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Nobody ever talks about the bliss of falling out of love. It is an unbelievably freeing feeling, finally, as the stranglehold of worship and longing eases up ever so slightly. But this euphoria of getting over someone is rarely glorified in poetry or song: the poet describes the ache of a broken heart rather than the happiness one feels when one’s heart is set free. I am currently experiencing such joy, as I quietly slide out of the grip of a six year semi-romance with a half-boyfriend. I suppose he was my boyfriend for more than half of that time, but he was always only partly there, with one foot out the door and his eyes peeled for a prettier, younger girl – someone with financial stability, I suppose, and without a penchant for half-truths. So here I stand, on the precipice of things to come. I will now go back to longing for unspecified companionship. I have found that it hurts less to wish for more general things.
When I was in high school I wanted to be an actress. I had no talent, was only moderately cute, and my voice went up about ten octaves when I acted. Nevertheless, I was somehow given the chance to star in a production of Crimes of the Heart. One of the girls from the play died a few years ago, and I believe the last remaining VHS copy of the tape of that performance died with her, thankfully. I eventually gave up my dreams of stardom for the less glamorous world of backstage, and fell in love with the idea of becoming a Director. I liked the idea of being the only female in a male driven world, and I was happy to hand the job of starlet over to the likes of Michelle Pukey, who had an angelic face and the personality of a soggy magazine. It has been a few decades since high school, and next week I will finally be given my shot at the spotlight as I star in an episode of reality television posing as a customer of an illicit website. Aside from the fact that my mother would disown me if she ever found out about it, I can’t see how this brief foray into playacting will harm me. It seems to actually be a natural progression of things, as I spent most of my last relationship making things up, and my younger self spent a brief time dabbling in the seedy world of sexual perversions. It feels fitting that I should wrap up my life of sin with a National television show devoted to my fabricated wonton ways. And then I shall move on, from unrequited love and life’s rotten underbelly and emerge a new person, less interesting to be sure, but wholesome and pure as I enter the next chapter of my soon-to-be boring life.
Revisit the site and read the last post here.
North of Madison is showing signs of life. Wall Street Journal reports “the northern end of the Flatiron District is thriving thanks in part to the willingness of landlords in the neighborhood to cut breaks on rent to cultural groups and independent retailers.”
And, Russ & Daughter’smight open in the NoMad Hotel (please, don’t blame me for the name).
Had it really, really easy. Of course, I’m certain I know a few gents who might pass out such a black book. New Years Resolution: Don’t name names!
Check out this New York Times Vest Pocket Guide to Brothels in the 19th Century.
The book’s states that it points out and describes the city’s various brothels so that the reader “may know how to avoid them.”
The tone appears to be deliberately coy. But it is also possible that the author was not completely disingenuous and was trying to spare tourists from harm or disappointment. Newspapers from that era are full of crime stories detailing how unsuspecting visitors were often preyed upon by unscrupulous brothel owners and prostitutes.
I appreciated the various Spring Street mentions; especially that of 111 Spring Street :
Readers who insisted on seeing 111 Spring Street for themselves were cautioned that they would encounter “the lowest class of courtezans” there and a crowd of “roughs and rowdies, and gentlemen who turn their shirts wrong side out when the other side is dirty.”
New York life was alive…with quality and class.
(thanks tip man @porksung)
The New York Times City Room reports electricians have been installing LED bulbs for the cluster of constellations at Grand Central Station replacing the fiber optic bulbs.
When the terminal opened in 1913, dozens of 10-watt incandescent bulbs — as cutting-edge as an iPad in those times — lighted up the barrel-vaulted ceiling in a brilliant Beaux-Arts display spread across 25,000 square feet.
In a clever civic twist, the constellations were depicted as they would appear from above Earth: the perspective of the gods.
It’s never been nicer to look up; 125 feet up in the air. Idea: have a bowl of Clam Chowder at the Oyster Bar and check out the new illumination.
And just the way we like it. Getting the scoop from a regular.
Yes, indeed, the trusted eyes and ears of the street, Mark James, who was saddened by the loss of Knife + Fork NOW happily reports:
“The restaurant is re-opening as the restaurant of Percy’s Tavern, which is opening on the corner of 13th Street and Avenue A. It’s a gastropub. It will seat 80 inside and 30 outside. They will do lunch, dinner and a traditional Sunday lunch. The plan on putting a twist on the Celtic culture and using farm table. They are aiming to open the first or second week of October.”
Straight from their Facebook page: Percy’s Tavern (aka the old Knife + Fork) is promoting some yummy concoctions: Squid mackerel burger, venison & duck egg, veal with smoked bone marrow along with traditional favorites are all matched with selected beers from small artisan producers from around the world to compliment each dish.
Sign me, up.
(photo credit: Mark James)
I’m certain this has been propped a fair amount (actually not as much as I’d like to see), but this is to call to attention the Pratt Institute Design Series for Barnes and Noble. Super reasonable, great gifts and for thyself too (I picked up the pencil bag; reminds me of my old indestructible Visitation bag).
Designed by students for students, the collaboration began in 2007 with Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) students and this year, 2010, the bookseller invited Pratt Institute students to participate as well. Choice items are still available at Barnes and Noble.
On another (political note) you should purchase (not only if you have a membership) but because it’s supporting books.
Books.
Yes, Books.
Not your I-Pad. Not your Kindle.
Stick with the books, kids. And what the stores offer.
It’s good, great design and completely reasonable. Think Muji (and the price tag) with some humour and a bit of colour..
Iggy, man, I get it.
You want to relive those CBGB years. I know, you must. It’s rock and roll; and that is what you and the Stooges perform.
But letting yourself in the company of the Yeah, Yeah (Who’s). And now, Paul has given you a haven, the “new” Don Hills and added hip things and fashion things from his sisters posse. You perform for your Raybaned imitators and rock wanna be’s. But it aids your youth serum. Adding to the mixture of mayhem was Terry and Terry’s Diary on tap to get Jared Leto and yes, Chloe. I’m simply too tired to prop out these diaries when they insist on posting the same of the same of the same. Ollie and Ollie’s Purple Diary didn’t appear to be on tap; or perhaps his lens was broken. Or Paul was taking pictures. Who knows? But there’s a lovely new snap of Ollie rocking it nude in the shower…again. Same room. Same drill. Same white jeans.
Kitty Bawler prefers Blue Ribbon Sushi over Omen.
(photo via Vogue and the lens of Rachel Chandler)
IF and only IF we are lucky.
This just in via The New York Times. Yes, we are talking the advent of boozy milkshakes. Hey, I grew up in Kansas City with Frosted Malts from Winsteads. Whose to say I didn’t spike that thick, rich milky delight? Luscious chocolate and hints of powerful alcohol entice. This isn’t just your standard Baileys and Cream, mate. Another something for the (fairly annoying trend) of mixologists to concoct.
The grown up set is finally growing up. That might just be a good sign too.
(Photo: NYT)
Phew. Well, thank god.
After his brilliant international travels, Ollie is back, in New York.
Ditto Terry who landed sometime last week.
What does this all mean?
Chic topless parties at the Standard, cheap tight wad photos of Ollie packing heat in jeans, lots of celebrities and fashion maniacs. Drugs, sex and rock and roll.
Boys; we ANXIOUSLY await your fashion week festivities and red rope parties.
We cannot wait to see Paul in his new spread. How fabulous!
Yes, He’s Back…Or As Caroline might say about the chosen, collective few…
(picture via: Puple Diary)
Kitty Bawler dreams in black and white. She’s doesn’t care what you think. Swear.
Is that of basement lounges.
And, doormen rule the world? Again?
Let’s kick it off this way. You know the history of the faded, colourful booze New York past. All those hidden agendas. The underground. The really neat time in America. If you don’t, read the book Last Call, The Rise and Fall of Prohibition (for those of the “scene” still able to read). The old speakeasy back in the old ass New York day (sorry, Paul you were still living with Mom in Connecticut…wait were you born yet?) giving way to places a la Double Happiness with the white brick walls and the warm glow of red and orange. Yes, New York was still dirty and sketchy and fun. Don Hills was really dirty, sketchy and fun. Mott Street was still like the demilitarized zone. Don’t you remember? Or were you still rocking Wall Street?
Doesn’t matter. All the cool new scene on scene-ers and their money backers insist on slick interior and yes, food for the druggies, just in case the night doesn’t work out…you can always blame food poisoning.
Now you have Kenmare and the black box special Travertine‘s new lounge XIX (original title, no?) which could make Paul a shade less pale. It might be the next Kenmare to the Don Hills. It exhausts me to think of the possibility. Yes, Kenmare is the block of cool. The place where an ex-B/8 doorman can get top billing for his ex-Stephen Dorff types knocking on heavens door. Now, all the basement space looks the same, generic red booths, white booths, clean, sprawling, pricey. Nah-nah-ne-nah. Why bother to report? It’s super boring. It’s putting me to sleep now.
Good night.
Kitty Bawler wants to open Kenmare at Disney Land. Oh what fun.
A welcome life line has been thrown to the space formerly known as Cafe Des Artistes and the murals aren’t going anywhere. Eater reports the space will open in 2011. Yes, the name will change but it will be good to see old friends again. From the Wall Street Journals coverage: “An Italian immigrant, Mr. Sorrentino has been in the restaurant business for more than 30 years, managing restaurants across the world. In New York he is known by some as “The Mayor of 54th Street,” as all three of his restaurants have been on 54th Street and in the same vicinity. His New York restaurants have included Bice Restaurant and Sette MoMA Restaurant in the Museum of Modern Art.”
Bravo!
