Anytime I find an Indiana reference in a fashion blog, I know I gotta spread the love.
Lower Manhattan’s black out. (Photo courtesy of CBS).
Last September I sat in my bed (that was on the other side of the room back then), and called Alison. Was she on her way home? This Irene nonsense was starting to get a little intense. If we were going to float out of our apartment I fully intended to do it partner style. I bought groceries, I filled up our tub and our pasta pot with water and sat waiting.
I waited for awhile. It rained, Alison came home a few hours later none the wiser. I heard a few stories of NYU classmates who lived in Jersey that hadn’t had their electricity restored for a few weeks. That had to have been the big suck. Up on the UES we were A-Okay, barely a rain storm to contend with.
When the news started to talk about the “Frankenstorm” this time around images of ‘The Perfect Storm’ and standing on my fire escape shouting, “C’mon you bitch!!” came to mind. But certainly nothing too serious. I picked up a few essentials (peanut butter, Cheetos, pumpkin donuts because I was curious what they might be like, bread, a can of soup) and filled the tub, sitting back to text Jason again about what a lame-o he was. Jason decided to flee the city this weekend concerned that his apartment’s nearness to water had somehow threatened him. That’s sarcasm, and for the past few days we have been in a text battle back and forth trying to “right” the other one.
I’ll give it to Myles, Hurricane Sandy was a little more intense. While it didn’t rain up in our hood too much, leaves scattered in the wind, littering the empty streets. Lower Manhattan is flooded, and public transit is out due to severe flooding. (That photo of Hoboken’s train station is a little too Titanic for my taste.) Some of our friends have lost power, but everyone is surviving. Maybe I’ll venture down to York to check out what’s going on, take some pictures. Last night Alison and I left the apartment to go to 7-11 with her work friend Kim, and we were happy to see NYC living up to its good name. Every bar on 3rd was open and had people inside drinking and shouting at the Monday night football broadcast. We bought a wedge of brie, ten dollars worth of granola bars and went home to finish an HBO show in my bed.
Hats off to the police that were patrolling the streets last night, as well as the rescue workers who were putting out fires in Chelsea and hospital employees who rescued 20 babies from NYU’s Lagone. How awesome would it be to be on of those surviving babies? The city’s pretty awesome when it wants to be. Which is about 83.5% of the time, my surveys say.
We might just make it. Two hurricanes down, however many more to go.
A few weeks ago, New York Magazine ran the headline: “Brooklyn is Over.” Or maybe it was, the writer wondered, thanks to the plunk down of the architectural behemouth, Barclays Center. (Among other things its been called.)
Regardless of any ethical dilemmas Barclays suggests, (of which I am not qualified to comment on,) I have to say I’m not sure the Center is set to ruin the hipster idyllic Brooklyn still imagines it is. I’ve been multiple times to the Brooklyn Flea, where I’ve tasted the organic apple butter, drank the pear juice soda and purchased the vintage records that now hang in our living room. But I wouldn’t say I define the Brooklyn neighborhood this way, anymore than I would consider all of Manhattan to be like SOHO.
The rap artist Jay-Z headlined 8 shows at Barclays Center, home of the Brooklyn Nets (of which he is 1% owner). I attended the 10/3 show with Alison and friends. And I enjoyed myself, okay Brooklyn? Barclays is just like any other arena venue with $15 Bud Lights and shiny cement floors. It was Jay-Z’s stripped down, two hour set that mde the night memorable. With nothing but a microphone, his band, light work and a puffy vest. He performed the hits (I was pleasantly surprised to know almost all). Annnd Jay played up the New York connection, asking multiple times “Brooklyn where we at tonight?” and at one point shouting out his original Lexington address. Cool for us New Yorkers. The set was high energy, fun and easy to see—even from what seemed very far away.
When I was in high school, Deer Creek, an outdoor music center in Noblesville, Indiana was bought by Verizon Wireless. It was, as you probably guessed, renamed the Verizon Wireless Music Center. Everyone was up in arms about the commercialism of it all. But many years later, we’re all calling it Verizon, and the venue still works and the great acts still come.
It was the summer before my second year of college. I was 19 and still blonde when I saw Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at Verizon. To my knowledge, he plays there every year, and to those of you unaware, Tomy Petty is to IN as Jay-Z is to BK. My sister Kelly and friend Ali and I drove up to the venue, slugged vodka in the parking lot and watched Petty and his band play as the sun set.
I can remember walking up the grassy hill towards my friends, the alcohol covering me in the delicious way a good buzz can, the illicit thrill of being drunk and underage pulsing through my limbs. As Petty sang, “them Indiana boys on an Indiana night,” I felt transcendent. My denim cut offs and mud-stained feet validated by a rock star. I felt the same way last Wednesday as Jay-Z rapped “Empire State of Mind,” lyrics, “these streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you.” Alison threw her arm around me as we celebrated the city that rebuilt us, the white wine in our hearts finally purchased legally. Neither experience was changed by Barclays or Verizon, of that I am very qualified to say.
Tim, Alison, Me, unfortunate BK outfit
I’ve been listening to an English guy’s covers on You Tube since last winter. I had the privilege of sharing his talents with some friends, especially this summer when I went to Paris and London. All the ladies loved Conor Maynard’s (English guy in question) music and before I knew it I was back on American soil and in Conor’s arms. Well, it didn’t exactly work like that, but you get the idea.
(He’s holding his autograph, upon which I’d written a hello for my friend Meg, who is also a fan). That’s the great thing about New York. One minute you’re sitting around after your run, and the next you’re on your way to meet a singer you first saw singing covers in his bedroom. And a mere 20 blocks from your apartment. He was very sweet, and very down to Earth, and if you’ve ever watched an interview—he really does laugh like that.
Want to learn more about Conor? There’s still too many people who aren’t familiar! Your best bet? Head to You Tube and listen to his cover of “Marvin’s Room” by Drake and then “Better than You” ft. Rita Ora from his new album #Contrast
I have never been a religious person and I never will be. It’s not always easy either. Many times I have wished, and sometimes still do that my parents had raised me with some type of moral compass that pointed in the God direction. They didn’t.
I consider myself spiritual, but I do not believe in a religious figure that is concerned with human problems. People kill each other because they are crazy. You missed the train because it took you thirty more seconds than usual to leave your apartment this morning. He or she doesn’t love you because of something within them. God does not affect those things because those are human things.
Nine years ago yesterday when my Mom died, I would try and force myself to feel her. Like they do in movies, on breezes, or the beach or looking over a balcony with hair in your face. And I couldn’t. As I crossed Cumberland Ave. in West Lafayette, Indiana, I realized I had knowndeep within myself for a long time, that when you die, you die. You cease to exist likethe way you did before you were born. Walking down the street I knew that’s what I would always believe. But I wished it weren’t true. And based on history and civilization, that’s what humanity hopes isn’t true either.
It took me until I was in my twenties to find a place where I felt spiritual in the way I’d hoped to so many years ago. It’s in bookstores. Towards the end of my time at Ball State, I began to spend grocery money at Books A Million at the mall. Matt would call me to see where I was and I’d be at the book store. There’s a Barnes and Noble at 86th St. where I sacrifice my groceries now. I’m there so often I realized yesterday that they might recognize me if it weren’t for my constant hair dye jobs. In bookstores everything gets quiet. I pull things off the shelf. I say the alphabet in my head trying to find an author’s last name. I crouch down Indian-style on the floor to read something and forget I’m in the middle of the aisle. I go through an entire essay book by Hemingway searching for one line. “In the fall the war was always there, but we did not go to it any more.” I’d first read it when I was 15 in Mrs. Roadruck’s class, and I remember looking around the room at my classmates. Had everyone else just heard what I did? A first line like that? A single sentence that could evoke feelings so quickly? I imagine the way I felt at Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, upstairs walking amongst the wooden shelves that Fitzgerald and Joyce were near, is the way religious people feel when they pray. So I guess, as I write this, my parents did instill in me religion. My dad reading to me as a baby in his lap, poetry, and J. Alfred Prufrock before I was able to understand life in coffee spoons. When I would beg my mom to read the chapter where Charlotte dies again, just one more time, and she did.
This ninth year was harder than they have been in the past. I was tired in the afternoon and I laid down in my bed with the sunshine coming in the window. At 6:15 I went to dinner with Alison to celebrate my new job, a year at hers, a drink for my Mom, for Champ our imaginary bulldog. We sat outside at Cafeteria and drank cold glasses of Riesling and it was a good day again.
Fashion’s Night Out is one of the best reasons to live in New York. Designers, stores and neighborhoods team together to celebrate everything that is fashion. From goody bags to great deals, to celebrity appearances and DJs in every store front, there’s plenty to love no matter what your style. Here’s some of the things we loved….
These glasses at Oliver Peoples.
Books as decor in Mulberry
The live bondage happening in the windows at Kiki de Montparnasse
Jason holding my favorite shoe at Kate Spade SOHO.
Conversational prints from Penguin’s Fall 2012 women’s line. Alison is wearing the floral conversation tie blouse, and I am wearing the b&w polka dot conversation shift dress. Alison’s red coat was her big fall splurge, with a slight peplum on the bottom and big gold buttons, it’s a conversation starter for sure.
What were your favorite moment’s from FNO? We’d love to hear them! newYorkInstant@gmail.com
Lastly, a FNO moment I’m sorry I missed:
So I’ve really needed my hair done. When I say really, I think you underestimated how dry, grown out, and tri (tri as in three) tonal it was. I got my first dark to light ombre in January and loved it, but it was in some dire need of an update. Thanks to Yukari at Dlala (Dah-lah) salon in Alphabet City, I am back to my regular, experimental self. I’ve had every color of the rainbow, but I’ve never had my hair colored quite like Yukari did it. She mixed all of my color by hand, creating color that didn’t come in a tube, and then hand painted (yes, HAND. PAINTED.) my entire head. She did not use the typical ombre technique of teasing the hair and dying over it, since while this works, it can damage the hair follicle. Yukari gave me a twenty minute consultation, went over color books with me, showed me how the cut would look prior to starting and then let me know every step of the way what she was doing. She gave me tips to maintain and moisturize in between visits, and put my hair through a conditioning treatment. Many of the products used at Dlala are Japanese, including the ear protectors (little shower caps made specifically to go over your ears, since any woman that colors knows dye loves to end up there). The salon is busy, bright and they do quality work! It was worth every penny, and the afternoon I spent at the salon being treated. Not to mention the massage after the cut and color was over. If you’re looking for a quality color job, head to Yukari at Dlala, you won’t be disappointed!