The Weekend Has Landed! The Magical Edition!

This week has been both very long and very short. Thanksgiving seems like a lifetime ago, but I'm astonished at how quickly the week has gone - and what I've managed to fit in! I love weeks where I'm manic, but oh, how they hurt by the end. In a good way, like the pain that comes after a good workout, or when you burn the roof of your mouth on hot pizza (usually following a good workout, because why else do we do it, right?)

This weekend is no relief, but I don't care because it's Christmas!!! Or at least the beginnings of. This is almost the best part of Christmas - the prep. H1 and I have decided to have a little Christmas soirée in our wee little apartment this year*. I know what you're thinking - isn't our wee apartment actually very wee, and how will you ever have a party there? - but it's big enough. It'll be fun! It'll be cosy! It's Christmas, maybe a miracle will happen and we'll discover an extra room!

So this weekend's all about planning. Planning and partying, because I'm not the only one with this bright, 'Hey, we should celebrate for Christmas!' idea. Tonight I'm off for a couple of drinks with some friends, followed by dinner with other friends. Tomorrow morning I intend to decorate the house (a more challenging proposition than it would seem, thanks to this very helpful little guy).

Helping is his favourite thing. Unfortunately, he has paws instead of fingers, so all he can do is bat valiantly at whatever I'm trying to put up. Not his fault.

Tomorrow afternoon H1 and I are going to buy all the food and all the wine for the party, and I'm finally going to place that Amazon order that's been lurking in my cart for a week, because we need plastic bubbly glasses and napkins and probably a lot more things that I've forgotten about**. I'm not quite convinced about using plastic, because you know, environment and also a little icky? But I'm not buying 20 new proper champagne glasses, because we just always break them. I did find some reasonably cool ones in my involved search.

Sunday I have brunch with more friends, then dinner with some others, and at some stage I will do my Christmas cards and crack on with the Christmas present shopping!

Hmmmm. Now might be a good time to suspend my newspaper subscription for the weekend. There doesn't seem to be enough of it (weekend, not newspaper - there is always so much newspaper). Somebody tell Obama, please - I'm sure he'll fix it. Him or Ryan Gosling.

Because I'm buying stuff for other people, and also I had a wee meltdown this morning when I realised I wanted to clean out every one of my cupboards and I didn't know where to begin, and so introducing more stuff into this apartment is currently verboten (the more stuff, the less room for people!) I'm not going to get this. Even though it's awesome, it is just another impractical thing that I want. But I don't need it, I have Apple Maps. Which...is actually making me think I need it more. I could carry it round in my bag with me, and pull it out every time somebody asks me how to get to Times Square (what is currently the most hostile country? Because I would point to it, and it would still be better than Times Square).

This is an impractical thing that I want. Image: Fab

That is me! What are you up to this weekend?

*Because I know he'll call me on this: I decided it would be fun, then badgered him until he gave in, with the definitive statement that this is to be a stress-free, laid-back, entirely enjoyable zone. And it will be. An entirely stress-free party that is also MAGICAL and AMAZING and the best party anyone's ever been to, in my perfectly spotless apartment, with stunningly beautiful and seasonally appropriate (but not tacky) decorations, and a veritable feast of home-cooked, organic, delicious and original canapés***.

**I'm not entirely sure how anybody did it before Amazon, actually. Did they, like, leave the house and go to the store and buy plastic champagne glasses? Because that seems like a waste of time and also a bit depressing.

***I have just realised where H1 was coming from when he said sometimes I make things harder than they need to be.

Express: Pow! Biff! Wow!

I'm not really the superhero sort, but I'm married to H1, which means I've seen pretty much all the superhero movies that have come out in the last few years. Spiderman with Tobey Maguire? Seen all of them. Batman? Yes, of course, even if I didn't quite remember seeing the first of the latest lot and H1 had to talk me through the plot while I ummed and ahed (I think I saw it.) The Avengers? Uh-huh, and the stand-alone Iron Man movies as well. Spiderman with Andrew Garfield? No. Lines have to be drawn somewhere, and for me it's when they remake a movie a mere ten years after a perfectly fine attempt was last done. Even though I do adore Emma Stone, and would make an effort to see a Wal-Mart commercial if she was in it.

So with that 'fessed, I have a secret...

My 'I have a secret' face.

This dress is a superhero dress.

A superhero dress is different from a superhero costume. We can all be relieved about that, because there's no way I could pull off skintight leather* the way Anne Hathaway did as Catwoman, or Scarlett Johansson did as whatsherface** in Avengers. I don't even think Iron Man's suit would work for me - everyone would be pointing at my chest and muttering about how it's obviously fake. The Hulk, maybe..

But I don't need to worry about it, because I don't need a superhero costume, and neither do you, probably. You DO need a superhero dress, though. This is different from what I wrote about a little while ago. A superhero dress isn't necessarily one that makes you feel invincible (although if it does, all the better). A superhero dress is a superhero in its own right.

This is my full superhero dress:

And this is why it's a superhero.

1. Versatility. In the above photo, it was uncommonly warm for North Carolina at the end of November, so I rolled the sleeves up a little. In summer, I do the same and lose the leggings. In winter, I put a collared shirt underneath, with French cuffs sticking out the end of the sleeves. I wrap a belt around it sometimes, or, if I'm planning on eating a lot or I've been slacking on the Pilates classes, I leave the belt off and enjoy the '60s shift effect. It can be dressed up or down. If I am wearing leggings, I can wear it in the office. It is almost always appropriate.
2. Ease. It doesn't need ironing. It's made of quite a heavy cotton, and any wrinkles just fall out with gravity after wearing it for a few minutes. It doesn't need anything underneath, or over it, to make it decent (other than the standard underpinnings, of course). It is black and cream. I'm yet to work out what it doesn't go with in my wardrobe.
3. Comfort. It is like wearing pyjamas, but without the crazy lady connotations. 

I would say that if you don't own a superhero dress, to go out and buy one stat, but they're not something you can find everywhere. You have to wait for them to come into your life. Hopefully, like real superheroes***, they'll do that just when you need them the most.

I found this one in a J.Crew in a charming town in Connecticut, of all places. I didn't buy it immediately, mostly because buying anything from J.Crew in Connecticut is an act designed to make you feel like the world's biggest cliché, but I did buy it (yeah, I'll show you, CT J.Crew). I've since seen it multiple times in other J.Crews, in different colourways and designs (the blue version with the sweet little anchor came very close to moving in with me not long ago). What is truly amazing, though, is that I've never seen it on anyone else. Because it is a superhero dress, you see.

I'm just going to end with the obvious. When you see a superhero wall...

That parking sign's pretty super too. $5 parking is mythical in New York.

...make sure you're wearing a superhero dress.

Shazam! Dress: J.Crew, glasses, Ray-Ban, bag, Kate Spade.

*How DO they take that off? Remember in Friends, when Ross got his leather pants stuck? And made paste pants? Is it like that? Now that I've ruined your enjoyment of envisioning beautiful women taking off leather (I am going to have fun checking out what Google searches have brought people here in the next few days, aren't I?), I'll stop.

**Arbitrary and mostly redundant sexy woman, I think was her name.

***There's an oxymoron for you.

Explore: Winston-Salem, North Carolina

Now, as you hopefully remember, I spent a long weekend in North Carolina last week.

This was actually not the first time I'd been to North Carolina. That state and I go way back, all the way to 2006, when I spent a few months there working at a summer camp there. North Carolina was my first introduction to the States. It's where I started to learn how incredibly varied the world and its people are, and what high fructose corn syrup is*, and what an incredibly high value I place on daily showers and time to myself. It was good for me.

Good for me, but hard. Camp was hard. And when I think of North Carolina I think of camp, so knowing that I was returning to the state where it** all happened I got...feelings. So many feelings. Feelings all around me***. I was, to say the least, both nervous and excited about going back.

My friends live in a different part of the state than where camp was. I remembered that the closest city to my camp was quite a cool, artsy place, and questioned my friend as to whether we could visit it at some stage, so clearly I was more excited - or curious, maybe - than nervous. I once again forgot, however, that the US is a size I would describe as ridiculously big. My friend, who is used to it, thought for a couple of seconds and then replied that we could, it was only a few hours away. I shut that down immediately. A few hours is too long for something I only slightly cared about.

We did, however, go to Winston-Salem, a small city (town? City?) not far from where they live. I had actually been there before, too, on the 4th of July break from camp, but all I remembered of it was a teacup pig, a hot tub, fireworks, and that it was named after the cigarettes. Or maybe the cigarettes were named after it. They grow, or used to grow, tobacco there, anyway.

We didn't go to any tobacco plantations, my friend being well aware of how unimpressed I am by smoking, and how uninteresting I find things growing. We did go into the cool part of town known as the arts district, where it's a little grungy, but in a good way, and the buildings are painted colourfully, the coffee and food is good, and the shops sell things divided pretty equally between 'quite cool' and 'total hippie crap'****.

This was such a different place from camp I could have almost forgotten I was in the same place. In truth, I wasn't really. North Carolina is a huge state, and varied. You'd think I, with my notation of exactly the same thing pertaining to Brooklyn, a considerably smaller area, would have realised this, but no. Guilty.

That said, there were similarities.

We rounded off our day in Winston-Salem with a walk by a new lake that is in the process of filling up. This lake might not have actually been in Winston-Salem, but it was undoubtedly in North Carolina. Despite it being the last, final days of autumn, when everything looks a bit sad and clingy, it was familiar to me, even though I had never been there before. I had seen those trees and run by that water and stared up at that sky.

North Carolina is a good place. I didn't need to have so many feelings.


*Nasty, is the answer.

**'It' being many, many things - some good, some neutral, some bad.

***Yes, actually, but this is mostly a joke. At camp we had one male (out of a pitifully small number) who somehow - and I'm still not sure how - got a reputation for being 'emo'. Emo was not something I'd ever heard of before (despite having recently dated a man who liked the music of both Death Cab for Cutie and Dashboard Confessional) and basically it blew up into a three month long, camp-wide joke that he had feelings. So many feelings. Somehow even the kids got in on it. It was definitely one of the highlights of that summer.

****Happens in every arty place.

Eat: Thanksgiving Dinner

So last week was Thanksgiving.

I wasn't feeling it at all in the lead up to the event, and now that it's over, I feel like it never happened. Thanksgiving came at a highly inconvenient time this year. I was busy, and when I wasn't actually busy  busy I was very busy being grateful that I didn't have to do anything more taxing than getting myself onto a plane and to North Carolina. As you can tell - total chaos around these parts. It was mad.

Not really having time for Thanksgiving means not getting to enjoy the anticipation that goes along with it. As I've mentioned before, I love Thanksgiving. It is a truly excellent holiday, based solely around hanging out with friends, or family, or friends who may as well be family, and eating till you feel sick, then adding a bit extra for good measure, and acknowledging all the while how lucky and thankful you are. It is the perfect American holiday, combining food* with football and a decent helping of schmaltz.

The funny thing about Thanksgiving is that I'm not really all that fond of Thanksgiving food. Offer me turkey any other day and I'll probably go for something else. I like it, but it's a bit meh really, isn't it**? I do like the sides, but sweet potatoes are a staple part of my diet, appearing on my dinner table at least twice a week, vegetables are vegetables, and stuffing - well, stuffing is a miraculous thing, which I'm very grateful is not available to me more during the year.

But when it comes to Thanksgiving, I'm not really there for the dinner, even the stuffing-based part of it***. It's all about the event for me. Thankfully (ha) we don't have to choose, having, as we do, good friends who can cook a mean meal and host a great party. We have spent the last three Thanksgivings with this couple, half of whom I have known since the grand old age of five, in various locales around the USA*****, and they have done all manner of great things, including cooking us awesome meals when we are in their home, helping us cook awesome meals when they are in ours, keeping wineglasses full, and driving us to and from airports******.

This particular Thanksgiving was no exception. We joined them in their new home of North Carolina the day previous, and proceeded to eat pretty solidly for the next four days. On the day itself, the male half of the couple rose at early o'clock to throw a turkey in the crockpot, then again when we stirred mid-morning to serve us up a US breakfast feast of bacon, sausage, eggs, and biscuits, as a precursor to the main event.

After a lovely day spent lounging around in front of a table of bubbly and cheese, we sat down to a delicious meal that we definitely played a part in (I peeled some sweet potatoes). This was, as I understand it, a pretty typical Thanksgiving feast: turkey, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans,  carrots, corn, more carbs in the form of stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy, and yet more carbs in the form of rolls (I am beginning to work out exactly why this holiday is so appealing).

It was delicious.

I moved away from this table as little as I could manage.

Turkey and sweet potatoes. Cooking turkey in the crockpot frees
up dishes, and also pretty much guarantees moistness (ew, that word!)

Crescent rolls, a more bread-y type of croissant phenomenon.

After all of this, you'd think I'd be done for the day, but I, ladies and gentlemen, am no amateur, and just because I'm not actually an American doesn't mean I can't keep up with them. We gave ourselves a short break, before moving onto an amazing pumpkin cheesecake, which I had previously goaded the baking-shy female half into making through the medium of Facebook (that is, I goaded her through Facebook, she didn't make it through Facebook - it is not yet capable of that).

She needn't have worried - it tasted like pumpkin heaven.

And so that was Thanksgiving. We ate a lot more over the break, and not just leftovers, either, but the main point - as it always has been and always should be - was coming together with friends and giving our thanks over a good meal. And that we did, well and truly.

And now, in the traditional American follow-up, I am off to the gym.


*Let's face it, Americans are top notch when it comes to celebrating via food.

**No more so than chicken though, which I do often go for. Maybe it's because I haven't grown up with turkey, and so don't appreciate how exciting it can be.

***I'm there for the dessert****.

****Kidding. Mostly.

*****They keep moving. We are gunning for Hawaii as their next living destination.

******No small deal for New Yorkers. When they come to us we're all like, "oh, no biggie, you can catch a cab." When we go to them they're all like, "oh, no biggie, we will drive for four hours to gather your stranded selves from the airport."

The Weekend Has Landed! The Four Day Edition

The weekend is here!

I'm not as excited as I normally am about this, because thanks to Thanksgiving, I haven't worked since Wednesday morning. Instead, I have been enjoying a highly extended weekend.

It's been an exhausting one, in the way that eating vast quantities of food and lying around reading and gossiping can be considered exhausting. It's also been lovely. H1 and I have spent it with friends - the third year we've celebrated Thanksgiving with these friends - and have lived up to the American traditions of eating too much and sleeping it off before returning for more rather nicely.

Tomorrow, we shall return to our home for the exciting remainder of the weekend, to be spent doing laundry, tidying our house, and panicking about Christmas, which has, once again, used Thanksgiving as a wall behind which it can hide itself to launch a stealth attack on our sanity. It's the last chance we'll get to 'relax' until the New Year, and I intend to well and truly make the most of it.

What are you up to this weekend?

P.S. There will be no 'impractical thing I really want' this week, as a nod towards the monstrosity that is Black Friday. Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday because it is, traditionally, so anti-consumerist, but Black Friday totally adulterates it in a decidedly disgusting way. It will return next week, when people aren't killing others so they can save a couple of hundred dollars on another TV they don't need.

Oh, we went for a walk, too. Go us!

Express: Dressing an Apartment

I am running out of wall space.

When H1 and I moved to the Upper West Side, we were pretty much completely sold on our apartment when we saw how much charm and character it had - brick walls and multiple levels and romantically uneven wooden floors. We pretended in front of the broker like it wasn't all that, slouching around the place like unimpressed seventeen year olds, but the looks we kept throwing each other clearly indicated that we both loved the place unconditionally, and were prepared to throw our budget out the window to get it.

We were so taken with the charm that we managed to totally overlook the slight downsides, like the teeny-tiny kitchen, mismatched bathroom, and lack of wall space. We had - and have - a decent amount of artwork, and it was only after we had signed the contract, had the contents of our bank accounts removed, and carefully given up the rights to our future unborn children that we began to realise it might not all fit. Turns out brick walls and multiple levels don't naturally lend themselves to displaying art the way our bright white box of a previous apartment had. There's a reason art galleries tend to go for the bright white box look, rather than the crumbling charm look.

We made it work. The brick walls had enough nails and wall mounts left in them from previous owners that we were able to hang some of our larger pieces on them, including our oversized* world map, which made it into our spare bedroom/bike store/office.

I'm still a fan of where that is and how it looks, but if you look carefully at the office corner (shouldn't take long - it is a space best described as dinky) you'll see the obvious, glaring problem.

There is just no more wall space in the office area to put anything up. That wouldn't be a problem if I just never bought or produced anything else for our walls, but, much like I can't stop myself buying jewellery when I find something amazing, I can't stop myself buying prints or photos or paintings when I discover something I love. And just like I can't wear all my jewellery at once - that would look stupid, and I would clink when I walked - I can't put all my art up at once. I just don't have the space.

It's been playing on my mind recently, as I came across a project in Ireland that I had to have in my office a few weeks ago. Client feedback converted into beautiful prints. The same impulsiveness that led me to rent a slightly impractical apartment saw me emailing off to demand they send a couple to New York immediately, with no regard as to where I was going to display them whatsoever.

I still don't know, but the prints haven't arrived yet, so I'm quite prepared to leave that problem to my future self. I do know one thing, though, and that is that they will be going up somewhere in the office, because they are golden, and - like all beautiful and hilarious things - guaranteed to make life a little better. Crowded, but better**.

*Not literally oversized. That would make it bigger than the world. That wouldn't work.

**Minimalists may disagree.

Explore: A Little Bit of Brooklyn

A while back, I had a piece I wrote published on The Billfold. I wrote about it here. Knowing the editors of a site that I totally respect (and, let's be honest, a site that has such a large audience) made me pretty darn happy back then, and it still does now.

One thing I didn't mention was the negative feedback I received below in that ever-perilous comments section. I didn't bother to mention it because it didn't affect my happiness one little bit, particularly as nobody was criticising my writing or my profile picture. Just my life choices and personal experiences, but not my writing, so no worries. In fact, I was rather proud in a strange way. Negativity from others when you put yourself out there kind of means you've made it, right?

All that said, one comment obviously made enough of an impact to stick with me, because I have remembered it to this day. Maybe because it was the first slightly less-than-positive-or-even-neutral sounding one. Maybe because of the teeny-bit-parochial username of the commenter. Maybe because it was clearly obviously written in jest or careless haste, because surely the commenter cannot have meant Hackney is the London Brooklyn when he or she wrote that Hackney was London's version of Brooklyn?

You may be shaking your head and thinking that clearly I'm a total moron, because that's so obviously what the commenter meant, but bear with me. If you've ever been to both Hackney and Brooklyn, carefully compare the two, and something will jump out at you. If you haven't been to one or the other, keep reading (if you've been to both, keep reading also, please!)

Hackney is 7.539 square miles (19.06 square kilometres).

Brooklyn is 96.9 square miles (251 square kilometres).

In case you're like me and not all that spatially aware, that is quite the size difference. And when something is that much bigger, you can fit a lot more into it, like a giant park and a Down Under style pie shop and a food festival and an Orthodox Jewish community and an enormous bowling alley and just a whole lot more diversity, you know?

So I'm inclined to disagree with the commenter. Hackney is not London's version of Brooklyn. That said, I can see where he/she could get that impression. Working off the assumption that they have never been to Brooklyn, and thinking about all the information I've subconsciously gathered about Brooklyn over the years, I can see how you would equate the two in your mind, because when Brooklyn in mentioned in magazine articles and TV shows and films, it's always full of gentrifying hipsters and/or hippies setting up galleries and communes and ateliers left, right, and centre, and an undercurrent of grit and 'authenticity' (poor people, guys, and minorities too) and so, in short, it's not all that different from the London neighbourhood of Hackney.

What I just described is a fairly small part of Brooklyn, in reality. It's Williamsburg, and maybe Greenpoint, and what Bushwick is fast becoming as gentrifiers get priced out of Williamsburg and Greenpoint and/or realise that they weren't there first, so it's not cool anymore. I have been to Williamsburg, a couple of times, but not the other two places, and I liked it. It has its own bridge, and I'm very fond of bridges:

There it is, just lurking down the end of the street.

And rather pretty little houses, some made out of wood, which you really don't see in Manhattan:

And an artisanal food festival next to some fancy big condominiums, just to remind you that the gentrification is coming along nicely but it is still a very special and artistically bountiful place.

This is all coming out quite sarcastic, and it's meant to be in a way, but mostly not. I'm serious when I say I like Williamsburg. It's most definitely worth a visit if you're a tourist in NYC, and several if you live here, but to say it is Brooklyn is a little annoying (and if it's annoying to me, a die hard Manhattanite*, I can only imagine how Brooklynites** feel about it). There is lots to Brooklyn. It contains multitudes. Some parts of it are very cool, and some parts are still so 'authentic' you're probably best not to go there after dark. And lots of parts - probably most of it, honestly - just kind of are. 

A bit like London, really.

*This was not picked up by spellcheck. I had no idea it was that established a word!

**Ditto for this, and ditto for my feelings on it.

Eat: Like You're Fancy

Well. Well well well.

My weekend once again ended up very different from planned.

It was recently my birthday, and although I had a sneaking suspicion that H1 might do something special over the weekend for it, I didn't want to assume anything, or write anything on here, in case I was wrong. How embarrassing that would be. For me and H1.

He spoilt me on the day itself, with a relaxed* breakfast, and a delicious dinner, and bubbly and tea and Magnolia Bakery cupcakes**, so I was prepared for all the fuss and attention to be over by the weekend. I mean, I didn't want that, and would probably have given myself a decent amount of fuss and attention to make up for it, but I could have handled it.

I am, once again, very pleased that all my (admittedly vague) plans went awry. What I did was so much better - and once again, pretty much revolved around eating. Amongst other activities, we went to a fancy restaurant with four excellent friends, to relax and dine in splendour, and annoy our waiter***.

A fancy, beautiful restaurant. Image: Saxon and Parole.

The restaurant, Saxon and Parole, is one I've been wanting to try for aaaaages. About a year, in fact, ever since it opened. When I say fancy, I don't mean fancy fancy - not like Per Se level****, for example - but fancier than everyday. There's no dress code or anything, but you feel quite comfortable and appropriate in a dressier outfit, just like you do in its sister restaurant, Public (another of my favourites in this city full of favourites). It's been highly rated by all sorts of publications, including New York magazine, and by people I know personally, and I have met the head chef and he is lovely and was trained under a New Zealander in London, so he knows and loves all the same places as me. And the prices are not outrageous, and the waiter was very polite even when we were at our most annoying*****, and the food is SPECTACULAR.

We sat on the side here, and discussed whether those two horses
are named Saxon and Parole, and my love for the chandelier, and
whether we were annoying the waiter. Image: Saxon and Parole.

I've been considering all day whether it's the best meal I've had all year, and I think it's definitely way up there. It could well be, but I just can't say because I've eaten so many extraordinarily good meals this year, and I know there are many more that I've forgotten about. I had the hanger steak, which is a really odd choice for me, but it was genuinely incredible. The reason I don't usually go for the steak is because I'm not really a hunk of meat type of person - I prefer my food to be a bit creative and imaginative - but this was amazing and beautiful, with butter served in a bit of bone and insanely sweet slow-roasted tomatoes sitting on the side. Far from just a hunk of meat. I wish I had taken a couple of pictures. I had my camera with me, and everything. But I was having far too good a time to even think about capturing it on film (you know what I mean by film).

H1 had the chicken, which was also ridiculously good, and he and I shared a plate of brussel sprouts - again, a supremely odd choice for both of us, but the brussel sprouts are one of the things Saxon and Parole is known for. They're chili-caramelised, and they didn't disappoint. In fact, there may have been a small squabble over the last few.

Finally, we shared the s'mores for dessert. By this time I had had two or three glasses of the delicious Tablelands New Zealand Pinot Noir we were enjoying with dinner, plus a glass of bubbly, plus the undivided attention and love of five of my favourite people. I was...excited, especially when I tasted the s'mores, and they tasted like whiskey smoked marshmallows with my mother's self-saucing chocolate pudding. They only advertised the first part of that description, but they could promote it on both. I'm sure the good people of New York both know and love my mother's self-saucing chocolate pudding.

In short, a truly excellent night, and another restaurant to add to the list of places I must go back to - a rapidly growing list that sits next to the list of places I must try. This is what will keep me in this city. The food******.

*As much as we ever relax, anyway.

**Not together.

***Not actually an aim, but quite inevitable by the third bottle of wine.

****Per Se is actually on the fancy fancy fancy fancy level, FYI.

*****About five minutes before they turfed us out of our seats because they needed the table. This was done in a very nice way, with gentle ushering back to the bar and free drinks, so I'm only mildly resentful.

******And sure, the friends, but I've already accidentally left friends all over the world. Can I really do the same with the food?

The Weekend Has Landed! The ? Edition

It is gone 6pm and yet my weekend has not really landed at all yet. Such is the joy of working with people in different time zones from you.

I am very much looking forward to this weekend, even though I haven't a clue what exciting events may be contained within it. It's going to be good finding out! I do know what is happening tonight - shortly I am going to go meet H1 at a local with a good happy hour for a drink, prior to coming home, eating something, and proceeding to painstakingly do sweet f-a.

Tomorrow I think I'm going to have my nails done. They are a MESS. The art of the cheap mani-pedi is one of my favourite things about New York. I guess there are so many salons they have to keep prices low, but it still astounds me just how cheap they are. I tell myself constantly not to get too used to it, that one day I will once again live somewhere that has more realistic pricing, but it's hard. Thankfully, I don't get my nails done all that often. I find it intensely boring sitting round for an hour or so while they work on them, unable to even read a magazine*. But currently, they are at the stage where they need it badly - especially knowing that I don't know what else the weekend will bring!

I also have to start putting together the plan of what to buy people for Christmas, and what cards to send out, and what decorations to put up, because Christmas is a MAGICAL time and it will be AMAZING even if I get NO SLEEP for the next six weeks. Oh, and also, Thanksgiving is next week. Surprise**!

I guess I should be thinking about buying impractical things for other people, but I am not. This week the impractical thing I want is, on the surface, a practical thing. It is earmuffs (yes, I decided to go full crazy lady) and they are most practical for the freezing temperatures that are lurking just around the corner. However, I haven't found any adult ones that I like, so I'm going to rely on my smaller-than-average head and the larger-than-standard-American-child and hopefully buy these ones from Gap.

This is an impractical thing that I want. Image: Gap

They have SEQUINS. But they're subtle and kind of classy, in a pretty-obviously-designed-for-a-child sort of way. I hope to dear God they fit, and that I have the willpower to stick to black and not get the pink ones.

So that's it for me - total uncertainty, in a great way!

What are you up to this weekend?


*This is how you sound like a complete spoiled brat in one easy sentence!

**Thanksgiving is a fabulous holiday - easily the second best thing to come out of America, right behind Joseph Gordon-Levitt - and this year I'm not even hosting, so really, it is super fine.

Express: What to Wear When You're In a Messy Mood

Last weekend changed a lot from my original plans - all for the better, I'm very pleased to say. My husband was meant to be going to New Jersey for work on Saturday, but the post-Sandy gas shortage  (ummm, NSFW link, guys) left him stranded in New York, with our usual favourite Zipcar totally out of action (not at all their fault, I hasten to add). Stranded in New York, with no possible way of getting to the middle of New Jersey, on a Saturday. Wow, sometimes life really screws with you. What a nightmare*.

We made the most of the unexpected good fortune by going to Smorgasburg. Usually I'm all like argh about Brooklyn - such a faraway wasteland with no cabs - but I had been to Williamsburg recently and it's actually embarrassingly easy to get there, and nice once you are there, and (importantly) easy to leave from. I had also been wanting to go to Smorgasburg for ages. A food festival, every weekend? Yes please.

Every single one of these tents - and the ones you can't see to the left -
sold amazing food. I am pleased/appalled I limited myself to three.

I planned out what to wear very carefully** and wound up in one of my favourite tops, which also happens to be one of the best examples of discount shopping I've ever done. It's a mostly pink Marc by Marc Jacobs trapeze-style top, which was originally around ~ $200. When I saw it, it was on Gilt*** for $100. And then - then - I got a 'perk' through Klout. Because my Klout score was between 40 and 60, I could get 60% off anything on Gilt (up to a maximum of some amount I don't remember).

Hello, $40 Marc by Marc Jacobs top.

This was probably the last chance I would get to wear it in New York until April, at least without covering it up with a big coat. I just wore jeans**** and my black boots and my black cardigan with it. It was a Saturday - time for casualness and eating.

The really lovely thing about Brooklyn is you can see Manhattan.

And eat I did. Turns out that glorious top was a good idea for more than one reason. See how busy that pattern is? Busy and small? That is the perfect sort of pattern for hiding food spills, which is really great for me, because I have the sort of hand-eye coordination - or hand-mouth coordination, whatever - that results in me eating like a drunk three year old. On this particular day, I ate and drank:

1. An Asian hot dog with pickled carrots, cucumber, jalapenos, and pate
2. A piece of maple-bacon on a stick (like a hunk of bacon. I'm a little embarrassed, but mostly proud)
3. A 'personal' key lime pie (personal is not the equivalent of small, in this case)
4. A bottle of San Pellegrino

And look, you'd never know.

Looking for more food? Probably.

H1 ate the same or similar, but because he mastered eating like a grown-up when he became a grown-up (probably before, actually, knowing him and his tidiness) he got to wear solid colours. Like this. Isn't he handsome?

The legendary H1 - not just mythical.

It was a great day. New Jersey, you were not missed.

*Nooooooootttttttt. 

**Lies. This did not happen, it was luck.

***If you have not been to Gilt, you must go to Gilt; it is AMAZING.

****Uniqlo. Obvs. Japanese denim is the BEST.

Explore: Living, Breathing History

One of the things I most adore about New York is that it's got such a deep and vibrant history. Since it was founded, this city has been an interesting place, and a difficult place, and (for some) a hugely privileged place, and a place with quite possibly an inflated idea of its own importance.

New York is good at holding onto its history. Some cities (AHEM Auckland*) tear it down every chance they get. New York exalts in it. The New York Times has a column every weekend called Streetscapes, in which they share the history of a place in the city - and often the photos, even the oldest, don't differ all that much from what is currently there. Apparently the landmark committee can be a bit of a nightmare for those who own**, when it comes to things like facades and roof repair and even (apparently - I don't personally know anyone who has been affected by this) internal renovations and modifications, but I, at least, appreciate their vigilance.

You can tell a protected historic block by the street sign. Usually they're green, but sometimes you'll come across something that looks like this:

And if you're me, when that happens you get a burst of excitement, and a sudden desire to detour out of your way. I still do this, even after nearly six months on the Upper West Side, which is positively littered with them. Maybe if I lived on a protected block I'd just chill out about the whole thing, but I don't, because I'm pretty sure you pay a premium to live on said blocks. That's a premium on top of the UWS premium, by the way, which is related to the park premium, and the river premium, and is also on top of the Manhattan premium, which is stacked up on top of the New York City premium, which rests on the East Coast premium. (This is either a good example of why New York has an inflated sense of its own importance, or it's the reason why New York has an inflated sense of its own importance. Or maybe it's an example of how everyone in New York's actually a little thick, and they should go set up a new New York in Tennessee, or whatever).

But I digress. Taking a detour down an historic block is free - no additional cost at all - and is so very worth it, even though if you take photos people might look at you as if you're casing the joint (pro tip: dress nicely and look wealthy).

Some of the most beautiful places in this city reside innocently down blocks that most people wouldn't even consider wandering down - and those people are missing a lot. I consider myself insanely lucky to have the chance to soak this all up, each and every day. Maybe not as 'lucky'*** as the people who live inside these houses - but maybe luckier, in a way, because I never have to worry about facades, and I get to enjoy them regardless.

*Have they stopped that yet, Aucklanders?

**It is foolish to buy in New York! Foolish****!

***I'm one of those 'you mostly make your own luck' types, so you know...lucky's probably not the right word.

****Yes, I'm a bit envious.

Eat: Soup as a Meal

Convincing H1 that soup is a meal is perhaps one of the proudest achievements of my life, even though he still reacts with slight suspicion when I tell him we're having soup for dinner. I'm not at all sure what he considered soup to be back in his unenlightened days (a snack? A starter? Dessert?) but he was very firm in his belief that it was most definitely not a meal.

So how did I change that belief? Ha. How does anyone change anything? Carbs, bacon, and cheese, my friends. Carbs, bacon, and cheese*.

I don't remember the first soup I ever made him as a meal, but it was probably broccoli and cheddar. It's a really thick, creamy soup, with cheese in it. It's basically liquefied broccoli with cheese sauce**. He was all confused and sulky looking when I set it down, but he perked up when I placed the bread on the table also, and by the end of the meal*** he was in an exalted state, high on cheese and bread.

"You're right!" he exclaimed. "This is a meal!"

I sat back and tried not to look smug. 'I told you so,' isn't my style****.

So now H1 accepts soup as a meal - mostly. His face still drops a little bit when I tell him we're having soup. To get around this, I tend to avoid anything broth-like, and go straight for the creamy and delicious - as you should anyway in the cold months*****.

Last week, I made sweet potato soup. This recipe evolved from a parsnip and apple soup, which I made last year for Thanksgiving. It was good, but I don't usually have parsnips in the house, so next time I made it, I used sweet potatoes instead. Also good, and one I've made a lot.

This time I didn't have apples, so I reduced it to sweet potato soup, then added cayenne pepper to up the interest. I don't often follow recipes, and I also don't tend to write my recipes down, so here is the loose description of how I did it:

3 medium sweet potatoes
Half a big yellow onion
Vegetable stock
Pinch of cayenne pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
Splash of milk
Goat cheese
Bacon

Put the sweet potatoes in the oven to roast with a little olive oil. While they're roasting, soften the onion in a large pot. Add stock and roasted sweet potatoes, bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and let it reduce a little. Cook bacon and drain on paper towels.

Totally doesn't matter if the onions brown a little...

...or the sweet potatoes, for that matter. It DOES matter if they're
green. These aren't - they're just under an awful fluorescent light.

Blend, preferably with an immersion blender, until mostly smooth. Doesn't need to be perfect. Season to taste, then add a splash of milk if, like me, you've put in slightly too big a pinch of cayenne pepper and you'd prefer your dinner not to injure anyone. Roughly chop bacon and goat cheese into small-ish bits, dish up the soup, and use these to top it. Eat a couple of pieces of bacon before they hit the bowl, because you're the cook and you deserve it.

The right amount of bacon to cook is as much as you like.

Serve with more carbs. Watch merrily as your husband's ideas of what he likes and what he doesn't are shattered into small pieces.

Idea-shattering soup.

Would love to hear if anyone else also thinks soup is not a meal - but mostly would love a decent amount of backup. Does anyone bother with 'thin' soups******? Can they be a meal?

*Hey, has anyone tried this in an active war zone?

**Ew. Actually, that sounds gross. It's not that at all.

***Just after I told him there was enough for seconds, actually.

****It's TOTALLY my style. But I didn't want to ruin the moment.

*****The only time I really eat soup is when the weather is cold. I just don't like the idea of cold soup in summer - it seems wrong.

******Not as, like, a diet thing - as a consistency thing.

The Weekend has Landed! The Last Gasp of Summer Edition

It's time! It's here!

My week feels like it's been multiple weeks. At the beginning of the week I had very little work for the first time in months. Being a freelancer, you'd think this would be a bit worrying, but I loved it. I worked on a couple of my own projects, I caught up with friends, and I cleaned the fridge. Maybe not as wild as it could have been, but great anyway (who am I kidding? Great BECAUSE).

Then over the last couple of days, I suddenly got heaps of work in, so - busy again. I'm very glad I made the most of those first few days (yes, even the fridge cleaning counts as 'making the most'). And now, it is the weekend, and I am ready for it!

Tonight H1 and I are having dinner with some friends and their child, aka The Cutest Child in New York. Tomorrow, it's looking to be remarkably warm for this time of year (it snowed two days ago, to give you a decent comparison) so I plan to make the most of it by working out outside, for what could be the last time in months, then preparing for the cold weather by finding my gloves, hiding my summer stuff in the back of my wardrobe where it can't taunt me, and possibly buying earmuffs (I'm very much in two minds about these. Some women look fantastic in them, and I love wearing my hair up but having warm ears still, but I'm scared I won't be one of those women).

Sunday I'm hopefully having brunch with a bunch of beautiful bloggers! I'm hoping this turns into a thing. Maybe we'll call ourselves the Blogger Brunch Bunch, and have a secret handshake, and maybe we won't, because it's highly possible they're not as lame as that me. Then I'm just going to chill with H1, and cook something delicious for dinner, and organise my week, in my head at least.

This is going to be a good one.

This week, the impractical thing I want is not impractical at all, because it is a HOUSE. What could be more grown up than a house? Nothing, that's what. Life insurance, perhaps.

This is the house:

This is something impractical (fine) that I want.

It comes with its own furniture, see! Just lying out front!

Fab.com sent this to me a week or so ago. It's from a company called Brinca Dada, which makes these amazing post-modern dollhouses and furniture. I am absolutely in love, and came thisclose to buying one for my unborn children (read:me), until I realised how nutty that would be Hayden stepped in.

What are you up to this weekend?

Express: A Leggy Situation

They say if you're old enough to remember wearing it the first time around, you probably shouldn't enthusiastically sport it next time it rolls on by. It's for the kids by then. You just stick to your mum jeans and sensible shoes.

But the trends are coming back faster now. They are. Just trust me on this. Back when I was in my very early teens flared jeans came into style, and sure as night follows day, my mother started reminiscing about how she used to wear flared jeans. I distinctly remember giving her some terribly evil looks when she did this, some looks absolutely meant to convey 'it's different now and you don't understand and don't even think about it.' I mean, she was wearing them in the late '70s. That was 20 years ago. Ew.

A couple of years ago though, I found myself in a similar situation, when leggings suddenly and abruptly became a thing, without even having the decency to gently warn me about it and get me used to the idea. My first reaction was one of absolute disgust. I mean, I definitely remembered wearing leggings the first time around. I had quite the amount of leggings*, and always wanted more. My favourites were my pink and white horizontally striped ones (to be worn with an oversized pink sweatshirt and my white and pink high-tops, of course) and my turquoise ones (which had to be combined with an oversized turquoise t-shirt and and turquoise slouch socks for the whole, horrifying effect).

So I quickly and instantly swore off leggings for life - or for a matter of weeks, anyway. Yes, I broke embarrassingly quickly. I saw how they were being styled, and it all looked so fresh and different. Not a high-top or oversized sweatshirt to be seen. Besides, it wasn't my fault that trends started to come around again so quickly. I mean, I was six or seven the first time leggings made an appearance in my wardrobe, and here I was, 26, and already they were back. The maths didn't work. 26 minus 6 is only...

HOLY CRAP.

I dealt with the horror of realising the previous 20 years had been compressed into a total blur of learning and flared jeans, and put my big girl pants on. And by big girl pants I mean leggings, because you know what? When you're not wearing pink and white horizontally striped ones** and you make sure your bum is covered properly***, they're quite flattering, and comfortable, and the perfect way to keep your legs warm without wearing full trousers. They're a good way to wear something that's a bit shorter than you'd feel comfortable wearing with pantyhose, also****.

Apologies for the long-windedness. To me, fashion and style isn't interesting unless it has a story, and this is a story that needed to be told, because I felt it necessary to explain to you all exactly why I wore leggings this weekend. In other words, don't judge me.

This is a shirt/dress kind of thing that is too long for
jeans, but too short for pantyhose. What do I do?

Wear leggings, of course!

Then quickly add my cape, because it is freaking cold out there.

Most of this outfit is from England, because apparently, I wear old clothes a lot. I bought the shirt/dress thing in an airport, on my way somewhere. It's Fenchurch, and I still think it's weird that I bought it, because I don't tend to shop in airports, and I wasn't wearing leggings at that stage of my life. The leggings are from Uniqlo (one of my absolute favourite stores for basics) and so is the cardigan. The necklace was dirt cheap from BaubleBar, the boots are Etienne Aigner, the cape is Elie Tahari, and the bag is the same as last week. All the photos are courtesy of the wonderful (and patient) H1.

So there you have it. I wear leggings, and I'm proud of it*****. I have so far avoided the oversize sweatshirts and high-tops that have stealthily crept back, and I would say I will continue to avoid them forevermore, but you know...

Do you wear anything you once swore off? High-tops? Cartoon character clothing? Mum jeans? Share!

*And bike shorts, too, though that's neither here nor there and needn't be spoken of again.

**Yeah, I've grown. That's really not an option these days.

***Because leggings are not pants, people. I'm particularly looking at you, Ugg-boot wearing girls of New York City.

****So long as it's not so short your bum isn't covered properly. Seriously, not negotiable.

*****Because I wear them properly. Bum covered, people. Seriously.

Not Much to Say...

...except THANK GOD. Right?!

Explore: The Peacefulness in the Centre

Today is US election day. You probably know that already - at least I hope you do. Well, kind of. It would also be quite awesome to discover that there are people who don't know, because they're just not invested in the outcome, but I'm pretty sure at this stage that no such people exist*.

Today, then, also seems like a remarkably fitting day to talk about the peacefulness, and joy, and serene pleasure that comes from being in the centre. Not politically (because HAHA, THERE IS NO SUCH THING, and also, I'm sure we've all had enough of politics) but geographically. Geographically in New York, that is - pretty certain simply standing in the centre of most places isn't a shortcut to inner peace and solitude. But in New York, it is, thanks to the prescience of the planners that eventuated in the giant chunk of land that is Central Park!

I was actually mightily unimpressed with Central Park when I first moved here, acknowledging and appreciating that it was pretty, but still more fond of the prevalence of London parks. Central Park was more imposing, admittedly, but I preferred the situation in London, where you were never too far from a nice little park in which to partake of your lunch, even if it was a ridiculously minute piece of land. It felt more right to me. More egalitarian.

And then I moved uptown, close to the park, and I stopped caring. How quickly we go from liberal to conservative when we're on the right side of the grass!

Our not-so-exlusive entrance into Central Park.

Despite wanting nothing more than to live closer to something green when we were in Murray Hill, I don't actually go to the park all that much. Kind of like you think you want a car elevator, then you get one and realise you don't really have enough time to appreciate it. It's a shame, because every time I do go to Central Park I remember just how magical it is. The size of it isn't show-offy** as much as it is clever. It allows you to get lost and forget you're even in a city, before the path twists and you suddenly see straight down to the towering buildings of Midtown. It allows you to wander without seeing anyone else for minutes on end - something that can't be recommended more highly when you live in a city where you're never alone. It allows you to reconnect with nature, by cooing over the squirrels, freaking out over the pigeons, and trying valiantly to identify trees (oak. Definitely an oak. They're always oaks).

H1 and I get into the park at least a couple of times each season. Sometimes we do sickeningly adorable things, like taking a picnic and enjoying lunch al fresco, but usually we just go for a wander. The other day, we decided to use the park as a 'shortcut'*** to get to Bed Bath and Beyond. That's the other nice thing about living close to the park - it can be used as a road alternative****, preventing you from ending up irrationally hating everyone when you just need to go to Bed Bath and Beyond on a Saturday*****.

So on Saturday, we wandered peacefully, enjoying the sights that autumn brings to the park:

The beautiful San Remo towers. I don't think this building
has a car elevator, but I suspect it's quite pricey anyway.

Swedish House, about which I know nothing.

Young love on the water (so silly! So cold!)...

...and down by the water - a much more practical decision.

Just looking at the pictures is making me feel all calm and content again. Central Park really is an amazing asset to the city. There are not as many things in this world that are so special, and so completely available to anyone, as there should be. After all, you don't have to be lucky enough to live near the park to go there. Anyone can go there and enjoy it, anytime (except at nighttime. Then it's closed). Maybe I'm just a West Side liberal nut pseudo-intellectual******, but I think that's how more of the world should be.

And with that, I am going to congratulate myself about not writing one little thing about politics, even on the internationally important US election day, and go tidy my fridge*******.

*Checking the media of my other countries reveals that both the UK and New Zealand know and care about the US election. Going a bit further, it would seem that Ireland, Brazil, Australia, Malta, and South Africa all also know and care, and probably other places too, but I got sick of looking at online newspapers' front pages. Good to know it's not only me who's completely worn out by the whole palaver.

**Well, it's a bit show-offy. Not as much as, say, being one person who owns a couple of Cadillacs is, though.

***Not actually a shorter way, but much nicer than pushing our way through the crowds on Broadway.

****Well, it can be used as a road alternative if H1 is with you. If he is not, you will get confused by the twisty paths and end up by the Plaza. And by you, I mean me.

*****Park proximity or no park proximity, this is how you can tell we are still very much members of the 99%. I assume those in the 1% have some sort of Bed Bath and Beyond alternative, though I don't know what - anyone have any ideas?

******Name that movie!

*******Not a joke. But I wish it was.