Knitty City NYC

A few weeks ago, I decided to learn how to knit. I'm sure it will be a hit, once I'm up and running - making sweaters for myself and anyone else who will let me take their measurements, but I am very much a beginner. 

I think it's important to be clear about that sort of thing (ability level) from the get-go, since salespeople quickly get carried away talking about "purl" this and "skein" that, and "flecked" and "cast on" and... whoa, whoa, WHOA. Slow down, lady, I have no idea what any of that means. It's humbling to know nothing, actually, I thought. 

The shop I visited yesterday is called Knitty City (W. 79th Street).

The first saleswoman kindly recommended six different types of yarn--from kettle dyed peruvian wool...omgggg gorgeous...to various budget options that are "always in stock" as she put it. I went with a light grey 100% wool for $10/skein because it was cheap and still a little chic. At her full mercy I bought size 9 circular bamboo needles, an $8 single pattern for a neckdown pullover sweater (with a roll neck sleeves and bottom) and two skeins for $35 total. 

The shop agreed to hold an additional 3 skeins for me to buy once I fully commit to the project. The sweater is really plain, but I need to start with something simple - plus, all the ladies that work there said it was a great pick for a beginner. I really like the sense of community and three of the four women working at the store were super friendly - two expect to see me again tomorrow, another planned to make a special trip to 116th Street in Harlem to buy the same black wedge high tops I wore into the store and the fourth woman is the owner, I'm guessing. She meant business, but I understand. Someone has to run the show.

I ended up staying for 2 hours... a fast-talking Jewish lady named Maxine showed me how to start my swatch and also how to purl. She reminds me of a few women I know, and I have a feeling she'll make a great teacher.

Its too cold outside today for motivating to go anywhere besides yoga class, but I'll venture back over to the shop tomorrow so Maxine can help me start my sweater. I sent a photo of the swatch to my mom and Granny last night, because its a funny, hole-y and awful mess. Hopefully its not a preview of things to come!!!! 

I need to work on my technique and pay better attention to which side I'm on! 

More knitting adventures on the way....

Pastry chef apprentice at Lure

Mick Boogie

Some lovely mixtapes for your Thanksgiving travels... @MickBoogie Soul, sex and fashion...just a few things I'm thankful FOUR. Big fat thankful FIVE for family!! Xxxxx

The Other Side of The Coin

My NYC education has taken an unexpected turn--in the form of waiting tables at a new restaurant in SoHo, Burger&Barrel (B&B). The man in charge, Josh Capon, is a fantastically boisterous, outgoing chef whose reputation precedes him and whose many loyal fans have followed from famed Lure Fishbar just down the street. In a city where most egos resemble the 30lb. pumpkin I saw yesterday at Whole Foods and there are more restaurants Capon makes you feel like you're actually working for a human being. He knows each server by name, each food runner, each busser and spends just as much time greeting guests and sitting down with close friends as he does in the kitchen. Having worked at a handful of hairbrained breakfast joints during college (once, at Burnt Toast in Boulder a pigeon flew into the grill exhaust and feathers blew up in the kitchen), I've seen enough to know that a many things can stand between serving great food and being a profitable restaurant and while it may need a little grease to get going, B&B is a well-oiled machine in the making.

As painful as the process of opening a restaurant can be at times, it still has its pleasures--like the tasting dinner the Saturday before B&B opened, where each server was asked to bring a date. After attending several New York Food & Wine Festival Events earlier that weekend (Giada Laurentiis' cooking demonstration, Sunny Anderson's demo, Rachel Ray's Burger Bash afterparty), I would argue that listening to Chef describe the 18-oz Dry-Aged, bone-in Ribeye (with roasted shitake mushrooms, scallions and jalepenos), sipping free-flowing wine and sitting around a table with one best and fifteen other soon-to-be friends may have been the best event of the week.

While the 5pm to 2am schedule has basically turned my sleep habits upside down and the absurdities of working in the restaurant business always take some getting used to, I wouldn't trade anything for the characters I've already met or the excitement of being a part of something new. I've been really struggling with the decision to pursue my career interests in either fashion or food (in terms of writing and marketing/PR, that is) and though the thought of choosing only one or the other is agonizing (why I am making myself choose in the first place is a good question) I'd rather focus on one career path at a time. The point is that doors are opening for me in the food industry...meeting restaurateurs, chefs, Food Network executives, bloggers, New York Times critics, PR reps...so I'm going to let fate intervene awhile, close my eyes and see where this goes. I'll be well-fed in the meantime.

Xxx

****Please bare with me while I adjust the new design and layout****

THE TORTOISE & THE HARE

It feels appropriate to compare my first year in New York to being a turtle frightened back into its shell. Luckily, I've caught my breath, stuck out my neck to see if the coast was clear and have found my way back to the race.

I can't even believe its been TEN MONTHS since I moved to NYC! I've already lived in four apartments, given directions to a tourist, yelled at an intern right after my boss yelled at me, fallen for a guy too good looking to be straight (SO unfair), had a half-dozen celebrity sitings, befriended more Jews than exist in the entire Midwest, spent an entire Sunday in Central Park, kicked my Yellow Cab motion sickness to the curb, shopped a designer sample sale (well, maybe a few), modeled for The Early Show, saw a taping of The Daily Show, attended a fashion show during NY Fashion Week (photos here), and slept through an entire night.

If I tried to tell you all the things I've learned so far (about myself, about friendships, about what I want to do with the rest of my life) it would be impossible--quite possibly, boring as hell. Besides, I'm only beginning to recognize how moving here (which sometimes feels like, giving up everything I ever wanted in Colorado and submitting myself to torture) has changed me. So instead, I'll share just one thing and save the rest for a more intimate setting. Say, coffee on the front porch swing at the Back Cabin or two bar stools on the end after a long brunch at Brasserie 1010.

One thing I've learned is that trying too hard to make things perfect can bring you to a screeching halt. Perfectionism is something that I've struggled with (ehem, excelled at") my entire life and learned to manage long ago. In all familiar settings, that is. Pair a new city and a new job with a serious penchant for critical observation and you've might as well have a corpse on your hands.

Naturally, I'm exaaaaaggerating, but you get the point. It's hard to do a perfect job of something when you have no idea what (the eff) you're doing. Remember that next time you try to out-perfect yourself in unfamiliar territory--that's all I'm going to say. Sadly, it applies to my blog, too. For some reason I got it in my head that every post, every sentence, every word had to have this weight and wisdom that became completely unattainable in an everyday sense. I mean, sure, writers hit the jackpot here and there, but really...blogs wrapped up with a perfect little bow each time? Reminds me a lot of trusting a guy who doesn't exist to deliver all the right presents to all the right children of the world in less than eight hours one night of the year. DOESN'T HAPPEN.

For awhile, I didnt know what to say...and I didn't know what was worth saying..and I didn't really feel like I was the authority on anything. Which, for a writer, is a lot like having laryngitis: you can't say a whole lot when you lose your voice.

In terms of dealing with perfectionism in unexpected places, I finally decided that something, anything is better than perfect-nothing. And if I have to post half-blogs or only have time for a photo, its better than silence. Let's be honest, I'm not a very quiet person. The important thing is that I'm writing and while no one in this big, fat city probably gives a shit, I know at least three people (besides my mom) who do.

Since you know who you are--thank you for the emails, Facebook messages, encouraging voice mail and persuasive harassment to get me to write again. ...Even if it is 4:27am.

Xxxxxx and now Zzzzz...

Sheeesh

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/mindful-living/2010/07/proclamation-of-psychological-independence/

Simple Diary

Jess and I perused the gift shop (ahem, exited through the gift shop) after spending some time at the Whitney Museum this afternoon, and came across a terrific surprise: Keel's Simple Diary. Jess, her mom (Coleen) and I quickly decided that we couldn't live without our own, and took home copies in royal blue, orange and yellow, respectively. (The diary's author--that's strange oxymoron--Philipp Keel, has a lot to say about why people choose the color that they do.) For each day, the Simple Diary asks you to chose from three descriptions that best complete the sentence, "Your day was (only chose one)." For example, a. a lettuce, b. an ostrich, or c. a bonus. You can see how this keeps things much more interesting than your typical diary. In the intro, Keel writes that "there are three reasons why most people, although they have tried, wont keep a diary: 1. Not every day is very eventful. 2. It actually takes a lot of discipline (regarding 1 even more so). 3. In retrospect, many find what they have written quite embarrassing." His version, as you will see below, has a completely different take on recording the day's events (not to mention a fantastically-creative use of adjectives). Sadly, tonight marked the end of Jess's NYC visit, so we've agreed to use the diaries as a way to stay connected. I'll do my best to post our entries here from time to time, for comparison, and with as little editing as I can manage. To kick off our little experiment, the three of us filled out our first pages tonight after dinner...

Lindsey

Jess

Coleen (aka Mama Petrey)

Brainwash

Mom,

I saw this movie last night: Exit Through The Gift Shop

Its all about street art (ahem, graffiti... stenciling... public/semi-illegal street installations, etc.) and one notoriously-anonymous artist, Banksy, in particular. I know the subject matter might not sound appealing to you at first, but I can assure you there's more depth here than it may seem. Its a great documentary about how urban street artists run around at night with buckets of glue, climbing billboards high above the city, searching for vacant lots and the "best walls" to display their work, why they do what they do and how the mainstream media/art world misconstrues the whole lot. Decide for yourself, but the film is basically a hoax based on two incredible street artists, Shepherd Fairey and Banksy, who turn the camera around on this documentary "filmmaker" (really, just a crazy French guy who loves videotaping everything around him). They encourage him as a pop/street artist and he gets all this media attention, then sells his (crap art) for millions of dollars.... Anyway, its super-entertaining and a provocative commentary on today's art culture. If you can find where its playing around you, GO SEE IT.

Most importantly, it will really inspire you to see everyday life as a canvas of possibility! Mmmmuuuuuaaa!



STREET AS GALLERY

Saturday

When I moved to New York back in December, there were some things that I had in mind. Namely, artsy parties, artsy men, more fashion than I could every get tired of (or afford), fanTAStic restaurants and dressing fabulously. I had reached a point in my life where the place that I lived no longer offered me the type of challenges or growth that I craved. I resigned to give up my comfortable one-bedroom apartment, my garden, and a three-block walk to a mountain park for any sign of, well... grass or privacy.

What I didn't have in mind were some of the unbelievable ways I would be pushed, the insecurities and temptations that would pull me or how quickly my energies would dissipate during the course of an exhausting move while recreating my social life from scratch. It seems obvious, but on top of everything, I can't seem to get it through my head that these things don't happen overnight. THe stakes are high, the expectations higher and my self-standards are through the roof.

In times like these, its no wonder that yoga makes me cry, restless nights leave my eyes bloodshot and that I don't feel quite like myself. In honor of clearing my mind and showing myself a little love this weekend, I've resigned to give myself a damn break. It's nothing but double cappuccinos, French photographer exhibits and brownies for breakfast --if that's what will make me happy.

Au revoir! That's all for now! Mmmmmuuuuuuaaaaaa!

Come To Mama

Chester

Today is Friday, April 23. (I've had to update the date three times since I've started...saved...re-started this post.) I've been slammed at work for four days and this is the first five minutes that I've had to check in. Since I left you, I've become obsessed with a taco stand in the East Village, Snack Dragon. I discovered a Sullivan Street Bakery in Hell's Kitchen, near my office (try the tortino di cioccolato. I diiiiie) ...I brunched at Balthazaar ...found out that Lupe's on 6th Ave serves tostadas instead of pancakes, like I thought ...I saw my first Broadway musical ...witnessed my life flash before me twice (once because I forgot my Metro card and wasn't sure that I could get to work, twice because I locked myself out of my apartment) ...made my first irritated remark to a tourist ...AND mourned the death of my grandfather: the late, great Chet Wielgos.

My grandfather passed away several weeks ago after a relatively short battle with lung cancer --the best you can hope for in a worst-case senario, and he will be missed tremendously. On the day of his funeral, we sat in the 70-degree sun and listened to a bugler play taps into the Indiana breeze. I'll never forget it.

On my way back to New York, I thought maybe my grandfather had been reincarnated as a stranger (rather, many, very friendly strangers). Anyone will tell you that my grandfather was a walking, talking Associated Press wire. Any time of day he could feed you information on the latest, greatest whatever was happening, debate politics, or tell you more about the news happening in your own town before you ever knew it happened.

The stranger-reincarnation started with the old man TSA agent who held up the airport security line for ten minutes while he embarrassingly flattered me with compliments and told that he wanted to come with me on my flight, and the New Yorker who went out of his way to wish me a good morning. Out of nowhere, people were approaching me, left and right, to say hello. It's hard to explain why these interactions were different than before, but it's easy to understand how moving to a city like New York will suddenly make you feel very invisible. Then, suddenly, I was the ONLY person that everyone noticed. And you know what? That's the way it felt when you spent time with my grandpa --like you were the only person that mattered.

(I have to quit that before I tear up. R.I.P. Chit-chat-Chet!) There's more...

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!