It’s Monday. It’s monsooning. Here’s my dog wearing some socks/being particularly unhelpful to cheer you up.
TGIF
And you thought YOU were tired…
Hey, Baby
Ever wonder what it’s like working in Times Square? Here’s your answer:
Apologies in advance for all those nightmares you’re about to have.
Oh, Happy Day
I’d like to wish you all a very merry National Middle Child Day. Oh, you weren’t aware? Ugh. Classic. Nobody pays attention to us.
Sure, it’s statistically probable that we’ll be the ones to grow up into sociopaths, but being the middle child is actually the greatest title to claim in the family lineup. We Middles are successful thanks to our innate drive to please everyone in order to get the attention we so desperately desired as kids. As adults, we are great friends to have thanks to all of the skills we’ve acquired in our early years. Think of a childhood home as the world, and the middle child as the United Nations. We listen, we plot, we create alliances based upon our personal gain and we negotiate. We help our siblings get out of trouble because we’re great storytellers…or you know, liars, which leads me right back to that sociopath thing…
But anyway! Best of all we’re creative and openly weird! We aren’t afraid to let our freak flags fly and let people know who we are. And if you don’t like it, you can answer to our siblings (because we’re a sensitive people – we don’t exactly love confrontation).
So in conclusion, huzzah to all of you Middles out there! Keep being you!
The End of an Era
Today the beloved vehicle of my youth was put out to pasture to be donated to a better cause than gathering dust in the driveway. The ’92 Acura Integra that I so affectionately called Debbie Downer represents the most tumultuous love-hate relationship I have ever had.
Debbie was named after everyone’s favorite Rachel Dratch character (wamp wammmp) thanks to her sporadically disastrous nature. Many a morning throughout high school I would pull into my spot and throw the car into park just to wait….wait….and wait even longer on very cold days. The car itself was secured in park mode, but I couldn’t remove the keys until the “P” on the dashboard illuminated. Sometimes this took up to fifteen minutes. Fif. Teen. Freakin. Minutes.
But wait- it gets better. While I waited for my temperamental whip to perform its most very basic function, the engine would continuously rev over and over. Loudly. I was essentially initiating a drag race in the parking lot of an all-girls Catholic preparatory academy. Thank goodness high school isn’t already an awkward time for anyone’s ego. Right?
Throughout our time together the car refused to start a few times, totally died and resurrected more than twice, lost the ability to produce cool air, regained the ability to produce cool air, then once more lost said ability for good. Oh, and the antenna for the radio would screech like a banshee as it rose, only to connect to one or two AM stations. And ok, there were no airbags.
But tried and true, Debbie brought me to high school each day, to my acting classes, musical rehearsals, and friends houses. This car took me to college and back home on long weekends to introduce my parents to my now fiancé. It helped me move my camera and equipment for student films, and acted as a party bus while I designated drove my drunk friends to Wendy’s. Hell, this car took me to the train station every morning when I had to commute to the city for my very first job.
This car was like my first New York City apartment. It sucked. But I loved it with all my heart.
Debbie is now off to the great beyond, also known as the Make A Wish Foundation’s donation center. Her legend will live on. Or, more likely, she will just resurrect yet again and cruise by me the next time I’m on I-95.
Bye, Debbie!
Met Ball So Hard
Monday evening, on my walk home from work, I stopped by the Met Gala and took intensely creepy photos of celebrities from across the street. Please note that they are a bit grainy because I was working against a far distance, an atrocious angle, crazy celebrity stalking tweens/adults, and several buses passing right in front of my face (thanks, MTA!).
I now invite you all to share in my paparazzi shame.
Dita Von Teese didn’t want to hold Zac Posen’s hand. She showed up for the dress. Not for the affection.
Jim Parsons giggled to himself, thinking about how much Sheldon Cooper would hate this party and all these people.
Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka brought the punk-matador realness.
David Beckham was all smiles. He just remembered he’s the HOTTEST MAN OF ALL TIME. EVER. ANYWHERE.
Brian Cranston tried to sell this young woman meth on the red carpet. METHod acting, you guys. GET IT?
Katie Holmes’ look was inspired by Belle from “Beauty and the Beast” and the girl from “The Grudge”.
I just. I mean. I can’t. I’m scared. Donatella.
Lupita literally rocked a chain link fence covered in arts and crafts supplies. She can do no wrong.
Vera Wang flipped us off. Just kidding, she was adorable and tiny. Like, for size reference, her shoulder bow is the size of a dime.
Zooey Deschanel felt sad that the police officer had to wear such a dreadful outfit to the ball. Too theme-y, sir!
And now, the most important photo you will see all day…no, all WEEK…Giselle eating the head of someone far less important than her. Oh, and Tom Brady.
And finally, here is Taylor Swift and Chloe Sevigney making their way up the grand red carpeted steps, into the glamfest.
‘Til next year, Met Ball!
I Won! I Won!
And all I had to do was show up to work. That’s right, Mr. Met was outside of my office building this morning, handing out game tickets to the good people of Times Square. The mere fact that this Mr. Met wasn’t a phony, illegitimate and generally gross fictional character that typically walks around that area was exciting enough for me. The tickets were a bonus.
Today will be a great day.
Not Your Mama’s Ice Cream Shop
Last weekend I had the pleasure of popping into NYC’s beloved Big Gay Ice Cream Shop. If you live in the area and haven’t been here yet, RUN don’t walk. I’m talking about a business that involves the Golden Girls, a dash of glitter and an endless amount of desserts.
WARNING: Inconceivable amounts of joy ahead.
When you enter the shop, you’ll be greeted by one of their insanely nice employees, as well as the world’s most dazzling mural of a unicorn donning a Bea Arthur brooch. Are you dying yet?
You may have a hard time choosing what to have thanks to the extensive menu of yummy treats. How about a Cococone? A Salty Pimp? A Bea Arthur (sensing a theme here)?
I went with The Salty Pimp, a cone of vanilla ice cream, dulce de leche, sea salt and chocolate dip. You probably need a minute to process how ridiculously tasty that combination of flavors is. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
While you wait for your treat to be made, there’s MORE unicorn accessories to delight you.
And then the big moment. Oh baby.
Say what?!
No matter what time it is, it’s always Salty Pimp o’clock.
I visited the East Village location on East 7th Street. There’s also a shop in the West Village on Grove Street, and a third location somewhere in LA (a city that is a geographical mystery to me).
Next time I go, I’m considering wearing my Halloween costume from this past year with my fiancé. Just call us Dorothy and Sophia.
Hump Day Treat
Presented without comment, I give you a majestic chicken-man seated alone in the middle of Times Square with a chessboard. Typical Wednesday.
Small World
Walking east from 5th Avenue this afternoon, I stumbled upon a large protest outside the Russian Consulate on the Upper East Side. Ukrainian Americans and other supporters gathered to voice their concerns over Russia’s occupation of Crimea in the Ukraine. I happened to have my camera with me so I jumped in to check it out.
Young and old stood side by side chanting, singing and toting signs they had created with some serious imagery of Putin portrayed as Adolf Hitler and other characters. The Ukrainian community is obviously quite concerned for their country’s future.
I was quite impressed with the turnout. I’d say there was about two hundred people on the sidewalk, and as I continued east, I saw a few dozen more protestors making their way in that direction on foot and in cars. As intense as the scene felt, it was all done peacefully. This is a true reminder that the U.S. isn’t some island, isolated from global unrest, but that we’re citizens of the world. Translation: stay informed, nerds!
To read more about the protest, click here: http://abclocal.go.com/wabc/story?section=news/local/new_york&id=9451579
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