The other night, we hosted our friend Polina (aka Truly Cool Parent), who was in town for New York Fashion Week. She came to dinner with her wardrobe stylist-slash-art director Nikki. We dined on coconut chicken curry and the finest durn cupcakes in New York City (my apologies for rocking the worlds of Magnolia and Billy’s advocates).
Polina and Nikki are the queens of fashion photography in Indianapolis, so Cool Mum and I quizzed them on their line of work because the only thing we are more clueless about than parenting is fashion. We loved hearing stories as micro as working out details for a shoot and as grand as effecting cultural change in Indianapolis.
Since we moved up here, fashion has occupied more space in my consciousness. Not that it ever occupied much. (What do you mean Hypercolor shirts went out of style? You press the shirts, AND THEY CHANGE COLOR! These are shirts of the future, if anything.)
I even went on an online clothes shopping binge towards the end of last year. Winter was coming, and I didn’t want to alternate the same two sweaters that I did during our first winter here. Thanks to Slickdeals, I picked up better-fitting jeans, Merino wool sweaters, two corduroy blazers, a wool pea coat, and a crate of slightly irregular purple Z. Cavariccis (no i didn’t).
Despite my shopping spree, I still feel fashionably inadequate; my clothes just aren’t cool enough. It doesn’t help that a lot of friends here work in fashion and design and always look swank. And it especially doesn’t help that after dinner with Polina and Nikki, Cool Mum asked me if I think that my hairstyle is outdated. Apparently, she does because this is not a typical after-dinner cleanup question.
Even when I have decent clothes, my fashion sense is bankrupt. I could be the all-time champion of Project Run-away. One day I went to work sporting a nicer shirt (that happened to be striped) and my cool new pinstripe dress pants. CM pointed out (after work, of course) that I shouldn’t wear striped tops and bottoms together. I checked online, and one commenter on a forum called the combination “horrific.” That makes me long for the days when CM called my clothes choices “not bad.”
How’s your fashion sense: Fetching or retching?
Post a comment (9)Leading up to Christmas, I was feeling that my storytelling reserve was empty. It must have been all of those overlong, self-obsessed New York Story posts that I churned out. So during some free time during Christmas break, I stumbled upon this revolutionary new practice that would improve my vocabulary, fuel my imagination, and teach me from masters of the written word: reading.
I have rarely read for recreation. I read the Lord of the Rings series and a few books like it because, despite my looks, I am a big nerd. People usually mistake me for a small nerd, me being 5′5 and all.
I picked up some good deals at a used bookstore and Amazon. Since Christmas, I’ve read
- Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman
- The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King
- American Gods by Neil Gaiman
- The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
- The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
- Stardust by Neil Gaiman
I spend at least an hour on the subway round-trip everyday; I have plenty of reading time. After looking for the strong points within each storyteller, I’ve felt refreshed when it comes to my own writing. Now I just need to put down some of these page-turners and start writing!
What kind of books or which authors do you like to read?
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If we knew what was good for us, we would stay away from IKEA. Our first big trip to the yellow and blue monster was a disaster. I’ll never forget that fateful trip though I quickly forgave Cool Mum. Despite that bad memory, we find ourselves returning to the Swedish palace. We can’t resist the affordable furniture and, most importantly, the affordable food. Almond cake… oh, the almond cake.
With the recent move into an apartment with roommates, we had to get more creative with our furnishing. For some reason, I didn’t notice that our bedroom didn’t have a closet. We have the coat closet to store our clothes, but it isn’t enough room for the three of us. And with roommates now, storing our underwear in the kitchen cabinets is a good way to have them accidentally broiled in the oven.
So, my friend John and I headed to IKEA to acquire two affordable dressers.
When planning a trip to IKEA, it is best to estimate how long you think it will take and then add two hours. And be prepared to come home from your shopping trip only to realize that you forgot to purchase anything but meatballs and lingonberry soda. Unfortunately, I ignored this wisdom.
We went by public transportation, which meant taking the subway to the free water taxi across the East River to Brooklyn. We thought that we could carry the dresser boxes back to Manhattan and then take a cab back to the new apartment, henceforth known as the Cool Duplex (since it has two floors).
We got to the store and of course headed straight to the cafeteria for affordable lunch. We then did affordable shopping.
At the end of our winding shopping trip, things got complicated. We picked up the boxes for our two dressers and discovered that they were ytterst tung! (Swedish for freakin’ heavy!) I wussed out due to back problems, so we weren’t carrying these boxes to the cash register, much less to Manhattan.
We decided that we needed a vehicle to get the stuff back to the Cool Duplex. There were no cars nearby to rent, and a taxi would have been $70. We called Cool Mum and John’s wife (who were hanging out), and they said to take the taxi. Common Sense suggested, “Yes, let’s pay a little more to get the job done and learn our lesson for next time.” But Frugal Sense won out by screaming, “No! Take the ferry back to Manhattan empty-handed, rent a Zipcar (an hourly rental car), drive to Brooklyn, buy your stuff, drive back to Manhattan to the Cool Duplex, drop the stuff off, and return the Zipcar. It will save you $30!”
We left IKEA having bought meatballs, soda, and a $5 plastic stepstool for Cool Baby. We got to John’s apartment, and I reserved a Zipcar for 2 hours (4–6pm), which would cost about $35. We were to pick up the car from a garage around the corner from the Cool Duplex. My plan was perfect.
We picked up the Zipcar, raced down to Brooklyn, and hit traffic. We eventually made it to the store, parked, and ran inside to find our cart of items in the same place we left it. We assembled our haul, raced to the cashiers, and hit traffic. We finally made our purchase, picked up cinnamon buns to appease the women, loaded the car, and hit traffic.
And this where God takes over. Stuck on the highway, it becomes clear that we’re not going to return the car in time. That’s OK though because you can call Zipcar to extend your reservation by 30 minutes and avoid the $50 late fee. John calls. It’s 5:45. He’s on the phone and then ruins my day: someone else has reserved our car for 6:00 pm. He talks to a rep, and there’s no way getting around it. I’m going to be charged the $50 late fee. So, after all of the extra time, travel, and stress to save $30 with the Zipcar instead of a taxi, I’m going to spend even more money and make someone else late for their plans. I wanted to melt down.
But instead, I let go. I told myself that we should have listened to the ladies, and it was a dumb mistake, and it would cost me money, but God has blessed me with a lot more than $50. Then something very cool happened. At 5:57, John made a call. After a minute, he exclaimed, “I just extended the reservation!” He explained that he felt God tell him to call Zipcar again because the person who reserved the car canceled their reservation. At first, John doubted, but went ahead and called because there was nothing to lose. We exulted and high-fived all the way home.
Maybe we should have listened to the girls, but I’m happy with the cool God story we got instead, along with the cinnamon buns.
We’ll probably be back to IKEA this weekend. We hope for a less dramatic time. We’ll let you know.
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photo: photoeverywhere
This is the story of an island.
It was almost an accident that they ended up on The Island, but it was no accident. It was the machinations of an intricate plan with ancient roots.
Each of them were lacking direction of a sort, tossed about by the waves. Stripped of the comforts of home, wandering the jungle, they were scared, misplaced, doubtful, but alive with hope.
This is because The Island is special. It transforms and it hones. It offers mysteries and histories deeper than the waters that surround it. Somehow, on The Island, they found their way.
But some of them left. And some were left behind. Turmoil ensued. Maybe they were never supposed to leave. But maybe they were.
This week, we begin the next chapter in the story about The Island. And the story will go to lengths more extreme than we could have ever fantasized.
But the story is real.
The Island is Manhattan. Cool Mum and Cool Baby left weeks ago, but now they come back. Our future will be chaotic. Questions loom like skyscrapers and statues; answers may lie in their shadows.
Our story is landing somewhere, but we don’t know where. Our hope is secure, though sometimes we can’t help but feel lost. But we’re ready for the next chapter. Cool Mum is pregnant.
Post a comment (8)As we all know, Conan O’Brien hosted his last episode of The Tonight Show last Friday. I watched his closing comments online the next morning, and this statement stood out to me as brightly as Conan’s red hair:
“All I ask of you is one thing: please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism — it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.”
On the exterior, I am kind, soft-spoken, and a little funny. But under that thin layer lives a very cynical soul. If I took away that cynicism, I’m not sure if I would recognize myself.
The cynicism serves its purpose. It protects me. It makes me feel better about myself by pushing others down. It contributes marginally to my sense of humor. However, as is the case with so many things in this world, what makes me feel good is actually a cancer. Like The Bachelor (two hours every week? really?).
I want to be kind — truly kind. I want to be happy for the successes of others and applaud their efforts without planting devious motives in their heart. At first, I think that the opposite of cynicism is naïveté. I’m wrong though; it’s love. And whatever quality I think is enhanced by cynicism, like my humor, can be enhanced more by love and the positivity and creativity that come with it.
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