Monthly Archives: March 2011

I’m Famous and Well-Fed!

Filed under uncategorized

What a wonderful place the Internet is! I started a blog on the salon.com blogging platform, Open Salon, a while back just to see what it was like. I don’t usually see much action over there, but it’s just a mirror of this blog, so I didn’t expect to. But this morning, I got four e-mails in a row saying I had comments and wondered what I had said to incite love from strangers, so I went to investigate, and it turns out my blog post from yesterday is one of their editor’s picks featured on the landing page!

How neat! Open Salon has a very robust community of active bloggers and commenters, and although I’ll admit I’m not using it to its full advantage at all, I’d definitely recommend opening an account of your own and checking out their editor’s picks each day.


Other than that, I’ve been blogging at donuts4dinner.com all week, for some reason. You probably don’t care about my new ratings system or burger review, but those of you who have heard my years of cries for dinner at the much-exalted restaurant will be pleased to note that I HAVE EATEN AT PER SE AND AM THE HAPPIEST GIRL ALIVE.

Oysters and Pearls at Per Se
tiny oysters and a big, ol’ pile of caviar

Now I can go back to eating nothing but pizza, assured that I have had all of the good food there is to be had.

The Unseen Sights of Secretive Beekman Place

Filed under just pictures, living in new york is neat
Tagged as , ,

Now that the weather is getting nicer, Kamran and I have been actually getting up before noon on Sundays and taking walks around his neighborhood. You can kind of get the gist of any given neighborhood by walking a few streets, and at this point, we’ve been walking those streets for the five years Kamran’s lived in Midtown East, so we kind of thought we’d seen it all.

But walking down 1st Avenue, we decided to try out 52nd Street on a whim and found ourselves in a microcosm entirely different from the one Kamran lives in, with a tiny unnamed café, a gated garden area surrounded by balconied buildings, and a culdesac overlooking the East River. Doormen peered at us from under their caps and men out walking their oversized and undersized dogs turned around to watch us pass, as if they all knew we didn’t belong there.

We could see a little bridge leading down to a riverfront park one block down, so we headed back over to 1st Avenue and down to 51st Street, which deadended into a decaying stone staircase that led to this bridge:

And when we looked over the sides of the bridge, we saw this glorious dog park–Peter Detmold Park, it’s called–so huge it still looked empty even while teeming with puppies:

The last few feet of the bridge are covered by a metal fence as it crosses over FDR Drive, which is kind of exhilarating to stand over:

At the end of the bridge, you take a left and walk down another staircase, which leads you to a tiny strip of park sitting right on the river, with sights of the 100-year-old Queensboro Bridge:

some fancy ruins on Roosevelt Island no doubt being torn down to make way for condos:

two lovebirds:

the famous Pepsi-Cola sign on the other side of the river in Queens:

and the whisper-thin United Nations headquarters down the street on 42nd:

Having read Phillip Lopate’s wonderful but sad Waterfront: A Walk Around Manhattan, I’ve come to realize how important access to the river is to the community, and for the community to have spent so much money on this one-block chunk of park, you figure someone special must be living there.

Looking behind you, you realize how special. The buildings are towering behemoths:

with bay windows on every corner and balconies that have been closed off to become another room in the apartment:

There are long stretches of beautiful outdoor patios that can only be accessed through the buildings:

And look! When you try to Google Street View it, there’s no data available! FISHY!

We walked down Beekman Place between 49th and 51st Streets, and while the blocks were eerily quiet, what was weirder were the surveillance cameras conspicuously placed outside of every building to let you know you were being watched. It’s at once the scariest and safest street in NYC, I guess.

On the way back home, we were greeted with the familiar sight of the Chrysler Building, which shines in through Kamran’s windows every night, peeking through between some buildings off in the distance:

and of course the “Good Defeats Evil” monument of St. George fighting the “dragon” of nuclear war that used to be soooooo beautiful until the UN decided to build some awful structure behind it:

And that was that. Secret neighborhood microcosm de-secretized!

I’m Certain All BFFs Are This Freaky

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, why i'm better than everyone else
Tagged as , ,

I was talking to my BFF, Tracey, the other day about the fact that neither of us has ever needed prescription drugs. I asked, “Should we be on drugs for something? Everyone else is!” She replied, “It’s weird enough of us to not be on drugs, but it might be weirder that we’ve never sought mental health treatment in the first place.”

And at first I was like, “Yeah! Weird!” But then I was like, “Wait, no, not weird.” And then I confessed to Tracey that despite pretty terrible things happening to me–like, say, my mom dying of brain cancer when I was a senior in high school–I think I’ve managed to stay awesome because I’ve had her to talk to since we were just wee little lasses. And then she confessed to me that despite pretty terrible things happening to her–like, say, her dad’s brain aneurism, brain tumors, and subsequent lifelong health issues–she thinks she’s managed to stay awesome because she’s had me to talk to, too.

I have a blogfriend whose best friend died a couple of years ago in a horrific and horrifically random shooting, and for a while, her online journal was almost solely about coping with this sudden death and the tremendous life changes it brought. Some of her friends were annoyed by her constantly talking about it and acted like she should move on with her life, but I totally got it. To have a best best friend–not just a good friend but a best friend who knows everything about you and doesn’t need to put you down to make herself feel better and doesn’t try to make you jealous and can handle you practically living with her for two weeks straight during your Christmas visits home–and then to lose that? The pain is almost unimaginable to me.

On the phone yesterday, I asked Tracey not to die, and she agreed to try, but we decided that if either of us does kick the bucket too soon, the other will keep her memory alive in the very best ways.

Tracey says she’ll build a roadside shrine to me (this may only be in the case of death by car crash, but I hope it’s no matter what) with a cross and flowers and all the fixin’s and that she’ll come every day to replenish it with–and I’m not sure what this means–baby doll limbs. Is that a common shrine element? I hope so.

I decided I’ll end every blog post with mention of her passing, but she said she’d actually prefer if I put it in my e-mail signature. So I said I’ll sign every letter, “3/9/11 – Never Forget,” a la all the 9/11 memorial crap. She thought it a little morbid for me to use yesterday’s actual date, but I’m nothing if not totally creepy.

Then we started talking about the “Hoarders” episode where the lady’s brother was a fireman who’d died trying to rescue people from the towers on 9/11, and the pain of losing him was so great that she was over-collecting anything related to 9/11 or NYC in general or patriotism or simply the colors red, white, and blue. We decided that my “Hoarders” episode about all of the Tracey-related paraphernalia I’ve saved over the years would be pretty embarrassing. But her episode about her Katie-related collection would be much, much worse.

Because she has my FINGERNAIL CLIPPINGS!!!

BFFs! BFFs! BFFs!


on the subway


pretending to smoke at Pete’s Candy Store and looking so awkward


feeding shaved ice to a gargoyle in the East Village


and then tasting his sweet ice breath


in the changing room at Dylan’s Candy Bar

“Er” Equals “Is” in the Land of Nice Booties?

Filed under just pictures
Tagged as ,

Laura's Booty
click to see larger

Whoever Laura is, I hope she appreciates that I appreciate whoever appreciates her booty enough to write about it in public places.

And I hope that somewhere someone has written about my booty publicly, too.

Dog Debris

Filed under super furry animals
Tagged as ,

Even though I would never even consider stealing snotty, germy, needy little kids, I’ll admit that the temptation to untie this little guy from the trashcan and run away with him this morning was pretty intense:

As much as I love that dogs are allowed into so many places here, I almost like it more when they have to wait outside.

I wonder how many of them get stolen every day by girls with allergic boyfriends who just want a couple hours of slobbery fun. I’ll bet the Bramble in Central Park has been colonized by kidnapped puppies released back into the wild.