art...coffee...art....celebrity....coffee...coffee...

New York has been much more generous to me in the way of celebrity sightings than Hollywood-famed California has ever been (not that I've been to Hollywood, and I've only spent a few days in LA). I knew when I came here that Brooklyn Heights, my place of residence, is on of the more posh neighborhoods in the borough. BUT, apparently it is also home to many celebs as well as a key place for filming. A few weeks ago they were filming 30 Rock 2 blocks from our dorm, and....TINA FEY (!!!!!) and the little person from Elf (can't remember his name, but I was slightly more dazzled to see him than I was ms. Tina). Incredible. I thought my luck had run out, but things got even better. The next week Jason Schwartzman was dining in one of my favorite places to get coffee...for crying out loud, I love that guy! So amazing. Again, I thought that my luck had run it's course. But it gets much better. I was super sick this last week and in a moment of delirium I went to hell on earth--Times Square--to go look for art supplies in the massive Toys R Us (nearly hell as well). I'm standing in there, clouded over from the massive amounts of Dayquil that I had drunk in lieu of water and numb from the three analgesics that had only recently disolved, when I see SANDRA BULLOCK! Holy crap she's like in my top 10 of favorites! And, she was beautiful. Botoxed, a bit made over, but beautiful. She had a very serene smile plastered on her face which I assumed was her way of preventing overly-excited paparazzi from mistaking a relaxed mouth for depression or potential outbursts or something. It was awesome. I would have stood in awe for another few minutes (oh yea, and I nearly bumped into her and Jesse's daughter) but the camera-laden girls started rushing over and I didn't want to be around when the craziness struck. Still, pretty freaking awesome.

On a more serious note, my coffee consumption is reaching an all-time high. You know you're an addicted when a self-proclaimed creamer-needer starts to convert to the black stuff. Not on purpose, really, but if that's all that's there I'll TOTALLY take it. The artist that I'm interning with is equally addicted to coffee so there is always a supply of hot, black coffee around. I think the other day I inhaled like 3 cups of black stuff, and that's after my morning coffee and before my afternoon serving(s). SO, maybe I should back off. But I also kind of need it.


Below are 2 pictures of some of my favorite works. The tubes are of fiberglass, created by Eva Hesse (a total badass artist responding to macho minimalist culture), and Jeff Koons (equally badass, totally pop culture meets readymades meets beautiful). I love them both and I love being able to see their work.

A pleasant arrival of the most joyous sort.

This morning three of my best friends landed in town.

Now, I pride myself in making friends fairly easily. I enjoy meeting new people, and it takes me little time before I feel at ease and comfortable. Thus, being at NYCAMS with all these new fabulous people has been wonderful and hardly a stress at all. Seeing my friends, however, threw upon me such an overwhelming feeling of ecstasy that I nearly checked them into the street hockey-style when I saw them.

The basic order of the day: Bagels (best f'ing bagels you will ever, EVER dream of having), Chelsea gallery hopping (the good, the bad, and the boring), Magnolia cupcakes (a must-do for the cupcake connoisseur, as well as for the Sex in the City fiend), brief rest, pizza, coffee, and...a glorious 10:30 bedtime. We are freaking exhausted. We walked everywhere because the weather is oh-so-gorgeous, and when it's sunny as heck outside the drab subway just doesn't cut it. PLUS, during an earlier subway trip to the New School this morning, Kristen and I would up sitting next to a homeless man who stunk so badly that my bagel threatened to leave it's semi-final resting place. Not appealing.

Being reunited with these lovely girls is bringing out the silliness in me to the n'th degree. I'm a pretty laughter-prone person as it is, but the snorting laughter has taken it's throne consistently throughout the course of the day.

And now, because I am exhausted and because Juliana is offering me a shoulder rub, which will undoubtedly leave me comatose, I will end this short and semi-pointless blog.

Swirl your brandy.

Go 3 blocks west of my school and you are in the near-heart of the gallery district, aka CHELSEA. It is a fabulous conglomeration of interesting art, experimental art, old-hat art, crappy art, REALLY crappy art, over-the-top art, student art, and, on the rare occasion, great art. Even better than the galleries themselves: gallery openings. Oh my gosh, going to openings is seriously one of the best things about being there. They are like little satellite parties where, if it is good, you can stay...and if it is bad, you can grab your free drink and saltines and hit the road.

Tonight there were TONS of them, and we just hopped from opening to opening. One of the first galleries was chock full of hipsters in their 20's and 30's. The photos were beautiful, and as a way of encouraging us to linger they generously provided free Stella Artois for everyone present. A beautiful thing. The other galleries were pretty sweet, too. Of course, a lot of the art is bad...real bad...but with proper editing and a sense of adventure, you can sift through the bad and the ugly in order to find the good, the interesting, and the fantastic. We saw maybe 3 good shows in the 20 that we flew through--a success!

My personal favorite involved a Museum of Natural History-esque setup with 'creatures' made out of discarded machinery. Even better than the art, though, was the crowd--I had felt a TAD out of place in the hipster joint, considering my bootleg jeans (SO last season) and dirty fingernails (they just don't stay clean anymore)--but in THIS place, I felt like a freaking student specimen. The aristocrats were in full bloom with their brandy-sipping, cigar-puffing demeanor. Push broom mustaches, fur lined sweaters, international languages (French,Italian and German being the most in fashion) and coiffed updos were the trend. I might be out of my element with the cool trendies, but I certainly would rather be drinking a beer alongside a spandex clad semi-goth than contemplating the art market in the presence of the big-city bourgeoisie. To use a term from Dave Hickey, the place sure stunk of the "Big, Beautiful Art Market." I could just imagine transactions taking place behind the gallery curtain in a room full of plush, red velvet and gold leaf cigar trays. I doubt most of those people were there for the enjoyment of looking at the art. The only benefit that I really saw in schmoozing with that crowd was the possibility of landing a Sugar Daddy.

Central Park

Two things I have noticed about Central Park:

It is the perfect place for making out. NOT that that's what I'm doing there (reading art criticism is far from macking), but it just so happens that every time I go the park is infiltrated with people making face time. In their defense, it's probably the most "private" place to go in the city. Still, in broad daylight? Come on, people! At least the Italian piazze only got sketchy after dark. It would have made it a whole lot more awkward to enjoy my gelato if the Piazza de la Repubblica was as inundated with Italian pairs as Central Park is with Americans.

The outskirts of the park are beautiful, but beware--seeing those cute little horse drawn carriages from far away might be a pretty sight, but they are actually just warnings of problems to come. Especially when there are tons of them, as there were today since it was sunny. What am I speaking of? The inescapable smell of horse poop. It's really quite disgusting. I was perusing a great book sale from The Strand (a fabulous FABULOUS bookstore claiming 18 miles of discounted books) and in the middle of thumbing through a Capote memoir I had to turn around and head for the hills (literally...there were some small hills at that particular park entrance) before the stench threatened to swallow me up completely. I realized that it is best to walk THROUGH the park...over the grass and over the rocks...because otherwise it could be physically dangerous.

In spite of these...minor...setbacks, the park is really my favorite place in the city. It is the one place where you can rest, sit, and SMELL the air around you. There are other places to go and enjoy grass/trees/squirrels, but Central Park is really the only place I've found in Manhattan where the you can find a spot without a skyscraper view. Right now the leaves are just barely beginning to change colors, so the park is no longer just green, but green littered with gold and orange.

Finally!

My blog hasn't been working...but now it is! Here's an article that I wrote for Point Loma's paper a few weeks ago:



Learning proper subway etiquette has been a vigorous process from the get-go. To look like a “local” (and a local I am not) takes directional skills, superior balance, and the ability to get from place to place without being glued to the subway map hidden in your book. These are lessons that can be learned without experience, but here are five things that I’ve learned through living in the Big Apple:
1. Listen to people’s conversations whenever you can, because you might learn something useful, like whether or not the train is going to all stops or if the man on the corner is still selling faux Chanel. Not everyone can be taken to0 seriously, though. For example, my first week I saw a 12 year old boy wrench himself against the railing as he proceded to wail “BUT I DON’T WANNNNNA GO TO BROOKLYN!” For a second I wondered if I should be worried about Brooklyn too—but I’ve been fine so far.
2. It is absolutely possible to get on the wrong line, even if you’ve been using the right one for weeks. I did this two days ago (and again this morning). This will only result in looking like a newbie if you curse and jump out of your seat upon realizing your mistake (this I did this morning as well).
3. If it looks like water, it might be water…but it might be something else, especially after 10pm when the Subway stations become considerably warmer than the outside air.
4. Subway vermin do exist. In general they stay on the tracks, where no human should ever be anyways. Avoid looking too grossed out or else people will know that you’re not from around these parts.
5. Except for those who have either millions in the bank or a personal sugar daddy, public transportation is everyone’s way of getting around. Consequently, the subway is always an eclectic group of people and it is important to be aware of who’s around you. A few days ago a man claiming to be “the Second Son” (Abel as opposed to Cain) prophesized and preached for a full 7 stops. Those who acknowledged his censuring by looking at him received the gift of personal condemnation. In general, the best way to avoid confrontations with the crazies is to avert your eyes and to turn up your iPod.