Scenes From The East Village

With The Boy out of town, I took the opportunity to appreciate some girl time with The West Side Beauty and The Little Nolita Lady. Here are some shots of NYC life in the East Village.

Photos by Shanda Boyett. Copyright 2010.

Feather Dusting

Last week The Boy and I headed down to Union Square to run some errands and kept noticing something odd, even by New York standards. We saw several people walking down the street with pillows. The Boy reckoned there was some type of school bus trip meeting nearby. I thought maybe there had been an all night rave (I don't know why I thought it would have been appropriate to bring pillows to a rave, but hey, i'm old and out of touch, so what do I know.)

Anyway, we were both wrong. It was actually the celebration of World Pillow Fight Day. Eventually, The Boy and I ran right smack into the fight which was feather dusted pandemonium.

Photo by me.

A Month of Plays

One of the great things about living in Manhattan is access to all the city provides - the restaurants, the nightlife, the theater. And theater generally means Broadway.

When we lived in Texas, we would catch a touring show from time to time, but it wasn't a frequent event. In fact, I'm lucky The Boy ever agreed to attend a show with me again after the great Hairspray fiasco of 2005. We had bought tickets to the touring show, along with about a dozen of my female relatives. At the last moment, I had to go out of town for work and couldn't attend. The poor Boy was left to chauffeur a gaggle of high-cheekboned women around downtown Houston. Since then, he's never really loved musicals.

This month we tested his affinity for plays, seeing three Broadway plays and one off-Broadway play during the month.

We began with A Behanding in Spokane, chosen for the good reviews and Christopher Walken in the starring role. We had front-row seats and were mesmerized by his creepy cool performance. However, the play was inexplicably racial. The slurs and bigotry, which didn't seem to be necessary for the story, really turned me off.

I was ready for a little racial provocation the next week at the performance of Race.

The David Mamet play stars James Spader, the prick hottie Steff from Pretty in Pink but now one of the quirky lawyers in Boston Legal, Kerry Washington, David Alan Grier and Richard Thomas, of Walton's fame.

The reviews of the play have been mixed, and so is my own take on it. I found the play itself interesting, as it explores preconceptions and everyone's own built in racial biases. But I thought the performances were flat and leaden across the board. Pity.

On the other other hand, God of Carnage, about parents whose young boys have had a school yard fight and who devolve from idealized adults to immature barbarians over the course of the play, was pretty fun to watch.

The story, dialogue and characters were sharp and hilarious. The Boy

laughed out loud several times, always a good sign.

Finally, we had the good fortune to have a Broadway and TV actor living

in our building. He is currently starring in an off-Broadway play called

The Temperamentals.

"Temperamental" was code for homosexual in the 1950s and the play

explores coming out during that period as two men create the first gay

rights organization pre-Stonewall.

The performances were amazing, probably most enjoyed of all the

plays I saw in the month. Michael Urie, from Ugly Betty, was freaking

adorable and so talented. My neighbor as well blew me away with

the unique physicality he demonstrated via the different the characters

he played.

So there it is, our month of culture. This month, The Boy's in charge,

so we're probably gonna watch consecutive episodes of 'Deadliest

Catch' instead.

Can't wait.

How (not) To Wait Out A Snowstorm

A couple of weeks ago, I mocked the city's response to an impending snow storm. Schools were closed. My company told us to stay home if we could. I cheerfully worked at home that Snow Day, watching the pristine flakes fall all day long, accumulating about 10 inches in the city. However, it was hardly the storm of the century. I didn't get a chance to play in the snow, but ventured out for a movie that evening. Pretty tame stuff, even for someone like me who's still only experienced snow about a dozen times.

Fast forward two weeks and another impending snow storm. The response this time was more measured. The city didn't cancel school until the morning after the worst of it hit, but most of my co-workers were prepared to stay home again. This time, that was indeed the right choice. The city was ultimately covered in18 inches of snow.

After putting in a series of 14-hour days for a Friday deadline, I didn't have the choice of staying home. I tromped through a foot of pristine powder at 6:30 am to ensure I arrived at work in time for an 8 am meeting with the Grand Poobah. I passed a cross-country skier taking advantage of the relatively deserted sidewalks. It was just he and I and the swoosh swoosh of passing skis. I expertly navigated the cross-town trek from the subway to my office, past the World Trade Center site which was also ambling to life despite the treacherous weather.

It continued to snow all day, I noticed, as I watched it's frenetic descent in the windy enclave of downtown Manhattan. At lunchtime, I shared a social moment with a nearby table as we watched, incredulous, as a jogger outside loped by in shorts and no shirt.

I hoped to leave the office before it was dark, before the temperature dropped and the powdery snow turned to ice. Instead, I worked until almost 9 pm. When I left, the city was quiet. The streets and sidewalks were clear. The snow had stopped and I headed home. It was as if the snowstorm never happened. I was just another workaday career girl in waterproof boots making her way to the subway and the long trip home.

Photo by me.

Jammed Up

One of my favorite memories from growing up is the amazing breakfasts my dad would prepare on weekends and special occasions. Bacon and grits and pancakes, Oh My! Round eggs. Toast. Yummy biscuits. With jam.

Fast forward 20+ years later, and I still love me some breakfast. Unfortunately, The Boy doesn't do Kitchen, so if I want a comforting breakfast meal prepared for me, I've got to do what the rest of the New Yorkers do, and head out for brunch.

The West Side Beauty and I usually head down to Soho on Saturday mornings for a little Physique 57 action and post-workout celebrating at the neighborhood's vast array of restaurants.

I love the ritual of determining our location each week and the wonder of checking out a new menu and all the possibilities it represents foodwise. We've checked out Balthazar, The Cupping Room, Hundred Acres, Country Cafe, Jane, etc.

We've drooled over the $16 bread basket at Balthazar (though never purchased it), we've stared breathless at the southern inspired morsels from Hundred Acres. But one thing we've noticed almost across the board, is that jam and toast are often missing.

That's right, fellow feasters. We've been to locations that were "out of jam" (Country Cafe) or "only serve jam on Sundays" (Jane). Wha?

At the other locations, toast (or the infamous Balthazar Bread Basket) are extra. They don't come with the meal. Really?

Now seriously, New York is supposed to be the center of civilized living. That means I'm paying $15 to $20 for eggs and breakfast meats. So I gotta tell you. There ain't nothing civilized about a breakfast without toast and jam (or biscuits and jam or croissants and jam).

I think we need to band together to make things right. Let's protest! Save the Jam! Support the Toast! Your breakfast will thank you.

Pursed Off

It was one of those packed subway days where I was lucky to get my preferred commute location - standing in front of the doors on the non-open side for the express commute. This is the best location. You don't have to hold onto a pole, you are out of the high-traffic areas, and you can spread out to read your paper. Well, usually you can. Last week my primo location was compromised when a giant-purse-wielding hussy wedged her way into my consciousness.

So as I understand it, the polite thing to do when entering the subway with a giant purse, backpack or baby in a stroller is to fold them up and rest them on the floor (the babies especially love this.) Put another way, if anything you are holding has the potential to poke someone in the eye or sack them like a quarterback, you should remove it from your shoulder and find a less dangerous place to store it during the duration of the subway ride. Apparently this bristly gal didn't get the memo. Her giant purse had me cornered. I gave up reading my paper altogether. And when her sleuth moves threatened to fill the tiny gap between us, I balked! I asked her (somewhat politely) if she could move her bag. "It's got me cornered here," I said, good naturedly as I pretended to be boxed in.

She snarled. "You're on a subway. Get over it." She didn't move her bag.

Not to be outdone, I mumbled, hand on hip, eyes full of disdain, "The polite thing to do would have been to move your bag." Thanks for stating the obvious. What a comeback. It was one of those moments where you want to be pithy and precise, but just. Can't.

Anyway, the moral of this story is, I bought a smaller bag. I don't want to be a purse whacker or a bag bully. I just want to stand in my corner and read my paper.

Xmas Time Is Here

Retailers aren't waiting until next week to get the city all gussied up for what I'm sure they are hoping will be a less than dreadful Black Friday. On my walk home tonight, I noticed designers in the shop windows of Club Monoco, Bergdorff Goodman, a jewelry store and a furniture store making magic. The city is beginning to sparkle. Now if only the economy would follow suit.

Poo, on you

So I guess the universe was listening yesterday when I railed on people who overuse cabs. I guess the universe believes in punishing judgementalism. 

This morning on the subway, it smelled like poo. I mean REALLY. It smelled very bad. And it didn't dissipate at any point during the ride. I am pretty certain there was a little pile of poo somewhere in the car. I even kept checking my shoes, you know, like you do when you're walking through grass and you smell something foul. Anyway, I never did find out for sure what was causing the smell. I just left the car. I think that was the best course of action, all things considered. I didn't take a cab though.  Take a little poke in the eye, universe!

Obnoxious Commuting

In these more thrifty times, I have recently heard something that horrified me! Several of my co-workers, even those who live far uptown from our office, sometimes or even daily take cabs to work. Cabs! In this era of layoffs and economic meltdowns and mortgage foreclosures. Just to give you some perspective, it probably costs at least $18 one way to take a cab downtown to my office. That's with no traffic! That's almost $40 a day both ways! $200 a week! That adds up to more than you people in Texas are paying for gas in a month. 

Now I admit to taking a cab from time to time, especially after an evening of rambunctious frivolity. But to get to work? Whatever it's faults, the subway system in New York beats sitting i traffic any day, is better for the environment, and is CHEAPER at about $2 per ride (even less if you have a monthly pass). I like to spend money just as much as the next manhattan goddess (just ask The Boy if you need confirmation), but cabbing it to work from uptown just strikes me as lazy and economically moronic.

A Law and Order Day

I had occasion to go to the courthouse this week, and the one that is showcased on the TV show Law and Order. A passerby helped me grab a shot of myself on the steps.  Later in the day, T-Rex and I were headed to Chelsea Piers to check out the pool. We took a wrong turn and ended up at the Law and Order casting studios. Perhaps it was a message to me that I shouldn't shirk jury duty or face the consequences . . .

Room with a View

So The Little Nolita Lady is searching for a new apartment. One of the options for her and her new roommate is a two bedroom in the financial district. Unfortunately, one of the bedrooms doesn't have windows, which is a cause of concern for the new roommate (which also, The Boy is urging me to point out, is illegal. All bedrooms must have windows. Anyway . . .) I told The Little Nolita Lady her roommate shouldn't worry about it. We've spent hundreds of dollars to completely block out our bedroom windows, effectively creating a cave. 

In fact, in New York, sometimes a bedroom view isn't that great of a thing. Just ask the West Side Beauty. Her new neighbors have taken to spending time on their roof, with a perfect view of her bedroom. She can see and hear what they are doing and . . . well, you see the problem. 

So my message to The Little Nolita Lady's future roommate - take the apartment and rejoice that you don't have to buy shades.

Houston, we have STORAGE!

After two years in the big city, we have reached a turning point - extra storage. I know to people in other parts of the country, storage is no big deal. You have extra closets, or a garage or an attic. For New Yorkers, closet space is limited and precious. Many apartments only have one closet for the whole space. That means it must store clothes, shoes, coats, suitcases and everything else. We built some extra closets into our space, and when our linen closet was finished, I cheered!  But we still had a bunch of junk we were storing in our fire escape on the sly. So when we found out this week that a storage bin in the basement had opened up, it was huge, and very welcome, news. 

Everything Sucks, Let's Get Drunk

Ventured out to Ulysses in the Financial District tonight. Thought it might be slow because of all the financial turmoil going on, but it was hoppin'. Perhaps everyone figured they might at least enjoy the coolness of the late summer evening and a foamy brew, even as their investments and careers tanked. Economic crises blow.

Crane Your Head

I think many of you heard about the crane collapses here. I still can't believe they made national news, but that's another story.

Anyway, when I was walking around today, I saw this big bad boy, and it really blew my mind. I think because this building is so narrow itself, and the crane is so high - probably 50 or 60 stories. It inspires awe at both the ingenuity that enabled cranes to be developed, as well as the potential for disaster we now know is possible. They are doing new construction on my street, but thankfully it's only a 5 story building. Like many in other neighborhoods, I would be less than thrilled to have this in my back yard.

It's Official

It's official. I am tired of winter. Of wearing heavy coats and dark colored tights. My hands are desparate to be free of claustorphobic gloves. Spring! Release me!

Sunday In The Park

Did an early morning run with The Little Nolita Lady this morning. Here's what we saw:

1. A jogger juggling 3 red balls
2. A high school orchestra rehearsing in a small outdoor ampitheatre in the park
3. A priest handing out palm fronds for Palm Sunday
4. A woman leading a donkey in a Palm Sunday procession
5. A choir and bell ringers in same procession

Snow Day

Snowing out my window.