanley Tucci and see Steve Martin in the subway.

I never thought I’d… carry 1 to 2 pocket knives in my purse on any given day. And I never thought I’d pull said pocket knifes out of my purse.

I never thought I’d… wear a huge, puffy knee-length down jacket. In fact, it was my uniform in the Winter of 2010-2011. May that coat rest in peace for a few months.

 I never thought I’d… do my laundry at a laundromat with quarters and the whole schlep. I dreamed of big city living for a long time – yet somehow laundry was never apart of those dreams. 

 I never thought I’d… drop Yiddish phrases in my blog posts (see above statement). Or eat a better bagel than one from Einstein’s.
Oh how wrong I was.

I never thought I’d… dance on tables in the Lower East Side.
Or walk and walk and walk until every shoe (and I mean EVERY shoe) has a hole in them.


I never thought I’d… catch a 3am train to Queens or a 4am train to Manhattan.

I never thought I’d… pretty much pass out on 5th Ave from sleep deprivation. Or email my resume and cover letter to so many companies (I believe my whole generation can nod to this one). 

 I never thought I’d… have a natural affinity for graffiti-covered bathrooms, PBR, hummus, and hollandaise sauce.

 
I never thought I’d… have a pigeon poop on my head.

I never thought I’d… have dinner with drag queens or get tips from a homeless man about living on the street.

I never thought I’d… meet such interesting, fabulous people who I encounter everyday and depend on incessantly. 

I never thought I’d… wear so many colored tights, layers, headbands, hats, leather, or satchel bags. But it’s just so easy!


I never thought I’d… be in a photo shoot or a fashion show. And I didn’t think I’d see a movie before it was released or participate in a 100+ person pillow fight.

I never thought I’d… feel so low or so high, or feel so much from a constantly morphing life among the extremes, where your values are tested and your ideals are tempted to both wither and mature within the exact same second.

I never thought I’d… be so scared of cockroaches.
Or be so fond of green grass on trips home.

And I never thought you’d… read this blog.

So thank you. 

Oh also, I never thought I'd... almost punch my sister in the face when she came up behind me in a bookstore. Personality quirk. What can I say? Don't reach for my purse G-race. 

Happy Easter 2012

First, the family is awesome and sent me a package of Girl Scout cookies, chocolates, movies, and more. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I will be fat and happy. 


Second, how horrifying is this? My clown neighbor now has bunnies that watch me as I walk down the street. I must admit, I'm slightly terrified one of these plush fellows is secretly him and it will turn it's head Chucky-style while I'm running to work. Bah.


And finally, here are some of the top searched "Keywords of the Week" that people type into Google, which lead them to my blog. Please note the highlighted phrase. I'm not too offended.

Again, Happy Easter. Enjoy this special holiday weekend. 

The Tale of Two Cities


Charles Street was lined with old lampposts and brick buildings that housed vintage dress shops or art galleries. Each step forward was a step back in time. The gray clouds weren’t dreary; they were quaint and cozy. The spitting rain wasn’t a nuisance, but the perfect excuse to dip into basement boutiques. We were content to wonder, with no plans or final destination, enthralled with a city so divergent from our own.

“New York is like our husband,” said Ivy with a smile that meant some truism was sure to follow. “I feel like New York is the love of my life… but Boston’s the hot young thing.” And we laughed, because she was too close to the truth: New York is home, New York is ours, yet 
New York is the confinement as well as the escape.

This little weekend fling was exciting, and none of us wanted to admit how much we could possibly enjoy another city. The accents, the talkative cabbies, the fluffy hotel pillows... It was cheating! Our feelings were defiant against the tiny slices of life we’d worked so hard to create! Yes, we all needed a little vacation and a cannoli from Mike's. Yes, we were pleased to be back in our respective boroughs at 
the trip's end.

But no, I’m afraid our love affair with Boston is far from over. 

(Editor’s Note to Future Husband: I will never define you as something so mundane as confining, but Ivy’s analogy was all too perfect ;)



Away We Go

I love the smell of hotel rooms.

It’s always a mix of central AC, cleaning products, with hints of chlorine and coffee. You wouldn’t think these ingredients would be quite so pleasant, but my nose finds them comforting.  Maybe hotels simply remind me of summer? Whatever the reason, it always smells like home.

Dad works in hotels. I worked in hotels. A sister, an uncle, and an aunt also toiled in the industry at one point or another. I feel as though the Fitzgeralds grew up amongst the Marriotts of the East Coast, hugging front desk clerks and short-sheeting beds along the way.

Plus, hotels mean you’re on the road – you’re traveling. Such an exhilarating three syllables. Did you know I haven’t left New York City for more than five days at a time since moving here almost two years ago? So we’re taking a quick trip to Boston, and while it will only be a three day excursion, our mini-vacation will give us just enough time to stretch our legs into the uncharted Northeast.

Happy Friday, friends.
I’ll be sure to steal some soap for you.
And don’t worry Dad, I won’t short-sheet the beds.
Or put Vaseline on the phone.
Or plastic wrap under the toilet seat.
No, no, I’m far too mature for that ;)


We're coming for you, MA. 

Mad Men, Mad World


“Welcome!”
Our perfectly coiffed hostess opens the gate to her apartment. As she swings the metal barricade closed and locks it with a small key, her dress spins about into a bell shape any 1960s housewife would envy.

We climb the carpeted stairs in slingbacks and loafers to a 2nd floor apartment. Sounds of the McGuire Sisters and Ella lazily crooning in the background embellish our tangible imaginations. Because tonight, you see, it’s 1960 – or maybe 1963?

The porch lights are on, smiling over our patch of New York, and the conversation is fitting. Oh how I needed another bobby pin! Doesn’t your hair look fabulous? What a lovely shade of lipstick you’re wearing. Such darling pearls. Don’t the men look dapper?

Trudy shouted from the living room that “The Twist” was about to play. Well, we simply had to join! Isn’t the culmination of every memorable cocktail party on the dance floor, pivoting to and fro? Gin and tonics were tossed aside like secretaries in an ad agency and we danced, danced, danced…

In my mind’s eye, there are scenes of Donald Draper walking smugly down Madison Avenue to the Sterling-Cooper building. But I also see E.B. White typing away columns for magazines, and Bob Dylan just beginning to make his mark. Can’t you envision Edie Sedgwick stumbling through the Village with Andy and her posse in tow? Or maybe you imagine Robert Gottlieb and Korda pouring over Catch-22. How glamorous we can make a turbulent decade appear in hindsight, through the eyes of fake Ray Bands from the corner store.

Even still, I love this time period and its juxtaposition of contrasting American ideals. Pretending if only for an evening, that we took part in 1960’s New York City is all too enjoyable for the current inhabitants of this ever-changing town. Movements, riots, literature, music – many of these cultural contributions began within blocks of our homes.

But when the night was through, I slipped off my heels and changed into Toms. I let out a few pins from my hair to curtail the squeezing of my scalp. Then I walked into the night air with an encouraging thought that many of my 1960s idols may have been without: I, hopefully, will be remembered for more than my red dress, my silky pearls… my fake, plastic pearls.

So let us play. Let us flippantly play in the past for a moment or more.
And then we move on.
Happy Mad Men my friends. 








"I can't believe it now, that the city opened before us like some land of dreams, but it did." -- Mary Cantwell, in "Manhattan, When I Was Young" circa 1950-1960.