Thursday, March 27, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Leapin' Leprechauns!
Ooops. I can not fathom that there was no post on this blog for St. Paddys. Granted, this years festivities were a little subdued...but still. Kevin and I are so very proud of our Irishness. We're just slackers...
Today is a bit of a sad day for me. I finally got around to inspecting and registering my car here in the fine state of New York. I've had a NY license for awhile now; but I still had my DC tags on the car. I always liked them. They're special. For those of you who are unaware of the plight of DC, the city has a congresswoman. Who is not allowed to vote. Which means that even though they live at the epicenter of American government, DC residents effectively have no say in it's actions. It's akin to living in say, American Samoa. Or Guam.
The people of the District of Columbia are collectively so fed up with this obvious error that in 2000 they voted to put their anger on their license plates. (It should be noted that the Clinton administration supported this measure; whereas when a certain imbecile was elected, he made them take those plates off his limos.)
Anyway, it always struck me as a cool move. Which is why my plate now hangs in my office as a gesture of solidarity:
Today is a bit of a sad day for me. I finally got around to inspecting and registering my car here in the fine state of New York. I've had a NY license for awhile now; but I still had my DC tags on the car. I always liked them. They're special. For those of you who are unaware of the plight of DC, the city has a congresswoman. Who is not allowed to vote. Which means that even though they live at the epicenter of American government, DC residents effectively have no say in it's actions. It's akin to living in say, American Samoa. Or Guam.
The people of the District of Columbia are collectively so fed up with this obvious error that in 2000 they voted to put their anger on their license plates. (It should be noted that the Clinton administration supported this measure; whereas when a certain imbecile was elected, he made them take those plates off his limos.)
Anyway, it always struck me as a cool move. Which is why my plate now hangs in my office as a gesture of solidarity:
Monday, March 10, 2008
Anthropology: Brooklyn Style.
I've been suspicious ever since I moved to Brooklyn. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Something was off about this place. I couldn't decide what it was until a few weeks ago when I was having dinner with friends in Cobble Hill. Cobble hill is not my neck of the Brooklyn Woods. I have lived (albeit briefly) In Fort Greene, and now Clinton Hill and as I was strolling down Court St the other night, it was eerily similar to the summer when I'd poked around in Brooklyn Heights, or hung out at bars on 5th ave or Smith St. But what was it about this borough that was irking me?
Then yesterday as I took a Sunday stroll for coffee and a muffin it hit me. I knew what was wrong.
Every girl in Brooklyn has a hipster boyfriend. Every last one!
Now, I'm not even sure if I'm in the market for a hipster boyfriend- but, boy, if I wanted one this would be the place. Yesterday my ipod-induced solace was constantly interrupted by the plethora of hipster boys on the go. You know them. You've seen them. They have a uniform after all: Skinny jeans, (usually skinner than those on their female counterparts) ratty old converse (or vans.) Sweaters with thumb holes like they are all Kurt-Cobain-playing-MTV-unplugged. (Can be substituted by old- worn in leather jackets [of the motorcycle variety] or of course; the ever popular hoodie/band shirt combo) Aside from their swooning girlfriends; they have standard accessories: ipod, tattered looking book, eco-friendly shopping bag filled organic this-and-that. Perhaps a Baby Bjorn carrier and kid in an American Apparel onesie to boot.
And of course the one accessory that always gets me: The dog. (Usually of the big, friendly mutt variety)
Yesterday these endless, happy twosomes seemed to have taken over. I mean, I know I asked for it. It is Brooklyn afterall. I thought perhaps my mind was exagerating; playing tricks on me.
No Leigh, every girl in Brooklyn doesn't have a hipster boyfriend.
And then I turned the corner, on to my own street and I was behind them:
The adorable couple; walking the French Bulldog while discussing Howard Zinn.
I mean really; how much can one person take?
Then yesterday as I took a Sunday stroll for coffee and a muffin it hit me. I knew what was wrong.
Every girl in Brooklyn has a hipster boyfriend. Every last one!
Now, I'm not even sure if I'm in the market for a hipster boyfriend- but, boy, if I wanted one this would be the place. Yesterday my ipod-induced solace was constantly interrupted by the plethora of hipster boys on the go. You know them. You've seen them. They have a uniform after all: Skinny jeans, (usually skinner than those on their female counterparts) ratty old converse (or vans.) Sweaters with thumb holes like they are all Kurt-Cobain-playing-MTV-unplugged. (Can be substituted by old- worn in leather jackets [of the motorcycle variety] or of course; the ever popular hoodie/band shirt combo) Aside from their swooning girlfriends; they have standard accessories: ipod, tattered looking book, eco-friendly shopping bag filled organic this-and-that. Perhaps a Baby Bjorn carrier and kid in an American Apparel onesie to boot.
And of course the one accessory that always gets me: The dog. (Usually of the big, friendly mutt variety)
Yesterday these endless, happy twosomes seemed to have taken over. I mean, I know I asked for it. It is Brooklyn afterall. I thought perhaps my mind was exagerating; playing tricks on me.
No Leigh, every girl in Brooklyn doesn't have a hipster boyfriend.
And then I turned the corner, on to my own street and I was behind them:
The adorable couple; walking the French Bulldog while discussing Howard Zinn.
I mean really; how much can one person take?
Monday, March 03, 2008
"What is more Fantasy than peacock?"
Oh, Roberto Cavalli; I couldn't have said it better myself.
It's that bittersweet time of the year again kids. Another season of our beloved Project Runway is about to come to a close. While I'm sure Christian is counting down the moments to his coronation ceremony- I would just like to say that I am rooting for Jillian. I have consistently liked her stuff and she's from Strong Island to boot. (I think Kevin may still be mourning the loss of Chris- whom we all loved- but I'm sorry: you lost me at human hair.
Please chime in the comments section and cast your vote.
In other news- can anyone believe that is March already? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like '08 is whipping on by. Kevin and I will be sunning ourselves in Montauk before we know it. (At least that's how I hope it plays out- I need some warmth) March is good though. I mean, it contains the most important holiday of the year, so how bad could it be?
To end this post of rambling I'd like to add a warm welcome to The Gayrab who has returned to New York and today spends his very first night a matchbox of his own. (Well, more of a gilded cage than a matchbox;I don't think there are too many Matchboxes on the Upper West Side...)
It's that bittersweet time of the year again kids. Another season of our beloved Project Runway is about to come to a close. While I'm sure Christian is counting down the moments to his coronation ceremony- I would just like to say that I am rooting for Jillian. I have consistently liked her stuff and she's from Strong Island to boot. (I think Kevin may still be mourning the loss of Chris- whom we all loved- but I'm sorry: you lost me at human hair.
Please chime in the comments section and cast your vote.
In other news- can anyone believe that is March already? Maybe it's just me, but I feel like '08 is whipping on by. Kevin and I will be sunning ourselves in Montauk before we know it. (At least that's how I hope it plays out- I need some warmth) March is good though. I mean, it contains the most important holiday of the year, so how bad could it be?
To end this post of rambling I'd like to add a warm welcome to The Gayrab who has returned to New York and today spends his very first night a matchbox of his own. (Well, more of a gilded cage than a matchbox;I don't think there are too many Matchboxes on the Upper West Side...)
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