mom comes to nyc, part II (also...WHAT TO DO IN NYC)

i had such a lovely time with my mom here in town.

we mostly just walked everywhere and ate a lot and talked about all those things that mothers and daughter talk about (but can't necessarily say over the phone).

it felt so special. and sacred.

and it was the little things--always the little things: getting to show her this space. buying a bedskirt and new pot and cutting board (helloooo, adult life). setting up my computer in such a way so that we could fall asleep watching pbs' zen (my mother and i share a deep and profound love for rufus sewell). snacking on almond biscotti and peppermint tea. dinner with the dearest and best friends of my life. and a good, solid amount of some really robust laughter.

i won't take you through the day-by-day breakdown of our adventures, but i would like to provide a few suggestions:

(to do) cobble hill cinemas--an old-school movie theatre where the tickets are much cheaper than in manhattan (only 7 bucks on thursday nights).

(to eat) frankies spuntino--italian food has never been my go-to, but i'm madly in love with this spot on court street. the food is fresh and light, the decor is the right amount of rustic, and the outdoor garden is endlessly charming. order the sweet potato ravioli.

(to see) greenwood cemetery--a massive and historic cemetery here in brooklyn that's home of one of the revolutionary war's first battles. it is quiet, expansive, and something to see. i'm planning on heading there in late october for a guided tour of the place.

(to eat) buttermilk channel--this was a big hit with my mom. it's an unassuming place that i love because i feel like i'm somewhere in the south (my mom felt as though she was in boston, go figure). we suggest the jalepeno corn bread and cheese plate.

(to eat) alta--my good friend kim works the greenmarket in union square and so has gotten to know alta's chef harrison mosher and has nothing but kind words for him. he oh so graciously sent quite a bit of food to our table and we gobbled up every last morsel. i've only been twice now, but already this is one of my favorite restaurants and the first place that comes to mind when someone asks for a suggestion. do know that if you order "the egg" for dessert, it really is the size of an egg, which is to say quite small, but quite good. also, know that the restaurant can be hard to find (no sign out front).

(to eat {treat})) blue marble ice cream--i say get the pretzel cone (game-changer) and my mom says  the strawberry sorbet.

(to see) jefferson market garden--a lush space right in the heart of greenwich village. on the wednesday night we wandered past the place was filled with some stunning live music.

(to do) where to walk--the brooklyn bridge is not to be underestimated. on a beautiful day you must, must, must do this. the brooklyn promenade (right along the water). dumbo and brooklyn bridge park.

(to do) brooklyn flea--fun to walk around and look at jewelry and shoes and sample all the foods.

(to eat {treat}) marquet patisserie--sweets and treats and bread and coffee galore. my mother declared the man behind the counter "very french" which she roughly translated to less than obliging. but the cookies were delightful nonetheless.

mom comes to nyc, part I

 

on living alone. and the things they don't tell you.

i spend an inordinate, unnecessary, somewhat embarrassing amount of time thinking about my next-door neighbor.

the next-door neighbor who i mostly refer to as my roommate, not because i think of him as such, but because that's the word that comes out.

i worry about whether my music is too loud--can he tell that i play the same three songs again and again? i wonder if he can hear my television and knows just how many episodes of the west wing i've watched since moving in. if i cook brussell sprouts does their tremendous smell (ugh) spill over from the hallway into his flat?

much time has been spent discussing whether i should leave a note. or a loaf of my famous banana bread. or maybe i should just hop over and ask to borrow sugar (never mind that i have plenty here). i mean, this man is my neighbor after all, perhaps he should have my spare set of keys? perhaps i should know his name so that if there is ever--God forbid--a serious issue, i can pound on his door and there will be some rapport.

maybe it's that i know we share a fire escape. that in this sense, he is the one person who well... quite honestly, could get into my apartment.

i've only seen him once. i've lived here just about two months now and i've only seen him once. maybe that is why i've come to think of him in the abstract.

it was the day i moved in. pushing a massive chest of drawers up the stairs, he squeezed past us--pizza box in hand. i can't tell you what he looked like. he was young, i think. cute, i think? when we (the girls and i) finally got the dresser up the stairs i said, let's leave it in the hallway for a moment, i can't even think about this or look at it right now. we showered, cleaned up, and when we finally decided to embark on that last push--getting the dresser through the doorway, he emerged from the studio next door, offered to help, apologized--said he should have offered earlier on his way up. i granted a pardon on account of the hot pizza. and that was the extent of our interaction.

two months. and i've only seen him that once.

well, except for the time that saw me leave my apartment just ten seconds after he left his (no, not planned. get your head out of the gutter, we've not entered stalker territory just yet) and i followed closely enough behind to try and get a good look. i lost him into the brooklyn bread bakery when i continued on to the subway. and that was that.

sometimes, coming home late at night, there is comfort in seeing his light on. i think it's an issue of knowing there is another presence. knowing that as separate and isolated and sometimes lonely our lives can be--and the spheres we occupy--there's another light on, another life just on the other side of the wall.

so the question remains... note? basket of muffins? request for a power drill?

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO// the tallest man on earth

back toward the beginning of june i went to see this guy at town hall here in new york city.

i went by myself, sat there with pen and paper as sometimes words come when you least expect them, and the whole experience was...

have you ever been in the presence of someone who is so damn present? like really there, in the moment, and you can tell they are fighting to say in it just as much as you then have to fight to stay in it with them? and what i mean by fighting to stay in it--it's been my experience that there are few places more terrifying and exhilarating because in the present moment it's as though you feel every human emotion there's ever been--and you feel them all at once--and strongly, deeply.

but if you can stay there, there's a sort of revelation that comes along?

i had an experience of sitting there, listening to mr. matsson's brilliant, brilliant easy and stunning music and suddenly knowing something about the future of my life--knowing in that bone-deep knowing sort of way. a ferocious sort of knowledge and confidence in the future.

and of course i can talk about the moment now, but the body knowing passes as it often does, and even to describe it seems ridiculous. and yet. it happened.

does any of this make sense?

this is all to say, this man's new album is something else. and seeing him live and in person...well, if you can, you must. you really, simply must.

...

I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect. And it's these things I'd believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn't all she should be. I love her and it is the beginning of everything. | F. Scott Fitzgerald