Remember the 80s sitcom “227” starring Jackée Harry as Sandra and Marla Gibbs as Mary? Well, Kamran and I both grew up watching it, and now he loves to say “Mary” in the way that Jackée used to on the show. Which is of course something more like MAAAAAAAAAAY-ree.
And every time he does it, it CRACKS ME UP. It’s never less funny to me.
So we were on our way to our so-so dinner at Flex Mussels the other night when we spotted this doorway and somehow thought it was so serendipitous:
Of course, as soon as we took it, we realized that there’s a 227 on basically every street in NYC. But still!
While I was walking to Kamran’s from work a week or two ago, this cover of mist descended and blanketed all of the tall buildings around me. I expected to be soaked at any moment, but it was evidently just a veil of clouds too lazy to fly any higher.
The most impressive sight for me along the way was The Corinthian, an apartment building I’ve been admiring for years. I love Kamran’s building, but if he had to live anywhere else, I’d want it to be The Corinthian. The impressive name entirely suits the 54-story, avenue-block-wide building made to look like cylinders lined up asymmetrically. It reminds me of stacks and stacks of pennies on a rich man’s desk.
Because having a lot of pennies makes someone rich in my mind, apparently.
I’m just so in love with the idea that everyone in the building has a giant bay window overlooking the East River. Even the cheapest studio has one.
Of course, the cheapest studio still rents for $2,200 a month. And the cheapest apartment for sale right now? $650,000 for a 629-foot one-bedroom. The most expensive is a 1,666-foot three-bedroom for $1,740,000.
Lately, I’ve been seeing them everywhere, but especially on Pinterest. These supposedly-inspirational quotes in stylized letters that are so nice to look at that they kind of make you forget how incredibly pointless they are.
I actually liked them for a while and even briefly considered making my own Pinterest pinboard for the ones I liked most until I just became overwhelmed with how many of them they are and maddened by how . . . just . . . fake it all is. No one’s going to be called to action because of these things. No one’s going to “DO IT” or haul up their anchor on the past because of some dumb poster.
I blame the British for starting all of this, naturally, when their totally hott Keep Calm and Carry On poster was discovered ten or so years ago:
But I don’t think that would’ve worked on anyone, either. At this point, I’m refusing to like anything other than kinetic typography like this illustrated dramatic reading of a video game review that Tracey showed me:
Or any of the not-meant-to-be-inspirational, just-meant-to-be-awesome design Lisa of Elembee.com is doing:
The other night, Kamran came home with a package for me that included an iPod Nano and all the fixin’s. I’ve been walking part of the way to his apartment from work every night and have been trying to listen to my Pandora stations on my phone but keep finding myself with a dead battery after one or two songs because I’m too irresponsible to be trusted with charging the thing. So now I get to be one of those people with my iPod snuggled into an armband, pumping my arms as I march down the street in time to whatever mid-90s alt-rock I happen to be craving at the moment.
What really struck me is how tiny the new Nano is. When I first starting dating Kamran, he was using the 1st generation iPod Shuffle, which you’ll recall looks like this:
A big stick with absolutely no screen whatsoever. Fun if you like always being surprised by how much terrible music you have in your collection. Not fun if you like actually being able to choose what you’re listening to.
But the 6th generation Nano? Tiny! A one-point-five-inch square with a touchscreen! And radio! And photos! And a pedometer! Can you believe how far we’ve come?
So far, I have it loaded with every album from 2010 that I downloaded but never listened to. We’re talking bands I totally love–Sufjan Stevens, Tokyo Police Club, Crystal Castles–and didn’t even care enough to check out their new albums because I was too busy wallowing in 2007. This is what it’s like to get old, huh?
I’m walking toward Kamran’s apartment and see a man just ahead of me stepping out of his little red sports car. He’s a little too short and squat, patterned scarf tied cunningly at his neck, expensive herringbone coat flapping open, pointed nose, grey hair curling away from his face. He aims his key fob at the car, and the headlights flash to draw attention to themselves.
I decide specifically to ignore him as I pass, even though I know a man with a car like that isn’t interested in curly-haired nerds in their late 20s, anyway. He stares into the window of the store on the corner, and just as I’m steps away, he turns and says, “Hello.” I stop pretending to stare at something off to the right and find he’s smiling. I say too breathlessly, “Hi,” and feel strangely good.
Inside the building, I’m walking to the elevators, and two of the maintenance men are parting ways. One of them looks at me, and I smile. He looks away. Then he looks back again and smiles. Then he waves. I’m friendly with all of the doormen, porters, and maintenance crew in the building, but I’m a little surrprised by the wave.
Still, feeling extra-friendly after my little sports car encounter outside, I beam wildly at him in return. And then he looks past me and says to the old lady at my heels, “Hello! Hope you’re feeling better.”
I'm Katie, a farmgirl originally from Ohio who moved to NYC in 2005 for no apparent reason. I like vintage-looking things that are actually new, filagree everything, people who don't make me feel awkward, meaning it when I say "no sleep till Brooklyn", and not trying too hard.
