Category Archives: Just my life

To Occupied to Occupy

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Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/studiofour/

One afternoon the other week my office was dismissed early from work due to unfounded fears that the Occupy Wallstreet movement was planning to shut down the NYC subway system. Now for my French readers the shutting down of a part of the city’s transit system due to a strike or a protest is a regular occurrence that provokes some grumbling, some shrugs, and, usually, begrudging support. In New York, however, it seemed to be provoke a lot of fear and confusion.  As one of my Facebook friends smartly commented, “Don’t the protesters know that the 1% does not take the subway? They take taxis, sheesh” (or have private cars).

This got me to thinking about my (largely unexpressed) thoughts on the Occupy movement. First and foremost, this fall I’m far too occupied to participate, unfortunately. In this terrible economy I made the decision to go back to university for my master’s degree and continue to work full time. When I began in the fall of 2009 I had the vain hope that by the time I finished the economy would be improved and I would be able to find a leadership position in an arts organization that pays a living wage. Still waiting on that one. However, this leaves me very little time for anything that is not work, school or a pressing concern related to my life or one of the many projects I have going.

But more seriously and to the point: what do I think of the Occupy movement? And isn’t contesting the policies that large corporations, banks, lobbyists and the US government supported that got us into this economic mess more important than my selfish concerns? In short, yes, they are, but…

Overall, I support the Occupy Wallstreet movement wholeheartedly. I think that their biggest victory has been to move forward and reframe the political and media discourse in the United States and world-wide. The movement has brought critique of the United States’ unequal, inefficient and unethical economic, labor and education policies to a mainstream audience. It has brought a more progressive tone to debates around the role of government in the economy and private life, which is a real relief after the rise of the Tea Party movement last year.

For me personally it is very heartening to see this style of protest come back in the United States after it the anti-globalization and anti-war movements (both of which I participated in) were squashed by Bush and the general post-9/11 political climate.  It’s also disgusting (and sadly unsurprising) to see how power continues to react when threatened, whether those are police on a California college campus or on the streets of New York.

However, as a student (soon to be graduate!) of public policy, the Occupy Wallstreet movement has not articulated any concrete list of policy goals. This is a strength, because it allows the movement to appeal to a broad range of people. After all, if you are claiming to represent the 99 percent (or even the 95% or the 90%) that is a huge range of people and opinions. However, this is also a weakness because it prevents the movement from gaining political support in a way that laws can be enacted and policies can be changed.

The Occupy movement has also gained much attention because it is led and fueled by young people. It has captured the imagination of highly educated people who have found no gainful employment due to the economy and have every right to be frustrated. Of course, organized labor, activists of all stripes, veterans and a diverse crowd has also joined in the movement. Many people involved in their early twenties are coming of age politically through their participation. I remember the feeling of being 19 to 22 and protesting, feeling like it could radically shift the way the world was organized. I do not write this condescendingly when I saw that protest is a right of passage and an inalienable right. However, many “occupiers” did not experience the way the Bush administration squashed opposition to the war in Iraq or debate around any number of his policies. I feel in many ways the institutional memory between US protest movements is short (or nonexistent) and the Occupy protestors are learning lessons that those protesting for years, between the 1950s and the 2000s, had to learn again and again.

I think what I feel is important to note is that in the United States we live in an economic and governmental that is incapable of radical change. It was set up that way and that has only become more entrenched. Do I think this is right? No, I think it’s an incredible inefficient, undemocratic system, but I also think that to retain any sense of democracy it will only change gradually. This is again why I am grateful for Occupy Wallstreet for re-framing  political debate, which Nicholas Kristoff wrote about eloquently in the New York Times.

To shift the conversation in the media and the mind of the general public away from “Will their camp be cleared again? Will the protest movement survive the winter? Who are these hippes?” it is high time that Occupy Wallstreet (even though it is leaderless, I know) put forth some policy alternatives for debate and discussion. This may mean that less than 99% of people support what they are trying to accomplish, but it will also increase their changes of having a lasting impact on our policy and not just our political imagination. It’s also important for the movement to grasp some political and economic realities of the political process in the US. Paul Krugman and Adam Davidson have a few important points to consider.

These economic times have produced a lot of uncertainty, a lot of hardship, and a lot of anger. It’s important to have a public place to go with those feelings and to find a place of hope and inspiration. However, it’s also important to construct sustainable survival strategies, to help people in small ways every day, to promote equity throughout society, and to think about economic and personal innovation despite the system we live in. That’s the role I’ve carved out for myself working in education and the arts. It’s not for everyone, but it’s what works for me. It’s small, it’s quiet, but I believe in it and that’s what I will continue to push for, day-in, day-out.

Killerfemme in Pictures

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By Chrisdoodles on Instagram!

Recently I’ve had the pleasant surprise of receiving two drawings! The one above by my Instagram friend Chrisdoodles was done from a picture I posted when I was all decked out and ready to go to the Cherylween: Prellraiser dance party (you can see the original here). The picture below was on a flyer for another iteration of the Suzanne Stroebe and Caitline Rueter’s Feminist Tea Party, which I participated in when they were at the New York Foundation for the Arts. It shows me leading a discussion about feminist art and aesthetics and if there is such a thing.

I love these two pictures because not only are they graphically bold and match my aeshetic, but because they capture two sides of my life that sometimes feel very distinct from each other: there’s the side of me that wants to dress up, have fun, wear an outlandish costume, dance with my friends, indulge in silliness and and forget about the world. Then there’s the side of me that is thoughtful, easy going, cautious, and measured. I want to sit down and engage in discussions in a reasonable manner about the big questions and how to address them: inequality, culture, art, ideas. I think these two drawings show that our lives are complex, and that’s what makes them balanced, nuanced, complicated and joyous.

Paris This Time Last Year

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It’s feels strange to imagine, but exactly a year ago today I was getting on an Air France flight at JFK airport and leaving cold, damp grey November weather in New York for cold, damp grey November weather in Paris. Even in chilly November Paris sparkles. It’s just getting ready for the holidays and all the glitter that come with them, and late fall sunlight never fails to make even the dampest, greyest sidewalks inspiring.

I try to remind myself that I am lucky to live in New York, but when I look at pictures of Paris, I feel my heart start to soften and melt and nostalgia overwhelms me. This is the city I feel I am truly meant to be in. I feel about Paris in my 20’s and 30’s how I felt about New York City in my teens. There’s a deep attraction and a longing to be in a place that I feel fits all the contours of who I am, or at least who I wish myself to be.

I know it’s irrational. I live in a big city and I understand the frustrations of daily city living. It wears you down. People are rude.  It’s exhausting. But then there are the rooftops, the sky, the open markets, the cafes, the boutiques, the culture, the Seine, the rues, the quartiers, the Canal St. Martin, all the many nuances that make up Paris.

Last year I set myself a Parisian itinerary guided by collections of “bonnes addresses”  from blogs I had been reading and Pia Jane Bijkerk’s book Paris Made by Hand.  I visited my dear sister, ate croissants like there was no tomorrow (the average Parisian croissant is better than the best New York croissant, which should not come as a surprise to you), and learned about the 80’s teen pop sensation Lio.  I spent a lovely afternoon (and several awesome evenings) with my dear friend Leila, running around to indie boutiques like Corner de Createurs and La Cocotte (twice!), and doing silly things I love like going to Monoprix, having tea at Mariage Frères, cooing at beautiful clothes at Antoine et Lili, and buying bras at Princesse Tam Tam. I also just let myself wander until my feet were frozen, rode the metro just because I like it (I never do that in New York), snapped pictures, and soaked it in what I hope was enough Paris to sustain me until I can come back to the city that feels like my rightful home in the world.

Petite Atlier de Paris. Great for handmade gifts!

Near Gare du Nord

Repetto paradise on Rue du Paix

The cozy apartment of my friend Leila. I love how Parisian apartment have the most perfect, tiny balconies.

The only disadvantage being that old Parisian apartments are also walk ups. In this case 7 floors!

Noodle soup lunch at L'Alicheur, just off Rue Oberkamf

My first breakfast in Paris at Pick Clops in the Marais after my overnight flight

Rue Cremieux, stumbled upon close to the Gare du Lyon while I was on my way to catch the train to my sister's house.

Perfect Parisian pierre de taille

MiLK & Fruit Juice in NYC!

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Photo by Anne Bourgeon

It started with a tweet, “When I am I going to see Corita play?” It seemed like a simple enough question, except that the author of the tweet was Michel, of the indie band MiLK & Fruit Juice and he lives in France. Unfortunately Corita did not have (and still does not have) any plans to play a show in France. Or anywhere else outside of New York. So I wrote back, “I don’t know, when are you coming to New York? I’ll set up a show.” Then I got a better idea, “Why don’t you play a solo show with us?”  When Michel told me he was coming to NYC in September I wasted no time in booking a venue. However, I knew the other members of MiLK & Fruit Juice could not come to NYC and that being on stage alone in a new city is intimidating, and so I volunteered to be the backing band.

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

First of all, let me explain why I love MiLK & Fruit Juice: Michel writes catchy, dreamy songs that are full of heart. Some of them sound a bit twee, with with accents of toy instruments and excellent backing vocals from Marjorie and Sabine, but there’s also a twist of sadness, irony and realism. I am delighted to have met someone all the way across the Atlantic that shares so many of the same musical interests and passions as me. While that may seem like a small thing in this Internet age, when you meet in person, it still seems pretty magical.

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

On a rainy night in September at Spike Hill in Williamsburg the Pale Lights, MiLK & Fruit Juice and Corita shared the stage. Michel and I had one practice together under our belt and I was playing drums and singing back up on five of his songs. The day of the show I listened to the songs from his well-crafted album I’m Cold Handed Because I Have No Heart to Pump The Blood Through My Fingers  on repeat.  That night Michel  debuted a beautiful, vintage Silvertone guitar he had found at Rivington guitars.  I got to break out of my usual role as a guitar player and play drums, with drum sticks that Lisa Goldstein of the Pale Lights loaned to me for Michel’s set.  Apparently I kept the fact that I play drums secret from my friends, but I actually took drum lessons for several years in middle school! I never really graduated beyond a 4/4 rock beat though. In any event, it was really fun (and a little nerve wracking) to be on stage playing drums supporting a friend whose music I love and who lives so far away. Anne, who co-runs the label MonsterK7 in Montreal and Paris, took these beautiful photos and video, and Sabine was kind enough to share with me. Enjoy and if you like Michel’s music perhaps you will set up a show for him in your town! Or at least buy his record.

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

Photo by Anne Bourgeon

The Dance Party That Will Ruin Your Life

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During the day on Saturday I received this Facebook message, “Halloween snow! A white CHERYLWEEN. The dandruff of the gods is beckoning us to have a shampoo ritual! See you tonight at the Bell House!”

Leopard coat bought when I was 20 at Magpie in Portland, Oregon

In my last post I promised to show you what my nice, black outfit with tasteful gold highlights turned into. That’s right, with the application of some goody “Wake Up With Curls” curlers I turned into PRELLRAISER. What? Prell shampoo + horror movies = Prellraiser. That is, if you are CHERYL, the notorious, Brooklyn-based dance party put on by museum educators who love cats, jazzersize, sequins, video art, fake blood and authentic fun.

CHERYL: ARCTIC FURY from CHERYL on Vimeo.

Absolutely fabulous and ready for @cheryldance

I love CHERYL because it lacks any sheen of New York attitude, is friendly for both queers and hetero people and condones general arty weirdness.  Going for over three years strong CHERYL started in a tiny bar (which has since been renamed and redone) in South Brooklyn because aforementioned arts workers were frustrated they had to keep going to Williamsburg to go to the fun dance parties. They made a dance, they made a video, they found really good DJ’s and CHERYL was born.

HOW TO CHERYL from CHERYL on Vimeo.

It’s since grown into a globe trotting phenonemom, the Cherylites have been named some of the “most stylish New Yorkers” and they’ve had artist residencies and gallery shows and made some of my favorite videos. With themes like “Arctic Fury,” “7/11,” “Nausea,” “Administrative Soul,” “Sasquach on Broadway,” “The Great Depression Take Two: Electric Boogaloo,” “The White Cube,” and “Goth Spaceship” this is not your average dance party.

CHERYL: NAUSEA from CHERYL on Vimeo.

CHERYL: 7-ELEVEN from CHERYL on Vimeo.

With all their acclaim, CHERYL remains an amazingly fun party run by nice people who are glad that you are there. It’s still held regularly  in South Brooklyn, the videos are as full of socially commentary, catchy beats, and fake blood as ever, and it’s my favorite (and probably only) place I dare to wear ridiculous clothes and cut loose on the dance floor. Here’s a few CHERYL looks over the years. I hope to see you on the floor the next time!

Photo by Nolan Conway

At the White Cube, photo by Nolan Conway

Me and Andy, my friend from high school, at the White Cube

At the 7/11 party, this photo was featured in a slide show on the Village Voice's website. Yes, I made my own Slurpee hat out of pompoms and a stolen Slurpee cup.

Slurpee hat. Masking tape on my shirt. Must be CHERYL.

Customized shoes for CHERYL 7/11

EuroCheryl-28

EUROCheryl

The theme was EUROCheryl. Okay. I'm holding a copy of L'Etranger.

Sasquach on Broadway. I made this dress and reused it for the "Nausea" party, the photo of which I sadly cannot find.

Cats Conversing

Not sure which party this was for - I think "Thanks for ruining my prom, thanks for ruining my life," but I can tell you that Ida the cat stayed home that night.

Arctic Fury, the first CHERYL I ever went to I was too lazy to create a costume. Fortunately there is always a craft table, so I just put some silver sparkly stuff around my waist.

Weighty Issues: Learning to lose it and like the process

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Fall Colors

Me, now. Blouse: Brooklyn Industries, Skirt: bought from Beacon's Closet, Tights: Urban Outfitters, Shoes: Etienne Aigner (vintage, from Mom)

I feel a sense of excitement and trepidation as I write this entry. I thought that something as personal as weight was a subject for me alone to think about and that this blog, which is so personal and yet takes a measured distance from my personal life, would not be the forum to discuss it. But then my wonderfully smart and brave friend Laura wrote about her relationship to food and eating on her blog. And even my favorite fashion blogging star, Garance Dore, wrote about her experience with gaining (and loosing) weight when she moved to NYC in two parts: Part 1 and Part 2. If they can do it, I thought, so can I.

I never thought I would be someone who would want, or need, to lose weight. I was always thin, and curvy, yes, but thin. Until I wasn’t. Around the time I hit 25 and started spending more time working at a desk things started to change. I gradually noticed I couldn’t fit into pants I had worn in college. My beloved vintage dresses didn’t button any more. Quietly, I gave these things away, figuring they didn’t match my style anymore anyways. Besides, I told myself, I was active. I biked to work several days a week and swam laps regularly, took dance classes, did yoga and pilates and, being a New Yorker, walked far and often. While I was raised not to weigh myself and still don’t own a scale I noticed that even when I was swimming four days a week the scale at the gym was stubbornly stuck at 155. It says I weigh 130 on my drivers license.

Grey, black, red

Me, February 2011, 156 pounds. Dress: Brooklyn Industries dress and Ellips shoes.

“Oh, well,” I thought, “This is how things are, you get older and that’s it.” I noticed that I had to buy larger sized clothes and kept that fact to myself. I felt powerless. No one around me, not my friends, partner or family, ever said anything about my changing size and shape. I credit them with being supportive of me no matter how I look. However, I felt long from the person I wanted to be, or knew that I could be. I didn’t fully recognize myself in pictures and felt uncomfortable about shoving myself into my jeans that were progressively harder to button.

Fall back on chic black

Me, now, 136 pounds. Dress: American Apparel, tights: Hue, Shoes: Dolce Vita

Last winter I started to reflect on the fact I would be turning 30 in May. I wanted to change many of the things that I was unhappy with in my life and set its course for the direction I wanted it to go as I began my next decade. I decided writing and being happy with my employment were two of my main goals. In the back of my head I also decided I wanted to loose weight. Two of my friends from my old job had gone on Weight Watchers to amazing results. They loved the program and sang its praises. I looked at the website, almost signed up, and decided, no, I could lose weight on my own.

As soon as I decided I wanted to lose weight I started to invent excuses why I couldn’t. Some were fairly logical, such as: I work full time and am in graduate school, do I really need to put the extra pressure of weight loss on top of everything else I need to accomplish?  Other excuses were a little more ridiculous: I’m too European to worry about weight (excuse me, Eleanor, for all your airs you were born and raised in the USA), to “I’m too much of a feminist to go on a diet.”

Remember, I grew up with Riot Grrrl and “Riots, Not Diets!” was a popular slogan. And to this day I do believe that the way women are made to feel about their bodies by mainstream society is ridiculous and unhealthy. Everyone should decide what health means to them, and how they want to feel comfortable in their own skin.

One of my favorite songs as a teenager was by a beloved-by-me  Scottish Indie pop band Bis. The song was called Monstarr and the lines that stick out to me are “I cannot be normal because I’m not a size 10? Should I be embarrassed, is it such a crime? Funny how your life depends upon your waistline!”  The singer, Manda Rin, also wrote about being a feminist and loosing weight in her zine, and how she could feel positive about her body and health decisions while supporting other girls in theirs.

It was going on a lovely holiday to the Caribbean with SMH and seeing pictures of myself in a bathing suit that pushed me beyond the excuses. I looked at those photos, horrified. “That cannot be me,” I told myself. It wasn’t that I looked so overweight, it’s that I didn’t look like myself. Something had to change.

I borrowed French Women Don’t Get Fat from a supportive co-worker (the title of which I know will make many of my French friends laugh) and found it surprisingly well written and full of sensible advice about eating less and enjoying life. I also found it difficult to muster the willpower to follow the advise. In despair I found myself eating a butter croissant almost every morning, and a huge lunch, followed by a snack before class and then a snack and dinner after. I was panicking about being hungry, especially on days I had school until late. I could not leave the house without taking piles of food with me. This was not a recipe for success.

Finally, while Corita was mixing our record, I shared my feelings with Marisha, one of my beloved bandmates and a lifetime Weight Watchers member. I tried the “I’m too feminist,” excuse on her and she set me straight right away. “I’m a feminist, I’m a lifetime member, sign up,” she told me. I did, right there in the recording studio. Marisha also told me about Bitch Cakes, a super stylish, feminist, femmey lady who rides a pink bike in high heels and is also a member of WW. Sweet.

I was really nervous about my first Weight Watchers meeting. Who would be there? Would they be nice? Would it be awkward? Would I have to share? I went to a meeting near my work on my lunch break. I weighed in, signed up with the sweet receptionists, and picked up the weekly circular, which is full of good advice and recipes. I looked around. The group was mostly women, for sure, but women of all ages and some men too. Super diverse, a range of ages. Immediately I felt comfortable. This could be fun. This could be possible.

I began to look forward to the weekly meetings. They are so focused on being proactive and taking control of your life and your health, managing your expectations and being kind to yourself, as well as daring you to try new things that they really felt like cheap therapy. I could see that it wasn’t just marketing hype: Weight Watchers teaches healthy habits and takes a holistic approach.

The first time I stepped on the scale and found out I lost weight I was amazed. I never thought I could do it. When I lost my first five pounds Mel, my meeting leader, told me to go to the grocery store and pick up a 5 pound bag of carrots – that’s how much weight I had gotten rid of.  Next time I was at the co-op I gave it a try. 5 pounds is a lot to carry around!

Enjoying fall color block and dots!

Me, now, 136 pounds, in a new pair of pants, size 28! First time ever! Brooklyn Industries blouse, Urban Outfitters slim jeans, Swedish Hasbeens shoes

I’ll admit it, the first month or two was really tough. I felt resentful that things I loved, such as croissants, bagels, cheese and pasta, had to take a back seat in my life. I had to watch how much I drank on the weekends and switched my morning low-fat yogurt to non-fat yogurt. I looked at other women who seemed so much skinnier than me and yet chowed down on sandwiches for lunch and felt resentful. I had momentary freak outs looking at restaurant menus. But I stuck with it. I remembered a piece of advice I read somewhere in the WW materials, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

While I had to adjust my eating habits (and as you know, I love food) I feel lucky I didn’t have to learn how to cook and eat healthily. I was raised eating salads, lean protein and whole grains. I share a kitchen with an amazing and sensitive cook. I was already active and I made a point of sticking to my activities. But WW also pushed me to try things I never would have otherwise. I learned how to run (and like it) from my amazing friend Emily Kramer as part of her Spirit Boxing workshop (I never thought I would ever run for exercise, much less sprint up the hill in Prospect Park with a bunch of other awesome feminists and queers!). I pushed myself to workout when I was traveling for work. And I learned to be satisfied with less food. “Why do I want to eat this?” I would ask myself, “Am I tired, bored, or really hungry? Could I eat a piece of fruit instead?”

It worked. I set my first goal as to loose 10 pounds – from 156 to 146 (which was also the top of my healthy weight range for my height). When I dropped below 150 I couldn’t believe it – the first time in how many years? I reflected on what I looked like and how I felt and thought, let’s try for an even 20 pounds. Then I’d be well within my healthy weight range and also I thought keep enough meat on my bones to look healthy on my broad shouldered/broad hipped frame.

Here’s where I admit to something else: I took my time with the plan. I started at the end of March and now, in the middle of October, I’ve met my goal. But, as they say, slow and steady (and gaining a few weeks and then eating well and exercising with renewed motivation the following weeks) wins the race. My muffin top disappeared.  I recently had to buy new pants because my old ones were too baggy. My dresses fit me better than they ever have. I feel lighter, freer, more comfortable with myself. Most importantly, I did this my way with the help of a structure that encourages health and balance and self-knowledge. You read this blog, you know me. I love regional food specialties and a good cocktail or pastry, but I also know to keep it more in proportion. I also know: no more excuses. If I can meet this goal while I work full time and go to university, what else can I accomplish? How about that lifetime goal of being a writer?

The Way Life Should Be in Summer

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It’s early October, but summer is still hanging on by a desperate thread. Every day that I put on my open toed shoes I wonder if it will be the last until next season. But this little bit of summer in fall got me thinking about to the height of summer and the time I spent in Maine then. It already seems so far away, but I wanted to share some summertime memories with all of you.

My home state of Maine has had some pretty silly slogans over the past few years. I think there was a collective eye roll when “Vactionland” was the phrase that was placed on Mainers license plates. Our other catch phrase is the slightly less insulting “The Way Life Should Be.” Well, the way life should be if you like six months of winter, a sluggish economy, and being cut off from the rest of the United States (but being significantly closer to Canada, which is a benefit in my opinion).

Downeast fashion: Preloved t-shirt, Gap skirt (my "on the road" work uniform)

Relaxing on the farm: Built by Wendy t-shirt, J Crew shorts, Espadrilles from Les Toiles du Soleil

Esther Williams bathing suit. Best bathing suit ever. On Bates and Ministerial islands, Casco Bay, Maine. My favorite islands ever.

For a few short weeks in summer Maine lives up to its slogan. Days are sunny, long and not too hot. The ocean is refreshing, but swimmable. There is ample fresh lobster and seafood to eat. Farm fresh produce is abundant. The bugs of late spring have retreated a little bit. There are opportunities for hikes, beautiful drives along the craggy coastline, and boat rides to islands that can be privately yours for the afternoon.

Sunflower. Hiking in the background by SMH.

Day Lilies. Late summer Maine special.

Causeway. Deer Isle, Maine.

Because I was in Maine for work, as well as hosting a getaway weekend for my friends, I got to drive all through the state. I took highways and byways I hadn’t driven on since I was a small child. I was able to revel in the beauty of the state and see it through the eyes of an outsider.  With a place this beautiful it’s no wonder someone thought it was a good idea to call it “Vactionland.”

Eggemongen Reach, Maine

Here is New York After 10 Years

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Brownstone Home

Photo in front of my old apartment taken by Leila Bergougnoux in the fall of 2007.

These scrubbed clean, clear blue skies of late summer and early fall remind me that I moved to New York City ten years ago this week. It’s been quite a decade for New York City and for me personally.  I moved here reluctantly to attend college after a dreamy year spent living in Portland, Oregon, working very little and indulging in my creative projects and wallowing in what remained of my teen angst. After growing up in Maine I was dead-set against going to college on a quaint campus and tired of small town life in general. On visits throughout high school to New York City I feel in love. It had it all: art, culture, fashion, food and excitement. It was the polar opposite of where I came from. “Who needs trees?” I said, “The nature in the parks will suit me just fine.”

Rigging and Manhattan

New York has not ceased to amaze and surprise me, but moving here was not an easy transition. I got sick immediately from the polluted air, the noise from the construction outside of my window seemed to bore into my skull, and then September 11th happened. The events of that day and what followed completely reshaped what I expected from the city, academic, activism, and work. I really can’t talk about 10 years in New York without talking about September 11th and all that came after, but this post really isn’t about September 11th. Let’s suffice it to say this morning the public radio station replayed reporting from that morning and I had to sit down and cry.

I didn’t think I would stay in New York very long after graduation. I decided that I would give it two years after I got my diploma, but when I started working in museums and arts organizations I kept pushing that timeline back, until finally I gave up and decided to stay here. I felt like my friendships and the adult life I’ve been able to construct were too hard won to walk away from. I’ve lived in Sunset Park, Brooklyn since 2002 and slowly the borough worked its charms on me and I feel like it’s an important part of my identity. I also discovered another great thing about New York: its proximity to Europe. Flights to Europe from New York are plentiful and can be cheap if you know how to search.

If Paris is France...

But looking back over these past ten years I’ve wrote a lot about New York and I wanted to share a little bit of those thoughts to chart how my relationship to the city has changed and evolved.

“You always choose the most challenging position you can think of!” my mother chided me when I moved to New York City to go to college.  “Of course you picked the biggest, toughest, most of expensive city in the US, you couldn’t imagine less!” she reminded me when I lamented how difficult my new NYC life was.  And it was difficult.

In October of 2002 I wrote, “New York is bad posture and holding my breath. Too many aches and tight, sore shoulders and no one to work them out.”

At the brink of the (still ongoing) war against Iraq in 2003 I wrote, “I need to write something about how it feels to be in New York right now – the subway stations full of national guard, machine guns ready. How is it constricting my thoughts and hopes and playing on my fear?”

But the city still entranced me, “For me the magic of New York isn’t in Manhattan, it’s in the strange faraway feeling places in the outer boroughs that you can still take the subway train to. A collision of urban and beach, crashing waves and a $5 ride on the Wonder Wheel. Vacant lots in gentrified neighborhoods, cracking streets, rusting hunks of abandoned junk, weeds in the middle of poshness. It shows the gaps in the idea of glittery concrete and steel and shows that cities have a force that cannot be regulated.”

Rockaway Beach

Rockaway Beach

Full of Brooklyn pride, I wrote a love letter to Brooklyn for the last issue of my zine Indulgence, which I put out in 2008. “If Brooklyn were not attached to the rest of New York it would still be among the largest cities in the United States.  I’ve been living here for six years. That doesn’t make me a local, but it means I have grown to appreciate my borough through all my early-to mid-to late twenties ups and downs. Brooklyn is my immediate reality and my basis of comparison. Brooklyn feels at times just as much like a small town, an industrial landscape, and even, suburban.”

NYC Rainbow

NYC Rainbow, Fall 2007

I think it is E.B. White who describes New York best, so I’m going to leave you with his words. My mother gave me Here is New York for Christmas after I’d been living here for 4 years. I was struck by how this little book, written about New York in the Forites, captures the New York I experience every day.

The opening: “There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter–the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last–the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements.”

Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges

And the closing:

“The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now; in the sounds of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest editions.

All dwellers in cities must live with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority. In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm.”

Thank you, Mr. White. And here’s to another ten years.

Celebrating the end of our Brooklyn Museum internship in 2006 in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden

Tru Luv

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ECW + SMH, July 2011. By Dominick Mastrangelo.

I’ve told you a lot about my talented friend Dominick and the great photos he takes. He’s shot my band Corita on numerous occasions, but he does more than shoot music. Earlier this summer he came over to my apartment to do a food photo shoot with me and SMH for our food blog 2 Cooks in the Kitchen. We’ll have those photos (and recipes!) up there soon, but I wanted to take this opportunity to share this photo with you. I know SMH hates his photo on the internet, but I wanted to share this one. I love it because it’s so honest. It was taken on a Sunday. I was tired. We had been cooking in a hot kitchen at a fast pace for several hours. I was not wearing any make up, my hair is too long and out of order, and our house is a mess. But when you look at this photo none of that matters. It’s an honest portrait of two people and their feelings. That’s why I love Dominick’s photography so much.

Greetings from Asbury Park (Well, Ocean Grove)

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Asbury Park boardwalk at dusk

Ocean Grove at sunset

For the past few days I have been close to home, but faraway. I rented a small apartment with two of my good friends “down the shore” in New Jersey, a tranquil, two-hour train ride from Penn Station, but only a block’s walk from the beach and long from the crush of daily city life. I recently switched jobs and found out that I had to use up three days of vacation before the end of June. I called my friend L.J., who I have gone on adventures to Central Europe and Iceland with. Did she want to go somewhere for five days? Somewhere cheap and last minute? Yes! We dreamed of getting a super steal of a deal in the Caribbean, of jetting off to a quiet island for $300 apiece like the advertisements in the back of the New York Times travel section promise. However, after much research on every travel site we could find we found the deals to be far beyond our price range. We were depressed for a few instants, but then turned our sights to something closer. What did we want? Sun, sand and easy living that won’t strain our wallets. Why not the beaches of Long Island or New Jersey? We visit these beaches regularly on summer-weekend day trips and there’s no lack of cute towns. A little more research and we found our rental, in a historic community called Ocean Grove, right next to the storied Asbury Park.

Ocean Grove street at dusk

Nagle's, Main Ave, Ocean Grove

Ocean Grove is incredibly charming and full of historic, multi-colored, well-maintained Victorian summer homes. On Main Avenue is Nagle’s, a pharmacy and classic soda fountain turned restaurant where we had a burger our first night and a daily ice cream. The beach is popular without being swarmed and the boardwalk is well maintained. This is a long way from the hair gel, fist pumps and sleaze that has popularized by a certain television show. However, one thing we neglected to find out about Ocean Grove, is that it is owned by the evangelical Church. There’s regular worship services on the boardwalk, there’s a posting about daily scripture, you can’t go onto the beach before 12:30 on Sundays because you are supposed to be in church, and forget about buying alcohol. The advantage of this is the town is quiet and peaceful, the disadvantage that if you are made uncomfortable by rules, religiosity, and the sexism, homophobia and hypocrisy of the church (which we are) it feels a little… creepy.

Junot Diaz quote on the Asbury Park boardwalk

Marinere: American Apparel, Levi's shorts ("Mom shorts" found at Tucson Goodwill and cut off to be chique), Bensimon sneakers

Fortunately, not a 10 minute down the boardwalk is “sinful” Asbury Park, home of the Boss, Bruce Springstein, and the Stone Pony, the club where he got his start. The boardwalk pulses with life and on Saturday night you can hear the latest dance pop hits booming out over the water from the recently restored pier. There’s restaurants, bars, mini golf, ice cream stands, and The Silverball Museum, a pinball arcade full of vintage pinball machines where you pay by the hour! There’s also Asbury Lanes, a punk rock club that is also a bowling ally where $22 gets you unlimited bowling and admission to that evening’s show (a little steep for us, but a good deal for bowlers and music lovers).

Shirt: J Crew "Artist" T, Skirt: Brooklyn Industries, Worishofer Sandals, Sunglasses from in God We Trust (hah hah) in Brooklyn

The streets are bikeable and on a morning ride I relished taking deep breaths of the sea air and felt transported by the mixture of  of salt, sunscreen, sand and honeysuckle carried on the breeze. No makeup, no fancy clothes, no plans, just jean shorts, bathing suits, and sunscreen. These days have been like a gift—because they were unexpected there’s no obligation and no expectations put on this time. It’s just mine to read, relax, enjoy my friends, eat simple food and relish a sliver of the good life close to home.

Beach and boardwalk cruiser (not mine, I brought my road bike from Brooklyn)

Strawhat and shorts (cut off by me!) both found in Arizona, Esther Williams bathing suit (love!)