photo credit: brownpau flickr
Sitting in my warm house (so far), we are hunkering down for what the media has whipped us all in a frenzy about: Winter Storm Juno.
Preying on the PTSD of a still Sandy-shocked population, they have had a field day with this one, and the supermarkets were evidence of that. I will share two observations and then I am off to start some serious drinking.
First, the empty bread shelves in the supermarket. I live in an area where more people are living a gluten-free, carb-free life than I care to think about. Why then, are the bread shelves in the supermarket close to empty. I predict there is going to be a lot of closet gluten-rich activity going on out there through this storm, no? Oy, the inflammation!
Second, is the insane desire to make sure one has eggs, bread and milk in the house at all times. What is this? Is there a direct correlation between a pending storm and the need to eat french toast?
As my dear friend Joanne pointed out just around the time that she talked me off the ledge about my Snow Warrior husband having left too late and being caught on the road forever, this is a misguided list. There are, in fact, 3 things that one must have in a storm, but they are not eggs, bread and milk… they are wine, toilet paper and coffee.
Stay safe everyone, and I will see you on the other side. Hopefully with power.
Oh those Brooklyn hipsters, they make us yuppies of way back when seem like we did not indulge our children. I am usually saddened by the race to adultify babies. Having been through the whole raising of the kids thing, I want to stop these parents and tell them there is plenty of time for them to become little hipsters and ‘mix music that is super dope’, just not while they are still drooling on the soundboard. But then I fear I am becoming that woman who stopped me on the street over 20 years ago while both my kids were screaming and told me I would miss these days. (that day, I have never missed, btw)
We saw this flyer while walking down Bedford Street and I had to take a picture. A little further investigation, and I found this HuffPo piece on the place. The woman who started it is definitely a genius. I am all for someone being entrepreneurial and preying on the insecurities of the tragically hip. And she has great cred. DJ and composer Natalie Elizabeth Weiss has shared the stage with LCD Soundsystem and Dirty Projectors. She could, however, use a little graphic help. Just saying. (cute kid, though)
But this mom? I sort of wanted to punch this mom in the face:
Samantha Al-Fayez, the mother of one of Weiss’ new students, told the Wall Street Journal that her 1-year-old Julien “loves gangsta rap.”
Seriously, Samantha?! Why is your 1-year-old listening to gangsta rap? I shudder to hear his first words! When he calls you mutha, don’t come crying to us when he figures out the second half of that word.
I am happy to report that Weiss does not play any music with profanities for the kids.
I did so want to make fun of this whole thing but honestly, for the older kids this is quite fabulous. Check out this 4-year-old. I love him. And his dad is a riot. The kid totally gets it, no?
I love New York. And I equally love the ish of life. As I was parking my car today I came across this street sign. Who knew 6th Avenue had an ish… a half. A sort of in between 6th and 7th sort of street that had no purpose other than to install a stop sign (yes, a stop sign in the middle of a midtown cross street!). You know, because as the sign says, it is a Pedestrian Arcade. Really? I saw no such arcade. A lovely little restaurant with a Quinoa Bar but no arcade that I could see. A little space between 2 buildings with some cement seating and potted trees. But an arcade? Nah.
Nonetheless, the existence of a halfavenue that I never knew about made me realize that every day has a little surprise if you look.
NYC trivia… name the street this is on. (no prizes other than being able to boast about what a New Yorker you are).
I could not love this picture any more. I crossed the street to take a shot of this canvas hanging on the back of a truck on West Broadway, and this guy stopped in front of it just as I was taking the picture.
Art is so often created by happenstance.
Walking down the street with me is not a bargain. Those who know me well know my famous, “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Those who love me unconditionally (AKA, offspring and BFFs) smile and know this is just the price to pay for hanging out with me. I make up for it in other ways. Those who are married to me (the subset of one) are incredibly tolerant and will even stand in a situation for my amusement (and theirs later on).
So, this image begs the question, “Why are crazy people such good lovers?” Here is a little exercise. Jump out of lurking mode (I know you are all there, I check the stats) and feel bad enough for my sorry ass to leave some comments answering to one or more of the following topics:
- Define crazy.
- Decide if this makes you more likely to admit that you are.
- In your experience, is there a direct correlation between being crazy and being a good lover?
Amuse me kiddies, I have had a tough few months!
I would like to start this post by assuring you that no animals were harmed just for a laugh.
We spent the afternoon on The High Line today. It was a glorious afternoon and there was a
claustrophobic mass of humanity nice crowd out there enjoying the day with us. The thing about The High Line is that it was built after many of the apartments that are adjacent to it. I would imagine those who previously had lovely private terraces and windows facing what was an abandoned raised train track are now less than thrilled to have throngs of people strolling past their windows every day. I would also imagine that the window treatment biz picked up in this neighborhood after the completion of this extraordinary public gem.
I digress. One of these very not-so-private apartments facing the walkway had this cat wedged in between the couch and the window. At first a crowd started to gather and point in horror that this poor animal had been neglected and was now in its final resting place for all to see.
Until the little sucker moved. It sort of stretched and repositioned itself and settled back into its big snooze under glass.
This confirms my theory that cats are more than a little messed up in the head.
My favorite conversation:
Man: It’s not real.
Woman: Sure it is, didn’t you just see it move?!
Man: That doesn’t prove it’s real.
Me: (to myself of course) IDIOT!
Just another sunny afternoon walking through Soho. Hey, even a land shark needs to shop once in awhile. And this one was trendy at that… a Calypso bag! Gotta love a shark with a big budget. I am sorry I did not catch the full twitter handle on his shirt.
I love NY indeed!
I consider it a gift of the universe when I walk out of a parking garage, rushing between meetings and I come across something like this. This happens to other people, right?
I am pretty sure I heard him muttering under his breath ‘Plumber, ma’am’, but I could be mistaken.