Imogene & Willie

This is just the sweetest, coziest website --I love it. The designers real names are Matt and Carrie. Their self-described concept is "a mix of product design, product execution, and product distribution...all in one retro-fitted gas station. It is like an artisan bakery for premium apparel." I'll take two of whatever they're cookin' up, yummm!

Photos by Aron Wright

New Friends In Unexpected Places (And A Few To Boot)

OUI! So many, many things... Today is Friday, March 26. My last post was a downer. I'm not even going to reread it. In the end I was so sick of looking at my crappy sentiments that I published it unfinished, whiney and melodramatic. Ew. Today is a new day. Ready for a not-so-PC, ADD-style installment of Linda's Life? Here goes, in hot new rewind stylee...

Entertaining.
Monday night Danee and I went to Upright Citizens Brigade for my friend Oren's comedy show, Front Page Films. Despite the pouring rain, we managed to slip into some open seats a few minutes after the start of the show. My favorite segment? A candlelight ballad, sung by the group's red-haired counterpart. The song's about writing lies in your diary --your Liary. Is hillarious and brilliant and hats off to a much-needed laugh. Performing on stage looked like so much fun.

Even More Entertaining.
Being at the same party with the girl who slept with the guy I liked while they were in Thailand (GWSWTGILIT). Oh wow, that sentence has filth written all over it, I'm going to go wash my hands...

Most Entertaining.
Managing uncomfortable emotions in public places (read: rage. Though may include snot-sobbing sadness). In other words, playing a game I like to call "acting mature": saying hello to the GWSWTGILIT and giving her a hug. And by "entertaining," I mean completely fcuking excrutiating.

Crazy-making.
Let's talk about a few things that happen to me that don't seem to happen to anyone else... By the time I walk from the train to my office every morning, my skirt makes its way 180 degrees to the right, around my body. A couple times, it has even twisted my shirt along with it. I dont know which is worse: trying to akwardly readjust as I'm walking down the street or walking into the office with my clothes on sideways. Is troubling. Here's another question: what is it about the left stocking that makes every pair of tights I wear so uncomfortable on one side and not the other? I wear them a lot. I notice these things. Just saaying...

Sarah Palin is so gimmicky.

...Sorry, I got distracted by her cheerleading antics on tv right now. Blah

Refreshing.
Following a particularly harrowing week of work recently, something incredible happened. At once, the tides changed, the sea parted, and the skies cleared ...ALL...BECAUSE I PLAYED COMPETITIVE GOLF IN HIGH SCHOOL. Whaaa? Yes. Now in most situations I dont really consider this a cool thing to brag about, but when I do occassionally let the cat out of the bag, its a tremendous hit. Especially with two CBS News executives --one of whom "kidnapped" me for a field trip last Friday to the driving range at Chelsea Piers. They've nicknamed it "the most expensive driving range in the country," and if right now you can't imagine anyone classier than me, you should know one more thing. I had to kick off my heels, roll up my pants, and go barefoot!

Speaking of Fridays... I'm out of here! Have a great weekend, everyone. I'll write soon ...so many adventures, so easily distracted. xx

A Long Way From Last Year

Happy St. Patty's Day, everyone! In honor of this delightful holiday I'm going to dedicate no part of this blog to beer, shamrocks, leprechauns or Irish trivia. (For the facts, see here.) I was visiting New York, however, this time last year, so it is remarkable to think of how much my life has changed since then.

This time last year I was living in Boulder, working for a financial planning and was about a week away from being unexpectedly laid off --yikes! As turmultuous as the incident was at first, the circumstances gave birth to one of the best summers of my life (in fact, my last in Colorado), prompted my "volunteership" at Warren Miller Entertainment, and was the catalyst that finally motivated me to move to New York!

Now here I am, Day 111, knowing one thing for sure: I probably would've never made this move if I knew how hard it was going to be. (Ha!) But seriously, I'm not saying that I regret moving because I don't regret it at all. I'm just surprised by how quickly (and rather naievely) I have brought myself face-to-face with some of the toughest challenges of my life. My naievite is melting away faster than you can say the word, and I'm just hoping that my positive outlook doesn't wash away with it.

One of the main reasons why I haven't written lately is because I'm afraid of what I might say (frustration is a 4-letter word?). I've been put through the wringer a bit, so I needed to put things in a little broader perspective first.

Stomach Ache

Today is Tuesday, March 2 and I don't know what my problem is. I can't satisfy my craving for pizza ...and pasta...ribolita...more pizza ...french bread rolls ...chicken and sausage gumbo... I don't know what's happening to me, but I can tell you that I'm putting an end to it tomorrow! This all started two weeks ago when my boss was out of the office.

She left me specific instructions to order cupcakes for the President of CBS News and Sports, for his birthday, the day after she left. No big deal and considering I'm on the unofficial hunt for the best cupcake in nyc, I thought it would be fun to try a new place on the Upper West Side and sample one myself. FUN, that is, until that day turned out to be one of the worst, slushiest, snow-stormy days and none of the bakeries would deliver.

Knowing the answer in my heart, I decided to ask one of the other assistant's for her opinion of the sceniario. "Definitely order from a place that delivers," she suggested. Since every bakery from here to Queens told me I was out of my mind (well, one place offered to deliver for an extra $30), guess who had to drag herself outside in the slush? Yours truly, Linda Super Assistant: committed to excellence in the face of every Noreaster.

I flagged the first cab to Columbus Avenue Magnolia Bakery, picked up six cupcakes, and turned right back around. After sloshing through the lobby on a mission, I carefully composed myself and triumphantly opened the door to the President's office.

...Who had already left for the day.

My heart sank as his assistant shrugged somewhat sympathetically. "Don't tell (your boss," she said. "It's okay. He will get them tomorrow when he comes in, and will be even more excited."

But, no. To make matters worse, the next day was the start of Lent, and he had given up cupcakes for the next forty days. Which is what I'm going to have to do if I keep up with all this pizza and pasta and absolutely delicious Magnolia cupcakes!

Following Operation Hope-My-Boss-Never-Finds-Out (which, of course, she did), a box of 16 Magnolia cupcakes were delivered to our office as a thank you gift. Having your first choice (well, second choice) of 16 exquisitely-frosted, deeeelicious delights is almost too much to bear. But I managed to limit myself to one the first day and two "try" bites of reject cupcakes leftover on the second day. (Don't order the caramel-whatevers or the carrot cake ones with pasty cream-cheese frosting. Ask Jen. It tastes like glue.)

Yesterday there were birthday cupcakes from Cupcake Cafe for an executive's birthday down the hall. Let me just say that these were much easier to resist. Cupcake Cafe specializes in (admittedly, beautiful) butter cream flowers that, luckily, do nothing for me. I brought one back to my desk to be polite, but promptly threw it in the trash.

And JUST when I thought that I was in the clear... finishing off my healthy greek yogurt breakfast... in walked another coworker with a box of donuts! I'm tempted to find out from her where they came from (because the half of half of one, followed by the half of another that I tried, was amaaaazing), but I don't trust myself. By midmorning I had a stomach ache and by now it looks like Hansel and Gretel ran circles around my office all afternoon.

I rounded out the afternoon with a delicious slice of pizza from Casabianca, across the street from my office, and (gasp) half a diet coke. Is it just me or is there something about working in an office that makes you crave a crappy, diet soda? Ick. Enough of that fizz, I'm going to punish myself with a CoreFusion Yoga class tonight at Exhale. The only other time I took this class, my quads were so sore I couldn't walk right for three days. It's the only class I've ever taken where you have to wear mandatory socks to grip the ballet bar. I'm actually nervous.


FREE Cupcakes tomorrow (...will this ever end?)

No Shame Productions

Send This Snow To Colorado

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Today is one of those misty, overcast days in New York when people can't seem to decide whether to wear their wool coat, sleeping-bag coat or (in my case, new) trench coat to best combat the weather. One thing's for sure, though. Everyone wears rubber boots, in varying degrees of ugly.

Walking from the train to work this morning, the conditions made me feel like I was truly in the Northeast. Something about mist and fog feels very nautical to me, as cheesy as that is to admit. (Oh, COME ON, they don't have weather like this in Boulder, its been awhile!) As I walked down 57th Street, my mind wandered to thoughts of riding around in my best friend's jeep and sailing with her in Rhode Island. Ah, summer...

Then, as soon as it began, the daydream is over. Hello work. Every day, I spin around the revolving door and my day officially begins.

Things at work have loosened up quite a bit in the past two weeks, which makes my job feel much less exhausting. Its funny how mis-connecting a phone call can make you doubt your competency, but believe me, it does. I'm off and running now with a week's worth of training (after a month of learning the hard way), and a week of my boss being out of the country on top of that.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not a natural executive assistant. I've been called a lot of things in my 26 years, but I'm pretty sure none of those included, "great multi-tasker," "excellent concentration," "patient," "sits still," or "quiet." My boss thought that I could "do this job with my eyes closed" when she hired me, yet I'm fascinated by the meaning of a "really great assistant." Hmm...fascinated might be taking it a bit far.

So what else is happening? New York Fashion Week was last week, so every newspaper, magazine, subway poster and billboard was a reminder of the direction that I want to take my life .....eventually. I've decided to give myself two years here, 1. to adjust (apartment, job, friends, etc.) and 2. to do enough investigating/research to come up with a passion-for-fashion plan, before I put any pressure on myself. The hard part will be reminding myself that I have "a plan to make a plan."

I guess I'll end with the biggest news: I've found an apartment! After the Douchebag 2.0 Thailand Crisis a few weeks ago (which, btw, don't hold your breath for "Manboys of New York Part 2" since I've left that drama far behind) I was left to fend for myself apartment-wise, which turned out to be very wise, indeed. Instead of spending close to $5,000 moving into a new, two-bedroom apartment, I accepted a terrific sublet offer to live with a friend, Stephanie.

My current rommate, Danee, met Stephanie while living abroad in London and the two are pretty much best friends, from what I can tell. My delicious, pre-CBS baking and cooking must've paid off if Danee felt comfortable enough to recommend me as a roommate. Maybe comfortable isn't the word, considering how everyone's clothes may fit post Lindsey's stress-induced baking. We've all spent time together since I've moved here, and I'm really looking forward to having a closet in the city to call my own!

The apartment is a six-story walkup on Mulberry and Grand, which is absolutely perfect if you're into things like garland and garlic. Mulberry Street is one of the final remains of the neighborhood known as Little Italy (now mostly overrun by Chinatown) and I'll be living in the smack dab center of all it's gaudy glory!

Wish me luck moving this weekend in the middle of YET ANOTHER snowstorm. Photos to come!

Manboys of NYC (Part I)

I just spent the morning reading about the Literary Manboys of New York City. That's right, Manboys. I've also read enough self-fulfilling apology letters in the last four days to last me a lifetime. Oh, and I've sworn off checking my blackberry before I get out of bed in the morning. So THAT'S what's new with me.

I've pulled myself from the wreckage of learning that the guy I liked slept with a girlfriend of mine in Thailand while they were traveling, and have nursed myself back to health with a little remedy I like to call wine/pasta/mom-and-sis-weekend/chocolate/friends/chat-roulette/hot-Lupa-waiter/weed. I'm feeling much better, thank you for asking. My initial shock (not at all "surprise") turned to angry indifference over the weekend, particularly after reading the vague apology letters that flooded my inbox.

Why anyone would think that it's a good idea to send a written apology to a pissed-off writer is beyond me. A phone call would've probably rendered me speechless, but an email apology is just begging for a response. So, with restraint, I critiqued. I criticized his apology's (self-serving) effectiveness, approached the actual issue from a creative angle (to make sure he was actually paying attention), and then threw in a snarky zinger for good measure (slash, for womankind).

As I predicted, writing a response didn't make me feel any better. Instead, my heart pounded out of my chest, my adrenaline surged, and I thought I was going to faint on the subway platform. His second response came almost immediately once I was outside. There were so many "so sorry's" that my blackberry looked like an SOS receiver for ships lost at sea. ...Lost is right.

There's two phenomenons happening to men in the United States between the ages of 25-36 (give or take however many years it takes to relate your own example). The first is not exclusive to men: The quarter life crisis. The second is most common amongst artsy, creative types, but I'll just call them: Manboys. Let's start with the quarter life crisis scenario, since I'm feeling a little guilty about using all caps to get my point across last night.

Quarter life Crisis (n.) [krahy-sis] [krahy-sissy] [krahy-baby] 1. You can't make any decisions because you don't know what you want. And you don't know what you want because you don't know who you are. And you don't know who you are because you're allowed to be anyone you want. Characterized by unrelenting indecision, isolation, confusion and anxiety about working, relationships and direction.

Logan sent me a great article about Crisis .25, which completely informed this post, so go read it. The author writes, "Imagine a day in the life of a couple you probably know. He's 27 years old, she's 26. They wake up beside each other in his downtown bachelor apartment and have sx that neither of them particularly enjoys. They've been sort-of dating for a while now, but they're not willing to commit to each other: he likes her, but doesn't know if he always will. She can't decide if she likes him more or less than the other two guys she's dating. ...He doesn't really hate his job, but feels as if his skin is crawling with vermin most of the time that he's there, so he has a plan to move to Thailand..." STOP. Thailand....really?? How many of you have actually been to Thailand? It's a dirty, catch-all cesspool for people between the ages of 18-36 who are trying to find themselves while masquerading as backpackers. What's with all the hype? Hasn't anyone seen Brokedown Palace??

"...He goes to the bar after work to meet up with some university friends, where they talk about their jobs and make ironic jokes about people. ...She clicks through Facebook photos of girls she knew in high school posing with their husbands and babies ...'When did this happen for them?' she wonders. ...They both eventually fall asleep ...wondering what it is that's wrong with them that they can't quite seem to understand."

If, at any point in your late twenties, you find yourself wondering 'When did this all happen,' or you suddenly feel a deep sense of regret about the unconscious way you've been living the last 5 years of your life, its safe to assume that you've entered Crisis .25. Sit down. IT WILL ALL BE OKAY (says the 26 year old).

Its true that to most of the guys that I've known, the quarter life crisis is triggered by "a kind of malaise that the end of youth is really the end of fun. And that you're never going to have any fun again, because you have to work. You're never going to have sx again, because you're going to get married. Your life is over." COME ON. This slew of misconceptions brings two things to mind: All women (especially not the career-driven urbanites of nyc) are not out for the same 1950's style, one-size-fits-all commitment level from day 1, and you can redefine "working" or "grown up" or "age appropriate" in whatever way you want. There are no rules that say wearing makeup or heels will make you a grown-up, just ask 4-yr old Libby Fraser. Those fears are phony. I also think women of my generation have more experience evolving, redefining, in this way. (As Alanna summed it up last night: Women are more evolved.)

...Where did the time go? It's already time to leave. Part II tomorrow...

xoxo Goodnight!

Tired of This Black and Blue

Monday, February 15.

I can't decide whether "things are never as they seem," or if "things are always as they seem." What I can tell you is that the difference depends on how well you listen to your intuition, your gut.

Have you ever told someone who was asking you for advice that they already know the answer? I might even argue that the more a person asks others for advice, the more certain they are of the outcome. They just don't like it.

One thing is certain: being in tune with your intuition really sucks. At the times when you need it most, it hardly ever sends the message that you want to hear (which is why it's easy to ignore). One's intuition is clearly guided by something of a much higher power than ourselves, god, fate, or some other omniscient, gray-space life force we can't quite put our finger on, making it even harder to take seriously. But none of that matters at the end of the day. Do you know why not?

Because after 26 years, facts are facts. I can ignore the deep, aching something's-suspicious-here feeling in my gut, but when it turns out to be true 99% of the time, intuition wins. There's just no messing with statistics, friends. Math is math. I know this because I failed Calculus twice in high school. Forreals.

I know this is a pretty bullshit-vague post that's not the least bit insightful, but the truth is that I'm tired and I feel like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit about some whorey news that I heard over the weekend. The second I get over the disturbing fact that "things are always as they seem," I'll write about a topic that's mildly uplifting. I promise.

Zzzzzzzzz....

It's Saturday!

It's Saturday February 6, and I can't sleep in past 9am. Things like that might matter on a hot, sunny summer day, but when there's snow on the ground and freezing temperatures outside, I'd rather be cozied up in bed for the better part of the afternoon. Tough luck. I'm going to change into some spandex and head uptown to my favorite yoga class. It's a 90-minute heated vinyasa at noon today, yikes. Wish me luck!

Grace Hotel

Crap. These posts are getting lazier and lazier. There's really no excuse, except tonight I have a good one. My good friend Katie Lime has just gone full-time jewelry designer and she's hosting a party tonight to celebrate in Brooklyn. As it turns out, my boss left early today and I can scoot before 7pm. With a 45 min train ride ahead of me, I need all the time I can get!

Real quick, though. I had an amazing adventure last night! Possibly the best since I've been in nyc. It all began with the text, "pool party?" from my friend Oren at 6:30pm. Did I mention it was 34-degrees last night? Intrigued, and understanding how rare pools are in manhattan, I said yes.

After that I went home, collapsed on the couch for twenty minutes, made some broccoli pasta, and managed to find a second wind. When he told me to meet him at 11 in Times Square, it crossed my mind that maybe the whole thing was be some kind of hillarious, initiation joke. Times Square? Really? Images of myself, bikini-clad in a trench coat, bathing in the bright-as-day lights, alone in Times Square flashed through my head before I brushed them away and hopped on the 1 train.

We met up at Oren's apartment in Chelsea and took a cab uptown to the Grace Hotel on West 45th Street. "It's really amazing," Oren told me as we walked through a deserted Times Square. I could tell he was excited by the way he jumped from one description to another, from tall, black swimsuit models to the best way to sneak three friends in for the price of one.

When we got there, the pool was deserted. It sits at eye level in a room off the front lobby of this tiny, boutique hotel. You'd never even notice the Grace Hotel unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. I'm not even sure we would've found it were it not for the round, orange sign illuminating the sidewalk outside.

By the time we got there, whatever sort of Wednesday night "party" was happening was pretty much over, but the bartender let us have free reign for the rest of the night.

Pink and yellow lights illuminate the seductive-looking pool as soon as you enter through the bar. There is a flat wall behind the pool, used to project movies on the weekends, and a stadium-style lounge area with neat towel pyramids and oversized pillows. At the top of the lounge area are three glass rooms; a steam room, an open shower room, and a sauna. Since the sauna was barely warm, we turned the steam up as high as it would go in the first room and spread our towels out facing one another. Within two minutes, the steam was so thick that the whole room was a cloud and I couldn't see a thing.

I'll let the photos speak for themselves, but the place is terrific. I think it only cost $5 to get in the pool and though the drinks aren't cheap, it's more than worth it for a couple hours of swim time, dance beats, and sauna soak in the middle of December. Who knew Times Square could be so relaxing?

Check Your Head & Cash Your Paycheck, ITS FRIDAY!

Today is Thursday, January 27, 2009.

I'll be the first to admit that I think I know all about a lot of things that I don't know shit about. Still, the concept amazes me. Quite obviously, there's nothing like moving to nyc to understand how little, in fact, you actually know.

"It's so expensive there."

"Yeah, I know."

"You're going to have to start at the bottom, career-wise"

"Yeah, I know."

"Don't expect to fall perfectly into a new group of friends, and dont expect _______ to become your best friend just because you're living there."

(Ouch) "Yeaah, I know."

...And on and on went the warnings. From friends, from relatives, from coworkers, from strangers, and basically from everyone. Before I left Colorado, one or two of my friends quietly pulled me aside to "tell it to me like it is." "Listen..." they'd say, "I don't want to sugarcoat this for you..." Then, they'd start in about the hard knocks of life.

The truth is that taking a leap of faith in your life, of moving to the next level, phase, chapter, place --whatever you want to call it, is mostly about facing your fears. At the last minute, when you've planned all you can plan and you've saved all you're capable of saving, you say in your head "Ah, fuck it," and jump into the unknown. As a wise woman I know once said, no matter what happens, "It IS better to live your life, rather than sitting on the sidelines." Happy Friday, everyone! I'll leave you with this note I got recently from a friend:

Linds,

So, I am sitting here wishing that I did not have to disconnect earlier so I thought I would make you a list of things that we would have talked about had that conversation been longer ...or you were here to slurp maragritas (oops, maybe I have had a few already!) and hash it all out. Plus, I like to preface things and I thought you might enjoy some frank, writing for a change. Anywhooooo, I was thinking about all of the things that are going on with your move, and imagining how you are processing it (and knowing in the way that I do). So there's my preface in a nutshell.

See, it was a survival mechanism to try and create, if you will, your life in NY before you went. With that comes expectation and suppositions about what will unfold. ...Well, essentially NY was like, "Nope- I am wiping the slate clean to create it for you. And its my way or the highway," pretty much. I mean, life is what me make of it, but this is the BIG APPLE, for reals. So enjoy the ride babe, cause the creativity falls in the process and you need every ounce of creativity you posses right now.

Also, remember how capable YOU ARE of handling the worst kind of bosses, financial insecurities, and all of the other curve-balls that life throws you at the same time. I mean all of this prep that you have done has just been gearing you up for the biggest juggling act of your life! So go ahead-take a picture of your crappy day, wallow in the miserable weather, make blueberry muffins from scratch and swear they were the best ones you have ever had (even if they arent). This is YOUR NY and YOUR time. its the stuff that lets you know you are alive, in case you forgot, lol.

Love you,
Nicole

Faux Snow Day

Thursday, January 28, 2010

I decided this morning, as I peered out my third-story window, that snow in nyc doesn't know what to do with itself. It whips through narrow alleyways with a sense of urgency only to fall short of its
mission against the side of the next building. It swirls so much like a snowglobe that I'm not sure it ever lands -just purposeless, beautiful circles outside my window, several stories high. Only someone living in Colorado for the past eight years would call ny snow purposeless, I suppose, though it is romantic. I fell in love once on a first snow in ny, so it reminds me of flirtatious, sidewalk snowball fights and kissing in the street. Also cozying up to a hot cup of soup or a strong cappuccino. Mmm, if I hurry, maybe I can stop and get one today before work. The coffee in my double-walled stainless to-go mug is somehow cold this morning and too weak to work its morning magic. Eew. Bad weather in this city makes me laugh because of the wrenched expressions it puts on everyone's faces. I feel a strange comraderie with other ppl who similarly snicker at the scene. Happy snow day ny!

Cracked Up

Aghh, so much to tell you and I've made a horrible waste of blog time today (considering my boss was out, I have no excuse).

Today is Tuesday, January 26, 2010 and day 28 in New York. First off, I have a couple of strange sightings to report. I'm going to try to remember to report a few of these every time that I post, considering this city seems to be full of them! I was feeling really burnt-out exhausted last Wednesday as I left the office after work. With my head down and my scarf wrapped tight, I approached the intersection of 57th Street and 9th Avenue, as usual, and filed neatly in the back of the two-by-two line. ...WHAT?!! Two-by-two line? I snapped to my senses, looking around. As it would seem, a group of 30 Asian women were on an evening tour, lined up neatly at the corner of the intersection, stretching down the sidewalk. How polite.

The second strange thing that I saw happened on Sunday morning as I was in a cab on my way from my friend Oren's in Chelsea to SoHo, driving down Broadway. A woman, who appeared to be holding a child, was trying to hail a cab (not strange). As we drove closer, it looked as though she was holding him by the neck, with one arm scooped under his armpit effortlessly and her other hand waving wildly at the passing cabs while he hung limp over the front of her body. The kid had to have been at least 10-years old which makes her the strongest woman alive. Or it was a fake kid. I'm going to go with strongest woman alive, but that kid might need an ambulance.

That's all of the strange sightings for now. Undoubtedly, more to come. I am slowly beginning to feel less pressure on myself here as the days go by, and I can't believe I have almost been living here for a month! I got an email from my friend Lorraine yesterday about getting together while she's visiting family here in early February, which is right around the corner! Lorraine is a friend of mine from Boulder who is basically having the same moving experience as me, only 180-degrees opposite. She grew up in New York and had only recently moved to Colorado when we met. About a month ago, as we sat at the base of the mountain enjoying the first apres-ski beers of the season, we discussed plans to meet in the city while she's here. It seems like a lifetime has passed since then, and will be incredible to see the city through her eyes next week.

Last weekend I spent time with my roommate, Danee (da-nay. If anyone knows the keyboard shortcut for an accent, let me know), and her two friends who are visiting from California. Danee grew up in a small farm town in the central valley, called Visalia, and her friends are a charming blend of homegrown hilarious. Kevin and Scott are obsessed with rap/hip-hop music, and have been all their lives, from what I can tell. Growing up, they've always dreamt of visiting New York together and taking the train up to Harlem ("the birthplace of Jay-Z," they'll tell you in unison). They walk around the city with backpacks on, listening to whatever rap music corresponds to the neighborhood where they are headed. Jay-Z for Harlem, Wu-Tang for Brooklyn, A Tribe Called Quest for Queens, and so on. Apart from being hilarious, their well-researched enthusiasm reignites the excitement of living here.

Saturday night I went to dinner at Toloache Mexican Bistro with a few of my girlfriends and to a comedy show at Caroline's starring Jeffrey Ross, the Roastmaster General, from Comedy Central. It was a great night that ended on the Lower East Side making up cheesy dance moves with my friend, Oren and burning the roof of my mouth on the BEST PIZZA I'VE EVER HAD. (It was only a matter of time, right?) Everyone knows the place, it's called Artichoke, on 14th Street, I think. The only way I can think to tell you about how good it was is to say that I felt like I had never eaten pizza before in my life. I've also never burnt my mouth so badly. Eeeeeeeouch! ...Still suffering.

Aghh, I forgot to tell you about the Bumble&Bumble model project and Art Night at Courtney's in Brooklyn. Don't let me forget... and on that note, I'm off to YogaWorks to wrap up my new-student trial!

Fancy Things For Free

Wednesday, January 20
I needed to blow off some steam after work today and the aftershock of returning from a three-day weekend, so I called up my friend Nicole to catch up and perused the merch at the Time Warner shopping center on Columbus Circle. I've really taken to pretend shopping since I moved here, which, sadly, has nothing to do with a new, more financially-responsible me. My new habit of aimlessly walking around the Gap on 57th and 7th Ave, for instance, has everything to do with avoiding frostbite while talking on the phone. I've stopped in more stores to stay warm since I moved here than ever before in my life! Luckily, its also a good way get to know the city. One of my favorite parts of the new pretend-shopping game is stopping for free product samples at Sephora. (Note: If you haven't tried the Ole Hendriksen red tea antioxidant face mask, make yourself a phone date immediately. You can call me if you need an excuse.) Nothing makes you feel fancy like expensive skin-care products for free! ...how very Breakfast at Tiffany's, no?

Like Calamari

One of the reasons New York is perfect for me is because I've been in a constant state of motion since I got here. While exhilerating, it's also made blogging a bit problematic. And a little strange. I've realized that the best time for me to write is during the 15 minute train ride to and from work every day. As painful as it is to compose anything lengthy on a blackberry, I've decided that its better than nothing (problematic). I also feel most inspired to write in the morning and based on the nature of my current (2 roomates + 2 houseguests + 1 Linda ÷ tiny SoHo apartment = disasterous) living situation I'm never sure where I might wake up. For instance, coming to you live from my friend's roommate's who-slept-over-at-his-girlfriends-apt bed (a little strange). It feels like college all over again, but, trust me, after walking all across town and dancing until 4 am, you'd snooze wherever you landed, too!

The program is that I'll save my musings in a my "Idea File" and post them later when I have the chance. Sorry about the delay, but I've got some material from early last week. I'll try bringing it to you live-feed as soon as I iron out the kinks... Besos, enjoy!

Today is Tuesday, January 19 and my FIRST, first day back to work after a long weekend. ...Which was terrific! Saturday and Monday were two of the most gorgeous 45-degree days since I've arrived in the city and the sunshine has made all the difference. Unfortunately, Sat/Mon sandwiched an equally-miserable, hypothermic, rainy day. The gusty winds around Columbus circle made fools of umbrella holders and resulted in hundreds of disgarded umbrellas in various mangled calamari shapes lying in the streets and gutters --wounded soldiers in the wake of the storm. I wish I had had my camera to make a photo essay as I'm sure these things will soon seem ordinary. With so many millions of people living in Manhattan, the sheer reoccurance of mundane things (throwing broken umbrellas onthe ground) seem to make them extraordinary.

Big Apple, Baby!

HELLO FROM THE BIG APPLE!!!

First of all, I hope this update finds you all in high spirits and good health for the new year. I have hit the ground running for 2010 in reconnecting with many of my old friends, moving to New York City, and starting a new job this week at CBS News. I know it sounds cheesy, but I feel so blessed this year, already, with good fortune in many ways. A friend recently told me that he noticed a different energy about the way I carry myself and I can tell you that I feel different, too.

For those of you who witnessed my panicked, late-night phone calls, stress-induced hysteria, or tear-stricken moments of self-doubt lately: thank you for your unwavering confidence and (more importantly) THAT NEVER HAPPENED. For those of you who are hearing about my move to New York for the first time: know that I made this life-changing transition with nothing less than grace, poise, and style! And to my microloan financier: thanks (mom) for believing in me. Your support means the most, and I will pay you back.

Okay, so New York...

After thinking/wishing/dreaming about moving here for 3 years, I sat down at my computer in early October and bought a one-way ticket for December 30. After that, I put the word out in my professional network that I was looking for a job. I planned two "networking" trips here for informational interviews and landed a contract gig working for Ralph Lauren, but still no full-time job. I continued volunteership-ing for Warren Miller Entertainment in Boulder until one day I received an urgent message from a friend in New York requesting my resume. To make a long story short, she knew of an inside hiring and thought I would be perfect. I emailed my resume on Friday, flew to New York on Tuesday, met Barbara Fedida (CBS News Executive Vice President of Talent and Development) on Wednesday, and here I am wrapping up my first week of work with CBS News.

I spent my first week here uncertain of their decision on whether or not to hire me and, if any of you know me well at all, you know that when I'm stressed, I bake. That week I baked three quiches, mussels fra diavolo, coffee cake, macaroni and cheese, brownies, and red lentil curry (to name a few). To prevent draining the rest of my dwindling savings, I slept in as much as possible. (I call this the Jon Doolan Effect, after a friend of mine who used to run out of his monthly college allowance in the first two weeks, then sleep as much as possible until the first of the month.) I was also completely exhausted. I made it my mission to test out as many yoga studios as possible that week, which also helped me learn my way around the different neighborhoods.

As you can imagine, there are so many things to adjust to in moving from Colorado to New York. Some things are obvious, for instance, not having a car, tiny restaurants, inflated prices, or navigating the train system. Other differences are more subtle, and have been harder to adjust to, such as the way longer work hours and a faster pace of life affect your friendships. In New York, every person is racing at 500mph toward a different version of success, and I would describe most of my friends here as either "paying their dues," proving themselves within a company, generating buzz, or getting their first break (the rest are addicted to great pay at jobs they hate). What does this mean for friendships? All I'm saying is that it seems that getting together with friends falls a long way down the list of priorities when your career is utmost important.

The upside is that when people do find the time to get together here, the result can be a combination of the most interesting, creative, eclectic, motivated bunch of people in the history of dinner parties. (Sidenote: I remember reading a description Bob Colacello wrote about the dinner parties he used to attend with Any Warhol in New York in the 1960's. Remind me to come back to that another time.) Its these type of people who are attracted to living in New York and that made me want to move here in the first place. This city has a pressure cooker-like affect on people's talent, personalities, careers, inspiration, drive and everything else. There are literally millions of people sucking, feeding, thriving, pulsing, living, and breathing in the same place and amplifying, condensing everything that happens. Accomplishing everything from meeting a friend uptown to finding a new apartment seem to require
so much more effort that these actions become all the more significant. At least it seems that way now.

Right now I'm living with my friend Danee in SoHo (through February). What a dream! Who would've thought that my first "residence" in nyc would be in such a wonderful neighborhood? Her apartment is on the second floor of a small, 6-story building at the corner of 6th Avenue and Watts Street (which is a crooked little half-street at the west end of Broome). Danee's bedroom mimics the flatiron shape of the building's east side, which lends an interesting, angular layout to the rest of the space, as you can imagine. So interesting, in fact, that the bathroom is at the end of an absurdly long, narrow hallway and the shower is in the kitchen. Not exactly eggs while you're conditioning, but pretty close! The best part about it is smelling the coffee brewing on the stove while I'm waking up to a hot shower.

The streets surrounding her apartment are cobblestone, and (for those of you who don't know) the area was made famous by its boutique-y shopping and beautiful (outrageously-priced) loft spaces --most of which have romantic, floor-to-ceiling windows. I've been in a few that would truly make your jaw drop, including one of the most gorgeous yoga studios I've ever practiced in. I'm three blocks from two of my favorite stores, Topshop and Madewell, which is much like a disaster waiting to happen. I'm proud to say that I haven't set foot inside either store in the three weeks since I've been living here. I can't promise anything once I get my first paycheck at the end of the month ...!

Grenwich Village is further up Thompson Street from Danee's apartment. This neighborhood was made famous by its proximity to Washington Square Park, wide array of vintage shops, and New York University, among other things. I haven't explored the area much, partly because it's been so cold and partly because I'd rather buy vintage clothing than eat some days and THATS JUST NOT RIGHT.

I'm wrapping up what has been a very loooooooooooong week of working 9:30-7 with a slow Friday and a 21-year old's excitement for the weekend! Tonight a few of my friends have arranged a "Welcome/Farewell" party to welcome me to New York and bid farewell to a friend who is leaving. What's more is that after dinner we're headed to an all-night dance party in Brooklyn! ...And what could be better than that? !!!!

Love and miss you all! Much more (in shorter bits) to come!

Dear Angela ..er, Ang Pang,

I owe you. BIG TIME. I'm dedicating tomorrow's blog to you. Stay tuned... I have no idea what time zone it is in AFRICA right now, but in 6 hours I will write you the catch-up blog of a lifetime. PROMISE...

LOVING yous

I Forget To Breathe

Blogging has taught me a lot about myself as a writer. For example, that I am distracted by everything and need almost complete silence to write. I've also confirmed that I hate drafting (always have) and like any athlete with an injured knee, I've learned to compensate by writing slowly enough to edit as I go. I now know that no matter how many times I use the word definitely, I will definitely spell it definately, and perhaps most satisfyingly, that I have the ability to make people laugh out loud (I've heard you!).

What writing hasn't taught me is how to prepare myself for the deep, questioning, soul-searching paralysis and doubt that accompanies writer's block. I mean, I'm no dummy, I knew this was coming at some point. I can't even tell you how many times I've read about the "miserable self doubt" that plagues writers who encounter a dry spell. But for all the wonderfully-talented writers and artists who try to recapture the miserable depths of creative self-doubt, none of them does much to prepare you for the mud-stuck rut of it.

Which, on a side note, brings up an interesting thought: Have you ever read the description of an emotion that you've never experienced that made you feel as though you have? The idea is such a tangle of metaphysics in my head right now I can hardly get the point across without confusing myself. Does the question make sense? For all the books I've read about places I've never been that truly made me feel like I was there, I can't think of one example of an emotional experience that was ever described so well that I felt like I had had it before I had it. (Is your head spinning yet?)

Think about it. By the time women in our culture are in their 20's, most have been so well-conditioned to talk about their feelings with one another that they are expertly-versed in psychobabble and bored with talking about the "typical range of emotions" by the time they're 30. I realize this conversation doesn't strike everyone as fascinating, but the fact that we live in a culture that is so saturated with emotional analysis explains why I'm hung up on the idea of experiencing a new emotion altogether, and whether its possible to translate that emotion to someone else through writing.

Okay, wow. Enough of that sidetracking crap. Sheeeesh!

The point is, though blogging has taught me a lot about writing, writing (more specifically not writing) has taught me something very important about myself: That I put an incredible amount of pressure on myself to accomplish great things. Then to remedy any sense of overwhelming, I try to do too much at once. My Dad is always telling me to "Slow down. Take things one day at a time," and he's right. Sometimes life intersects with stress and writer's block and moving to a big city and I forget to breathe.

Writer Anne Lamott describes a similar momentum like this,

"One time, in one of my classes, I asked my students to write about lunches for half an hour, and I sat down with them and wrote ...But in half an hour there was already too much material for me and some of the people in the class, and it threatened to immobilize us. So we decided not even to bother with our parents' handwriting on the outside of the brown paper lunch bag--how much it resembled a Turkish assassin's and what that said about us. We decided to set aside the bag itself for a moment. For the time being we'd stick with the contents, and, to begin with, the sandwich. That was the one-inch picture frame we were going to look through." (From Bird By Bird, "School Lunches")

You see, 99% of the time when I'm having trouble moving forward, it isn't because I can't think of what to write. It's not that I don't know where I'm going. It's that I want everything to come together at once. I'll try to fit so many ideas into a few short paragraphs when I can't even get my arms around the idea enough to begin. Eventually, some miserable voice inside of me starts whispering a speech I've heard a thousand times before... About how I can't possibly become a successful writer if no one takes me seriously. And if I want people to take my writing seriously, I'd better write about something profound. And if I don't write from a new, creative perspective, then I'll drown in the overwhelming sea of no-talent nobody writers and never accomplish my dream.

From there, it's all over. I'm paralyzed.

I won't dare sit down to write until I've got the Number One Best Idea I've ever had, which I might as well throw away forever if I don't already have a witty lead composed in my head. And if the Number One Idea doesn't ever come, then I'd sooner reconsider any dream I've had of moving to New York to become a magazine editor than face the embarrassment of writing something lousy. What an awful thing to say.

This type of thinking is incredibly frustrating in itself. There are too many people standing in the way of my dreams in life to be standing in my own way with this do-nothing paralysis nonsense. No shit, it frustrates me. It frustrates me that I'm moving to New York next month and despite applying for dozens of jobs, networking with influential professionals, having a handful of face-to-face interviews, a terrific resume and plenty of capability, there's still no assurance I'll be any closer to my dream.

"What I do at this point," writes Lamott, "as the panic mounts and the jungle drums begin beating and I realize that the well has run dry and that my future is behind me and I'm going to have to get a job only I'm completely unemployable, is to stop. First I try to breathe, because I'm either sitting there panting like a lapdog or I'm unintentionally making slow asthmatic death rattles. So I just sit there for a minute, breathing slowly, quietly."

I do yoga. I tell people its for my mental health and lean muscle tone, but it's really to ensure that I'm breathing for at least one hour a day.

Ironically, my first sense of relief comes from knowing that people have felt this way before. Other people, sure, but breaking down and feeling completely insecure about your craft is almost a rite of passage for artists, some sort of sick initiation. (Maybe now I'm in the club ...? I don't know.) What I DO know is that for the next month I've got to concentrate on a one-inch frame perspective, take things one day at a time, and breathe. It may sound easy, but you'd be surprised.

Really Fast Halloween Recap

Ahh, another wonderful trip to the shitty, gritty (as I've affectionately dubbed New York City). The latest? I've got a new favorite part of the city (Chelsea... the Marketplace, the High Line, reclaimed industrial spaces), a few new favorite shirts from Madewell, and handful of new favorite people in my life to make it all worthwhile (you know who you are). Thank you to everyone who played a part in all the job networking that took place. As I burned the candle at both ends and made mad dashes from Brooklyn to Chelsea to the Upper West Side and back through Midtown on interviews, I've come to understand the real necessity of a having a messenger bag with a casual change of clothes in tow.

Then again, here's to being able to buy just about anything you need on the street in Chinatown. The day after Halloween, I even considered buying a pair of cheap pants until I realized that the only things for sale were skintight, pleather Gucci knockoffs. Instead, I bought a scarf and tried to forget about my chilly flapper-tights-as-pants attire. I mean, honestly, I would rather die than have to wear my Halloween costume the day after Halloween (and wash a decade's worth of snarky walk-of-shame comments down the drain with my hipocracy??? Never!). Luckily, my friend and I were able to fashion a white v-neck/his longest cardigan "dress" to go with my black tights and menswear flats from the night before. Phew!

I'll post a couple photos for your imagination to work with, but, backing up, the whole Halloween experience was pretty dramatic this year. I was a 1920's flapper with a white-blonde wig. We also had a She-Ra, the Rocketeer, Lady Gaga, Richie Tenenbaum, one blue robot, and six guys in white jumpsuits with painted Twister circles and a spinner. We all ripped through a bottle of Jack, filled up our whiskey flasks, and climbed out on She-Ra's rooftop to watch the crowds lining up for the 6th Avenue Halloween parade. Luckily, She-Ra's rooftop comes complete with a 40-foot, Stella billboard and two enormous spotlights overlooking Broome Street. In no time, we were posing for all of Manhattan to see and taking hillarious photos.

The really sad part is that soon after that we left for the start of the parade, which more resembles herding cattle into a corral, then it started to rain and Lady Gaga dropped the camera amidst all the slosh and puddles and pushing. Sad day, folks. Ten minutes later, the rain was unrelenting and my feather headband was drooping miserably. The Rocketeer took one look at our sad state and jet-packed us on out of there.

More like, we jumped the police barricade, searched one last time for the sopping camera, and ran for the subway. Needless to say, after few romantic, rainy make-outs, a towel-dried wig, and warm dryer for my dress, we were ready to greet the guests at Blue Robot's apartment. You can imagine how the rest of the night ensued, like any other party with plenty of booze and people you don't know. (Well, people I didn't know.) The only difference on Halloween is adding dry ice to the punch and readjusting your wig every ten minutes.

These are a few of my (NEW) favorite things:
Yeah Shang Hai, Soup dumplings
Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, Black sesame seed flavor
Madewell, On Broadway
Club Monoco, Black leather gloves
Chelsea Market
The High Line, Originally constructed in the 1930s, to lift dangerous freight trains off Manhattan's streets. Last summer Section 1 of the High Line opened as a public park, owned by the City of New York.

xoxo Besos!