It feels good to be back in California.
It's that time of year again when I pack a suitcase, pay a cab to take twice as long to get me to work as the subway would, work work work, then finally jump on the A train out to JFK Airport, (1 hour+ later) arrive at what is possibly the single most place in the world more stressful than Manhattan, wait in line, become anxious, partially disrobe and be prodded in a manner I can only imagine otherwise acceptable in a lock-down situation, overpay (even by NY standards) for a sandwich, become more anxious while hoping my flight isn't delayed, be herded down a ramp into an overcrowded metal tube, and then hurtle through the air at speeds and altitudes I do my best to ignore. But then, I get off the plane in California and all is forgotten because I'm home.
I decided that this is finally the year when I will actually purchase gifts for everyone in my gigantic family rather than make them fudge or almond roca or bath salts. While I'm delighted in my own resolve to be a grownup and stop shopping for myself for five seconds in order to spend for my family, I've now got so many Christmas gifts that there isn't any room left in my suitcase for my clothes! Hmphhh. At least I have my new suitcase...
Sometimes, it just feels like the kind of day that requires a spiked headband.
You've gotta love New York Magazine, especially when they self-promote New York City through their various Reasons to Love New York segments (see last year's post here). Being that I have a not-so-secret love of celebrity culture, I was particularly interested in this reason to love New York:
# 30. Because Our Newest Power Couples Are People We Might Actually Like
For a time during the boom years, that rarest of celebrity species, the power couple, flocked to New York City. They were almost ostentatiously famous: Hillary and Bill Clinton. Brangelina. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. They were so famous that you never actually saw them—partly because of the cameras and lights and cars and heavy-duty bouncers, and partly because, despite the expensive real estate they occupied, they didn’t really live in New York. People that famous don’t really live anywhere.
By 2008, TMZ had established a bureau here, Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson and their phalanx of photographers were at Bar Pitti every other week, and Jennifer Aniston was talking about buying a place, probably to be closer to John Mayer. We were on a dark path, culturally, attracting the wrong kind of celebrities, en route to becoming like Los Angeles, with everyone shooting around in pneumatic black SUVs, snarling traffic on the FDR.
But then, miraculously, some kind of correction occurred. Whether the economic meltdown had anything to do with the exodus of world-famous megawatt celebrity couples is unclear, but by late 2008, they were gone. Sure, they still dropped in for an occasional premiere or club opening, but mostly they stayed on the left coast, where they belong. And then, suddenly, from the abandoned celebrity landscape, young love began to blossom. There was sunny Mandy Moore’s abrupt marriage to shaggy rocker Ryan Adams, and Scarlett Johansson’s equally curious wedding to Ryan Reynolds, and then the unexpectedly delightful pairing of Saturday Night Live’s Fred Armisen and Mad Men’s Elisabeth Moss.
It felt right to them, and it felt right to us. These are the celebrity couples that New York deserves, reflecting our vision of our best selves: ambitious but creative. Totally cute but a little bit nerdy. Actually talented. Best of all, they’re unafraid of rubbing up against common New Yorkers. (Although, if you rub up against them, you’ll probably get arrested.) These celebrities don’t just fly in for vodka promotions, talk about how great New York is, and then fly out. They live here, in our very own neighborhoods, and you see them all the time, doing normal stuff.
There’s Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard using the ATM at a bodega in Fort Greene; M.I.A. and her partner, guitarist and Seagram’s heir Benjamin Bronfman, cooing over their baby, Ikhyd, at Bread Stuy; Chelsea Clinton and her fiancé, hedge-funder Marc Mezvinsky, laboring on their laptops at Starbucks; model and TV presenter Alexa Chung and her boyfriend, Arctic Monkeys front man Alex Turner, drinking too much at Marlow and Sons; Claire Danes and Hugh Dancy at modest East Village eatery Tree.
Their casual attitude about their own celebrity seems to have had an effect, even on those New York celebrities whose behavior, in the past, has tended toward the grandiose. Witness Jay-Z and Beyoncé, who took a break from cruising around the south of France to eat at Frankies in Carroll Gardens this summer. Or real-estate scions Jared Kushner and Ivanka Trump, spotted lugging gigantic bags out of Kmart just two weeks after their million-dollar-plus wedding. Just like the rest of us.
A few weeks ago, I took the train up to Cold Spring, a little town in the Hudson River Valley about an hour and twenty minutes outside the city.
It was a GORGEOUS day, and we saw some of the most amazing fall color ever!
The main street of the town stretches up a hill directly from the Hudson River.
They sold all kinds of strange and interesting and weird things in the little shops (some antique, some just junk...) along the main drag.
If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend this quaint little town. It's a real piece of Americana.
We went back to the city feeling refreshed!
Well, this has been a long week. It seems like the closer it gets to the holidays, the more hectic things always become. That's not great news for the next two weeks, but there you have it. My sister and I are having a little holiday party tonight, so I'm focusing on that to take me through the next few hours and into the weekend...
