__ is to __ as Crate and Barrel is to J-Crew

Only the third night in my new digs and already I've developed insomnia, the sudden urge to blog late at night, and hunger pains before bed - probably because I've been staying up too late, but then I can't fall sleep if I'm hungry - it's a vicious cycle solved only by soy milk and muesli before bed.

Did I mention I have no gas and nothing to sit on except my jazz fest chair? (For those of you wondering what the hell that is - it's one of those expandable nylon lawn chairs with the beer holder in the arm rest) Last night I had to eat cold pita with hummus and pre-sliced cheese because I couldn't heat the pita and I didn't have a cutting board.

Without TV, I've suddenly become the most productive person on earth. Instead of eating dinner while watching re-runs of Seinfeld, Will and Grace or Sex in the City, I read the paper AND listen to All Things Considered on NPR broadcast from San Francisco. Then I clean the kitchen, finish unpacking, book a ticket and shop for a chair online.

You'd think that you could just walk into a furniture store, see something you like, and take it home or have it delivered the next day right? HAH. It's almost impossible to get furniture delivered faster than 2-3 weeks.

To make matters worse, I've developed an unfortunate taste for mid-century modern furniture aka $$$ and difficult-to-find-furniture.

Initially I tried to force myself to find something from one of the major brands because it's faster and cheaper - Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, West Elm, Ikea, even Urban Outifitters. I just couldn't. Then I allowed myself to upgrade to Design Within Reach, and of course the only thing I liked was a $3000 chair.

After hours of googling, I finally found the same chair for a third the price as well as another chair that would be cute as a set. But...should I tough it out and wait until the couch arrives and then buy the chair so I can try to match the couch and chairs? Or should I paint before I buy more furniture? If I buy furniture first, then I'll have to match the paint to the furniture. My co-worker said definitely paint first, because then I can match the furniture to the paint. WHA???

My couch is to die for. I bonded with Inga - Swedish lady at a vintage furniture boutique in Nolita - over the purchase. Though Danish mid-century in design, it was to be custom made in Jersey of all places. I decided on a mocha brown (which will look more dark grey with a hint of brown) with ermine (some sort of white) trimming and pleats. I imagined a 1950's grey wool peacoat a-la Marc Jacobs with silk detailing and piping around the edges, and that flares out slightly - Jackie O style. "I'm a fashion designer by trade, and furniture is like fashion" - Inga said. "Your couch is to your vintage coat with fur trimming as Crate and Barrel is to J-Crew." That would've made a pretty good SAT question I thought.

The latest drama

A stress fracture in my left foot developed three days before the new york marathon. If I ran I would definitely end up in a booty for 4-6 weeks, and risk the possibility of being in a cast and on crutches for 6-8 weeks.

I literally debated for the next 48 hours - my choices were booty and possibly cast. At the midnight hour, I decided to try and run and see how it goes. I couldn't just let the entire summer of training in miserable heat go to waste - plus this was my last marathon and I really *needed* to close with new york.

My foot started hurting at mile two. My friends were at mile eight - they shoved the bobby pin I had asked for in my face and somehow I kept running. The pain was excruciating but did not get dramatically worse from mile eight to mile 13 (my next mental checkpoint) to mile 15. Then I saw my friend Cassie again at mile 17 and stretched and felt better.
Unlike other 'thons, I stopped at every water and gatorade stations and walked (to give my poor foot a break) while I drank.

My friend's sister also ran and we later recounted our experiences. I must've been delirious with pain because I dont remember seeing any of the people or sights she pointed out - and she was only 15 minutes behind me. Somehow I reached mile 20, and at that point I had to finish. The last mile was the greatest torture I had ever experienced. But it never felt so good to stop running.

The rest of me actually felt good, and I chatted on the phone and limped my way to the subway station - I know I know - I treated myself to a taxi from once I got downtown. That was last weekend.

The following Monday I got outfitted with 'the boot' at the doctor's office, and gimped into work. Other than trying to figure out how tight it should fit and how to walk on it, I felt fine. My muscles were the appropriate soreness, but not overly so, and I felt mentally normal. Monday night all hell broke loose - I got the chills and felt feverish, woke up three times because I thought I would vomit but then didn't. Flu-iness lasted all day Tuesday, and by evening I was still fighting flu-ishness and hoping it was resolve into a cold.

By Wednesday I was well on my way to a sore throat, sniffles, and coughing. On Thursday I closed on my apartment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn - 1 1/2 hours of signing my life away.
It was actually really entertaining as the bank's attorney was a jaded, witty, wise-cracking jokster who literally talked through the entire one and a half hour of paper signage. Friday I worked till eight then came home and packed. That was last week.

Saturday was moving day. I used the same movers that I used last time even though I had a bad experience. The story is that I posted bitchy feedback on apartmentherapy.com and they ended up refunding almost all of my move. I thought that was a nice gesture (and now also felt bad) so I decided to give them another shot. I had asked the movers to come early if they were able, and then proceeded to lock myself out of the apartment about 10 minutes before they were supposed to show up because I went out to buy them drinks, but had already removed the old keys from my keychain - idiot.

Luckily my roommate was in the hood so she was able to come back and let us in. While we were waiting, I chatted with the owner of the moving company and proceeded to develop a crush - perhaps it's one of those psychiatrist-patient scenarios where you project feelings of intimacy onto the person who helps you through one of the most stressful experiences in new york city. He said he gets a lot of female and gay male customers - I'm sure he gets hit on a lot.

I spent a couple of hours in Target today. I guess I am sort of in the hood because there are no yellow cabs out here, only car service driven by Jamaican guys with accents I can't yet understand that act like taxis but probably charge more. I learned this today coming out of Target with my four bags of household stuff - after shooing away a 'taxi' dispatcher because I thought he was trying to con me, I asked the Target guy -"Where did you say the taxis were?". He points to the same line of un-marked vehicles to which the dispatcher had pointed. I suck it up and pay the $8 for a 7-minute ride.

I have no TV, no gas until Friday (so I can't cook), no food (because I have no gas), and nothing to sit on - so I've improvised and am using my jazz fest chair in the meantime.
In leiu of the comforting white noise from TV, I've been listening to NPR broadcasts from multiple cities online - suggestion courtesy of my friend who doesn't have or watch TV. It feels like camping but with a monthly mortgage. Oh, and I just paid $220 to get the locks changed - oye. That was this weekend.

Moving Day

Last Sunday I spent the better part of the day packing, but ended up dillydallying more than packing.
This Friday I woke up at 6:30 a.m. because I was stressing about having to move, couldn't go back to sleep so I did a little packing before going to work.
Friday evening I came home, packed then took a break for dinner.
Saturday I woke up at 8 a.m., ran 14 miles, did laundry, packed for 2 hours, took a break and had a couple of beers at Zum Schneider, packed for 4 more hours, then went out for a martini break.
I've been up since 8 a.m. today and did not sit down for 12 hours straight.
My feet hurt more today from standing & moving than yesterday from running 14 miles.
I have cardboard cuts on two of my fingers.
I have a razor blade cut on my pinky from momentary clutziness due to low blood sugar from lack of eating because I'd been moving all day.
I've packed, re-packed, and un-packed in the last 2 hours.
The movers broke my very expensive vintage bookshelf, as well as scratched various parts of my tatami bed frame.
One of the movers kept trying to get me to meet him at Joey's to hear live jazz - maybe once I'm done being pissed about the very expensive vintage bookshelf he damaged.
It hurts to type because three of my finger tips have raw cuts on them.

"That's SO new york"

Walking by familiar faces in your neighborhood....
-the dry cleaner guy
-one of the cooks from Bite Me Best (local pizza shop), walking with a buddy & dressed up to go out
-'John' (the cash register guy) from Bite Me Best, barbequing some corn-on-the-cob on the sidewalk in front of Louis - ostensibly to 'beat the heat'
-one of the cash register women from the neighborhood grocery store
-the guy who takes orders at The Bagel Shop
-the nail girl at JinSoon

Standing on the corner of Ave C and 9th street to watch fourth of july fireworks, with a crowd of cheering people blocking traffic.

Going to the local cuban cafe to get 'Cafe con Leche' (ordered just like that, not espresso or cappucino, but 'cafe con leche'), and ending up reading for several hours at the counter, drinking coffee, eating, and listening to the cuban band that happens randomly to be playing there.

Fleeing my sweltering 'no air con in the living room' apartment into the cool recesses of the neighborhood jazz bar to read, write and have a cold beer - but mostly to enjoy the cold air.

Wandering to Thompkins Square Park to read on a bench and people-watch, and having music on the side from a random cuban (or puerto rican?) band playing nearby.

Looking at art by local up-and-coming 'street' art, having beers & people-watching in an 'urban beach' setting, listening to DJs spin hip hop, funk, then house and trance - all in one day, all in one place - PS1, which used to be an elementary school.

$1 oysters and $5 martinis at Five Points Restaurant - named after the actual intersection (of Park, Worth & Baxter) & historic 'center' of vice and debauchery in the early 1900's - all the "vices" of new york society came together Tammany Hall, The Bowery Boys, Irish thugs, Jewish racketeers, and Italian hit men.

Being able to appreciate the art of a good martini and have people get it, without them thinking you are an alcoholic.

Smelling ode' de garbage, ode' de urine, and ode' de just-plain-nastiness while walking to the subway station in the relatively-speaking fresh & quiet summer mornings in the east village.

Going for a run in Central Park when it's 98 degrees and 98% humidity, and not be the only crazy one running.

Running across the Williamsburg Bridge at dusk, and every time still, gaze in awe at the twinkling lights across the east river.

Having an $8 Corona on the only rooftop deck in the Lower East Side, with ironic 20 somethings who are trying too hard, as opposed to a $14 key lime martini on the rooftop bar of a chichi mid-town hotel with bankers.

Partying with co-workers, drinking the bar empty (until the waiter had to kick us out), then hopping from street party to street party during the big blackout of 2003.

Making a picnic out of waiting in line for free 'Shakespeare in the Park' free tickets, it's almost as much about the tradition & process of waiting in line as it is about the play itself.

Doing late brunch (at 3 pm), then drinking the rest of the day away since you've already wasted most of the day already anyway.

Escaping the oppressive humidity of a summer heat wave by having a good 'dirtee' martini at a cute little neighborhood bistro.

Air Con, Soy Ice Cream & Lime Perrier

The weather forecast in NYC this week is on the order of "a high of 98 and a low of 80, with 110% humidity." No joke. After freezing my ass off all day in the meat freezer we call work, I dripped buckets of sweat in yoga class only to come home to a sweltering "No we don't have air conditioning in the apartment" situation. I was melting within three seconds.

Luckily I have a nice roommate, nice enough to stay at her boyfriend's place and let me move her air con unit into my room for the rest of the summer. I didn't realize those suckers were so heavy, and to use quite a bit of ingenuity (involving a side table of just the right height) to move the sucker into my room & fit it into the air con 'hole in the wall' that I'd been covering up from non-use until now.

After the work was done and I turned the unit on, I called my friend to see if she wanted to escape the heat with a nice martini in an air conditioned bar. Being the good new yorkers that we are, she and another friend had the same idea - so we whiled away a cool couple of hours at the neighborhoood french bistro Casimir.

Now, am sitting here like 'AL' - Al Bundy minus the hand in crotch that is - sitting on the couch in my, um, underwear & lime green "Chou" wife beater, eating butter pecan soy ice cream out of the carton, drinking Lime Perrier WITH ICE (something about the ice that makes the bubbles THAT much more refreshing), and watching That 70s Show, waiting for the air con to kick in in my room. WOOHOO. AIR CON IN MY ROOM.

I've somehow survived three New York summers WITHOUT air conditioning in the apartment. I KNOW RIGHT. It was either due to some arcane belief - "I don't believe in air conditioning, it's bad for your health and it makes me cough & get sore throats" or the ascetic desire to somehow remain pure and not "give in" to air conditioning. Well I've either become soft or have become more of a New Yorker because I've just about had it with sleepless, humid, stifling nights - simply melting on my tatami bed, getting little red itchy spots from god knows what bugs or plain heat. The first time I experienced air con at night (it was 98% humidity and I couldn't breathe in my room, even with the fan blasting on "3", and my roommate was gone, so I slept in her room & jacked up the air con), I realized what I'd been missing out - a good night's sleep in the sweltering summers of Manhattan.

Alright, gonna go jump into the ice box now and love every minute of it.

Jersey

Had a cajun brunch & a pretty good latte in Hoboken. OK OK it was pretty cute, very 'small town in upstate New York or Philadelphia'....but ended up being fascinated by this rather than the cutsy, waterfront cafes or the Brownstone-lined streets.


Hoboken Path Train

aiya

OMIGOD. I'm a wreck. It was supposed to be an ideal wedding in the Berkshires of our old roommates - and while we had great fun catching up with old friends and the wedding was perfect and beautiful yada yada...

The big drama was that I suffered a systemic allergic reaction & contracted a bacterial infection from bug bites. By night time of the wedding, I was getting the chills, vomited and all I wanted to do was sleep. Then my right forehead & eye swelled up so much (YES I got bit there) that I looked REALLY Asian. Eventually it got so bad people started shying away from me as if I were scary boxer chic.

I also had a huge bite that had spread all over the underside of my left thigh. We thought it was funny when my friend slapped me so hard it hurt more than itch, which was preferable. When the itching became unbearable, I would beg him to "slap me please", and then everyone would crack up. Two days later, it didn't seem so funny (especially when I had to explain the bruises to the doctor) when the redness kept spreading, became very warm to the touch (indicative of an infection), and I was still running a fever.

I popped benadryl until it knocked me out for the flight to Cali, and to my great chagrin, I missed the in-flight movie "Hitch." (damn! the one time I actually want to see the movie!). Apparently I've gotten soft from living in the city. sigh.

And to top it off (unfortunately not a wine glass), I got to sit through ten hours of presentations yesterday inside a dark, cold conference room - brutal.

Jazz Fest 2005 - Topaz at The Funky Butt

Jazz Fest 2005 - Walter Wolfman Washington

Jazz Fest 2005 - Nicholas Payton

N'awleans Jazz Festival

eeehaa

Jazz Fest 2005 - Martha Redbone

Baby take off your cool, I want to know you

I spent my 31st birthday volunteering in 'clean-up parks' day at Fort Greene park in Brooklyn, waking earlier than I wake for work - still reeling from that groggy, from-last-night, slightly dizzy, hangover effect.

Running late, as usual, I hopped in a cab to the entrance of Brooklyn Bridge and then ran the rest of the way to the park, in absolute awe of the rippling and sparkling wonder of the city.

I spent my 31st birthday raking leaves, 'wood chipping' (whatever the hell that is I'm still not sure), shoveling dirt and plugging up pot holes in the grass, and eating lunch on the steps in the sun with fellow googlers - just like in high school.

I then spent my 31st birthday alone - smoking, drinking and blogging on my balcony - soaking in the rays of a crisp, spring sun.

I ended my 31st birthday at a dinner show at Joe's Pub - Chocolate Genius - and then I dragged my friends to Bob's in the LES.

The Bar Room at MoMA

Most of the pics I took were blurry. I could say it was due to low lighting but most likely it was due to the smashing PJ Martini I had pre-dinner. The menu featured the original French-American cuisine of Chef Gabriel Kreuther.


Beef Tartar - yes, yes, yes I KNOW it's not vegetarian, and it was damn good. Hey, at least I'm a flexible vegetarian. I also love anything wrapped with bacon - especially scallops and figs - and baby cheeks of any kind.


Some sort of liverwurst thing.



Some sort of crabcake thing.

PVD

South Beach Day Two.

It's like college but not. Woke up at 3 (and that was early), showered, had a cupaccino and my first Sherman Mint of the day. Had a Bloody Mary and another cigarette for breakfast, chilled and chatted by the pool, blogged, ate a mesclun salad with mozarella and tomatoes for dinner. We left the hotel at 9:30 pm.



Watched the legendary Paul Van Dyk. We squeezed our way through the all-ages (actually more like under-aged) crowd. I have to admit, although I'm no lover of trance, Paul sure knows how to work the crowd.


Feel the vibe


Chain smoking


Cheering, in awe and psychedelic ecstasy


PVD


Another morning after.

spring break, mtv, diets

Yeah yeah yeah, I know, not exactly my usual *thing*, but gimme a break, a girl's allowed to want some sun, warmth & part-AAY...

South Beach. The usual suspects are just as I had imagined here. Old cuban taxi cabis, weathered and leathery in their white embroidered habana shirts, drive languidly in low-rider cadillacs. Richly tan Latino women cruise around in convertibles, decorated with flowing black curly hair and long acrylic nails.

Latino muscle-bound men (the no neck, pumped upper body kind) with wife-beaters strut along next to their tourist counterparts - white dudes with large arms and small waists in pink polo shirts with the collar turned up.

Friends are still passed out from the night before, and the rest are still in transit. So, with creamy frozen cappucino in hand, I stroll onto the beach to check out the scene. This is about as much time I spent at the beach all weekend...


People-wise, it's like Jamaica but not...


Look and feel-wise, it's like Burning Man but not...




College girls on spring break.

The air hangs in mid-breath, warm and humid. Perfect for a refreshing Shermant mint at the pool.


It's like college but not.

Like college...six to a room, party till dawn, watch the sunrise, go to sleep in the morning, then do it all over again. There's the requisite 'pre-party in the room' prior to hitting the clubs.

But not...instead of drinking 40s, at dawn, now it's drinking Grey Goose vodka straight from the bottle (not me of course), at dawn. Instead of hiding in the speakers or sitting on the nasty-ass ground at 1015 Folsom (which, by the way, is a tourist destination club), now it's table service.

Friday Night - Spundae party at Green Lounge.
We trekked out to the design district (aka warehouse area), where the locals go. I was impressed by a good-looking & well-dressed crowd in a swank, outdoor bar - complete w/ bamboos and a tiki-style grass hut.



It was crowded and hot, thank gawd (actually thank Dave!) for table service. We left around 4 a.m., and like true college kids, partied some more in the room before going out to watch the sunrise.



Just when you think you can't push the limits anymore, you somehow manage to push it a little further. And the irony is, the older you get, the more extreme the limits.

You know what they say

...never faint in a phone booth, or in my case, in the bathroom on an airplane. I was actually not dreading my red-eye back to nyc because I was in the first-class cabin, and was ready to for a few hours of good sleep as I had only gotten five hours the night before.

After a doze, light snack and movie, I went to the bathroom, and while washing my hands, suddenly felt nauseous - and remembered thinking how strange that I suddenly felt nauseous. Then I blacked out and crumpled to the floor.

Not sure how much time passed, probably only a few seconds, I was conscious of being barely conscious, and struggling to keep conscious. I remember feeling scared, because I couldn't make myself move, and I couldn't figure out where I was or what I was doing. Finally, I realized I was sitting on the floor in an airplane bathroom, pulled myself up to the sink, and pushed open the door.

I mumbled to the stewardess, "..fainting...need sugar...orange juice..." The stewardess jumped up and got orange juice in a flash. Luckily, there was a doctor on the plane (someone else in the back of the plane had fainted earlier!) and they brought him over.

I felt nauseous, had blurred vision, and experienced sweating, heart palpatations, shortness of breathe and a ghostly complexion (so I am told). He asked me a few questions, nodding calmly, and finally said, "You have low blood pressure and have experienced an episode, probably because you've been dehydrated, sitting too long and got up too quickly."

Apparently the 'cure' is to lie down with legs propped up - good to know. I eventually regained color and felt calmer, but started shivering and still felt nauseous. (too much damn orange juice)

Not only did I not get to enjoy my comfy first-class seat, I spent the better portion of the flight lying down on the floor of the steward area, with legs propped up.

I threw up twice in the plane, and once on the car ride home. Ughs. I hadn't really slept at all on the flight, and by the time I got home, was completely DEPLETED - in every sense of the word. Brushing my teeth and sleep never felt so good.

The only thing I've eaten in the last two days since then is bread with nutella, bread with hummus, kashi crunch cereal with soy milk, and a soy patty. And, I slept twelve hours last night.

Lessons learned - eat more salty foods, do foot exercises and remember to drink v-8 (salt) & water on flights. Oye.

the new MoMA

grand entrance & foyer


lofty ceilings & glass


spacious & light


six-story staircases and windows

to the jackass in 4c

I was woken up FIVE times last night - four times by the jackass that lives next door.

The first was a dripping that sounded more like rain falling from the bathroom ceiling.
I thought, "Oh lord, PLEASE don't let the bathroom ceiling cave in on me. AGAIN. (that's another story for the telling)" I tip-toed out, half expecting to see a gaping hole and the night sky, but only saw that the smoke alarm and some alarm-like contraption in the bathroom were both dripping buckets of water. UGHS. I kick the waste basket under the drip and go back to bed.

Then, an hour later, I get woken up again by incessant pounding on the door and whining. The jackass was drunk and yelling, "I closed a deal for 500K! I closed a 500K deal!" My roommate yelled back "We don't care. Go away! Shut up!" The jackass slurs and whines some more, "Please. Please acknowledge. Please." What a jackass.

This happens two more times. The jackass starts blasting horrible 80's music, or something. At which point I wake up. AGAIN. (third time if you are keeping track) Then, another resident comes stomping down and bams her fists on his door, and curses him & his music out, "What do I need to get you stop blasting your music at 4 in the fucking morning?!?! Your music is so loud it's SHAKING MY WALLS, SHAKING I SAID." The jackass whimpers, "Ok ok it's off, I'm turning it off." (fourth and fifth times)

Meanwhile, I'm on with 311, and while the operator is taking my info to get the police to come, the music stops. damn, too late.

I, in my usual passive-aggresive way, write a note and slip it under his door in the morning as I leave for work. What I wanted to do was pound on his door until he woke up, then yell at him. But of course, this is what I said in a note: "PLEASE don't EVER knock on our door at 4 a.m. EVER again. We feel like shit this morning thanks to you. 4b"

sound bites

"There's comfortable (in your own skin), confident, then cocky...you like comfortable." -Ali

where everybody knows your name

Or at least your face. As fated, I've become my Chinese mother, who knows every owner of every Chinese restaurant in the Bay Area on intimate terms. Gawd.

Well, for me, make that the bus boy and maitre d' at Five Points, Alice Cheng from ACheng boutique on 9th and A, and Eloise from Gas (my favorite jewelry shop).

I always thought knowing the bartender at your local bar was the coolest thing, but one of those New York City phenomena that seemed unattainable because I'm just not a very good chatter. Who woulda thought?

The black bartender at Galaxy makes a smashing G Spot. Miki and I were there Friday night and I was surprised he recognized me. We chatted, then I got into a debate with his friends sitting next to us about music genres. All I asked was what kind of music did he play, and the dude gets all hot and bothered and replies his music has no "labels". I was just trying to make conversation, sheesh. He was trying to be all PC but it was such a trivial topic to be PC about. The dude finally laughs and says, "You're from California aren't you?" How did he know??

At Von, I noticed the elfin, slightly effeminate bartender noticing my green Google t-shirt. We exchange smiles and make small talk. I can barely understand his English, and he seems a bit flighty and ditsy, but he's got a cool fauxhawk. He asks if I want to get coffee the next day, I give him my number, he calls the next day and cancels. Whatevs. Last night, saw him again and we did the nonsense chatter. Though I still couldn't understand him, he gave us free sparkling water.

Coming home from work, from a run, from grocery shopping - I often times wave hello to the Brazilian maitre d' at Esperanto, standing at the corner of 9th and C. Recently, I went there with Bella - we got the best table and a mango mousse on the house.

At Gnocco last summer, a skinny Italian waiter with horn-rimmed glasses runs after us as we leave the restaurant and asks if I want to get coffee sometime. Feeling adventurous, I gave him my digits - which I later sort of regretted. Though he was an amazing cook, turned out to be slightly on the crazy side.

Teehee, we love nyc.

February snowstorm

View of garden below from my balcony


Old squatter apartments across the street

The Gates

Winter sun and Saffron billows.


Running the Central Park loop, stopping to photograph the sunny version.


Gawking, milling, strolling, jogging, photographing, enjoying - the spectacle that is The Gates.

14D

I got into my first verbal altercation with a black kid on my morning bus commute!

Don't know what got into me, I mean I know I can be spazzy, bitch-y at times, but I'm usually passive when it comes to actual confrontation.

I was late for a meeting, and, as I boarded the bus, looked for a seat as I needed to read my meeting notes to prepare.

I reached the back of a very crowded bus, and saw that a punk-ass black kid was purposefully sprawled out on two seats. I asked him to scoot over and he just looked up and laughed at me.
Then shifted over slightly.

"Can you move a bit more." He glares up at me and doesn't budge an inch. At this point I had unconsciously decided that I was going to see this through, so I sit down anyway, cramming myself into the half-space.

I turn and stare at him, "This is a public bus, you have to share." He looks around, "I am the public." I stare back at him, "So am I."

He and his buddy start to laugh and point at me, cussing in some foreign tongue that I couldn't understand - ebonics I think they call it? I looked over every now and then and made eye contact with his buddy, who was apparently cursing obscenities at me.

I knew he was talking smack, so I tried the reverse psychology approach. "What, did you say something?", and smiling innocently. I was listening to my iPod, reading and ignoring them, but privately shaking as I pretended non-chalance.

Then my thoughts wandered to the recent shooting of a women by 'punk' teenagers on the lower east side. Maybe it was stupid to have picked a fight with a kid? All I wanted was to teach him some manners! God I'm getting old.

By the time we got to our stop, the whole thing seemed to have blow over. And now I am a true, angst-filled, morning commuter in New York.

year of the rooster

gaze at the large, round moon,
and think of family and friends that are far away from home,
gazing at the same bright moon as you

-Chinese poet Li Bai

sound bite

"You're too polite, AND you always feel guilty, which is why you only recently realized you can leave a conversation (in a party situation) without any excuse." - Bella

Summer night on our balcony. Had a smoke and couldn't sleep, so started taking photos of the winding flower plant thing on our balcony.

getting old

Rather than go out tonight, I opted to stay in, have a dirty martini w/ 2 olives, watch Buffy, and blog. "Love, sex, pain, death - it's all the same to you vampires."

loving my room

After three years in nyc, I now buy Sevens and Citizens of Humanity jeans for $160 and don't even blink an eye. Ironically, I've found great satisfaction endulging in this new sense of materialism, and it was only a matter of time. I broke down and finally bought a bed! Ok it's still the tatami, but fitted within a solid wood bed stand that is, yes, off the ground.



Gone are the days of ascetic living. I finally got sick of living minimally and with crappy (or no) furniture, and decided I needed to have more adult decor even if it was for my (still) teenie east village space. I decorated in an Eastern style, of course. Beloved knic knacs d' arte from my travels throughout China.




After weeks of catalog browsing and comparison shopping, too dark espresso shades and too light teak hues, I decided to take the plunge and go vintage - a 'mid-century modern' 1950's Danish bookshelf from City of Lost Arts. (which was, incidentally, a pain in the arse to bring home and set-up by myself, one of the few times I wished I had a man to help! aiya)




Chinese painting scrolls, and my grandfather's poem (mounted on a scroll), written when he reached Lhasa - and stood at the top of the Potala Palace.

Sounds Bites

"You are doing good - you help the people (advertisers) who enable Google (financially) to provide free and better access to the world's information." - Joanne

Sound Bites

"I don't think you need to be more proactive about dating, Ann, I think you just need to be more open and receptive to what's in front of you." - Rafael