Winter in New York

...so far has been a joke. Aside from the freak winter snowstorm on Halloween, and last weekend's little flurry - there hasn't really been anything "winteresque." A few days with temperatures in the low 20's does not count. I survived Chicago snowstorms, snowpacalypse, sub-zero temperatures where you might as well snap your fingers off.

I could blame global warming, but what I really mean is that walking around in a hoodie in January and feeling just a bit breezy is just strange.

Which hasn't meant that I've been out and raging like...the last six months. One of my goals this year was to drink less, contemplate more. There's some sort of cyclical cycle in me - live, think, live, think. This month, I've been out relatively little - but I have been museum-ing, brunching, visiting folks and trying to put together a plan of 2012.

I was talking with a friend of mine who remarked that as he was not asian, he enjoyed simply enjoying his life. It made me think - how exactly do I approach free time? I didn't have a lot while under the claws of my loving tiger mom. And there's enough of that left in me to be supremely uncomfortable whenever I don't have a plan. I don't like drifting. It makes me lazy, and like I'm not living up to my potential. Which isn't bad, except for the fact that I often confuse "having a great time" with "drifting." Which makes "living a chill life" much harder than I assumed. I don't blame this entirely on being Asian. Though where that ends, and where my own beliefs on productivity and forward momentum begins is impossible to discern.

I wouldn't regret the last few months - and they've pushed me into seeing all the great things that New York has to offer. However, I do think that I should probably put together a tentative schedule so that I can at least feel the pull of a "goal." The real beauty of this plan is that I completely ignore plans. I'm the kind of girl who isn't too into rules in the first place, so McGuyver-ing her way through things isn't an obstacle, it's practically a calling. So I have plans this January, nothing set or definite, but the tendrils of "life" that occur. I'll sip mojitos outside, in a light spring parka in the middle of February and see how far I go.

2012

Every new years I always feel this sense of "oh god. Not another one." It's one of those gut reactions - coming about because I generally feel as though I just barely clung to or hung on to the previous year. Ah, I was never too great at good-byes anyways.

I have a few hopes this year however instead of resolutions. I hope I exercise more. Eat well. Think about the last shot, and come home before dawn more often. I hope I discover more restaurants, and get to share them with the funny people I call "pals." I hope I whine less, listen more. Make time to read, and paint whenever I can. I hope I get lost less, but wander more often. I hope next year filled with art, adventure, heartbreak, hilarity, surreal experiences, and opportunity.

And of course, I hope I get to share all these fuzzy, embarrassing, laugh out loud stories with these girls. I'm not sure it's physically possible to gchat more often, but I'll try my damndest. Hey now 2012, let's dance you and I.

Warehouse Parties

I know that the New York Warehouse party idea is so cliched at this point, it's a stereotype - but that didn't stop me from signing up for listservs that email you directions to sketchy places in Brooklyn, and ask you to dress up in costumes. Considering the amount of ridiculousness that is New York, I figured "why not? I'm game."

It was sponsored by Danger, a now defunct group of promoters headed by a Mr. Etundi. The party itself was pretty fabulous. My roommate and I nabbed tickets online, before the thing sold out in a few hours. We dressed up, her in a long black back revealing dress. Myself in cream, with long white gloves, red lipstick. The invite said to be rag-tag dressy, or something, and we did that with some oomph. I am willing to admit that yes. There was a headpiece, and it received a mighty many compliments.

The first location was just off the Gowanus bridge, at a metal work studio. Large iron sculptures adorned the inside. A man in a white mask played a somber cello song. And upstairs on the loft, there was a tree house, and girls on a metal hoop scantily clad in white holding candles.



Then some limo's came, and our host introduced herself as Placenta, for that night at least. And we rode to a warehouse apparently titled Shang Hai Mermaid. We entered, and behind the red curtained door was a human in a large tree costume, welcoming us in.

There were candles, and a bar in the back. It was a cross between a speakeasy, and a electronica minimalistic dj party. The drinks were strong, and champagne was thrown out.

"Shang...Hai...Person...fish?" I said, reading about half the characters on the post. "Man, I can barely read anything. How embarrassing."

"I got person. 'Bout it." My roommate said.

There was a photobooth, and outside, a large bonfire which my roommate and I thoroughly enjoyed. Around 3 in the morning, we decided to call it quits - and called a car back home.

Can things like this happen in other cities? I've wondered about these sort of incidents. On my way out, I saw a girl offer socks to another.

"I know I probably will never see you again, but here!" She said, her large feather boa dangling around her neck.

These tiny minute incidents are largely (I think) what make up the New York mentality. Which seems to be appreciate the small minutia, momentary connections with complete strangers who you might never see again. To wonder in the future seems verboten - almost silly. I felt exhausted at times trying to keep up with the energy needed to continually introduce yourself, and represent yourself properly.

I can already hear Krod and Kdef shaking their heads. And I'm hardpressed to accurately describe the blissful feeling of anonymity with possibility. You can be anyone just walking around, but at any moment, you could meet a future roommate, or business venture. It all seems doable, albeit no less difficult.

It was neither my first nor my last Brooklyn venture, and considering how I woke up with both kidneys - I consider my night a success. Everything in my room now smells like nicotine and campfire, delectable if particular.

A.N.Y.W.

Last week, my friend came to visit. We saw Balanchine at the Lincoln Center. It was absolutely fantastic - quite classic, and lean lines. We got decent seats, and watched the 2 other shows in delight. But the ending scene (the iconic one) is smashing.

The rest of the weekend was spent enjoying the co-work lovin'. Halal food was had by all, and it was finished up with a quick tour of greenpoint for my roommate's art show.

Showing around friends is interesting. On the one hand, you realize how much of a new yorker you've become - on the other, you also realize that you'll still get lost or on the wrong stop.

This weekend, there was visiting, an enormous Chinese brunch, and lots of good ol' conversation. I did pass out on friday due to my exhaustion - but I made up for it by staying out and walking most of southern Manhattan last night. September was a visit-heavy month, but October will have even more faces. At least, I know realize that sleep has to be carved out. (Or perhaps taken against ones will, to be woken up at six am in your clothes next to your open laptop.)

Another New York Weekend

Numbers:

The amount of times I wound up in the West village - 5

The number of bars/restaurants I visited - 9

The hours of sleep I got total in 72 hours - 14

Saturday Night

Saturday morning, I got up bright and early and trekked over to the Upper West Side. They have a HomeGoods there, which as the equivalent of TJMaxx for ...homegoods, was promised to have all the decorations I needed to transform my once plain room into something worthy of Martha Stewart.

There was brunch at Viand, a cute little cafe whose brunch specials were quite good - though I wish I had asked for some tomatoes in my omelet. Fall makes me crave ratatoille. I might try to make some later - there's a Mark Bittman recipe that promises easy and minimalism. There's some promise in that.

Home Goods was like a mish mash of argyle pumpkins, and garden things. I got a ceramic fish, a box in the shape of war and peace, some fake plants (to go with my earthy rabbit lamp-jar), and a few desk items. Afterwards, I tried to take all this on the subway. Have you ever tried to carry branches in a small encramped space? It was wonderful - no one sat next to me, or even tried to stand near me. The only price was that I poked myself in the eye with a branch when I tried to fall asleep. Note to self, don't fall asleep near branches.

There was some napping, some setting up, and then I trekked back to into Manhattan. I watched the sunset on the Met rooftop, enjoying the sculpture gardens. Due to subway incompetence, I almost missed it. But at the last minute, I ran upstairs to find myself basking the last 45 minutes in the subset, reflected off Central Park nearby.

Dinner was at Burger Joint. I wish I had taken a photo. Imagine a classy, beautiful hotel. Le Parker Meridian, all tall glass and marble, and 60 degrees all summer long. And inside, are tall red drapes that should you walk into, contains a burger joint straight out of the East village. Small, cramped, full of writing on the wood panneled walls (full of scratches, and outdated pop culture movie posters.) It's considered one of the best burgers in New York. And I? I think it's better than Shake Shack. I know, blasphemy, but it is succulent, and tender, and diet free. It was a greasy, messy burger, and it was glorious.

We decided to walk down Manhattan after that. Let me put this in perspective. The Met is in the low 80s. The burger joint was in the 50's, and we ended up in Meat Packing and the West Village, which was past 1. So we walked most of Manhattan - and even more because we stopped along the way to walk along the Highline.

Highline park is a fantastic piece of urban architecture. It used to be a railroad that was converted into an urban park/walkway. Hipsters, seniors, tourists, and my coworkers and I walked through just as it was about to close, getting a beautiful look at the city as we walked the entire length.

Which dropped us off near Meat Packing. It's literally a district where meat is processed. But nestled near by are couture fashion houses, and dinky places that open up to amazing clubs. This sort of mish-mash is also paralleled in the population. For every dirty Jersey shore Jersian, you also have models, and places where exclusivity means you must show up before 11 unless you're on a list.

We stopped by Brass Monkey, got a drink, and when the place began to fill it was time to go.

West Village. By far the place I've spent the most time. It's quieter than the East village, full of cobblestone roads, and a history of artists tripsing about before it became one of the most expensive places in NYC. There was a Belgian bar with an outside courtyard hiden by pizza joints near by - and we sat and had some framboise. Enjoying hte last bit of heat in the night.

By then we were just a bit tired, which meant - fried chicken. Bon Chon was decided upon, and we went - with chicken so spicy even I teared up.

And then I began to pass out, waking up to a new coworker putting a glass of water in my face, and me clearly disagreeing with that. And the night was done. I put myself on the subway, and woke up one stop before my stop to a nice gay hipster waving at me.

And then I slept.

New York Bars

What I've come to realize in New York is that it has a "if we build it, legions will come" philosophy. Everywhere in the city are the strangest assortment of concept mash-ups. Why not have a bar hidden behind a hot dog stand? Why not have a drive-in theatre...in Manhattan? Why not party in abandoned banks and warehouses? Why not have a bar based on cupcakes and alcohol?

I went to Sweet Revenge for my friend's birthday. I got the raspberry red velvet - which I order at every cupcake/restaurant I can. It's my scientific yardstick of the art of cupcaking. The raspberry was nice touch to tone down the sweetness, and it had cream cheese frosting instead of buttercream. (Thank the sweet lord). But the best part was the nice Belgian I had - which I'll recognize if I ever see it, but could not pronounce it to save myself from burning. Good thick head, very mellow and warm. Washed down the cupcake quite well.

While we were eating, film cameras had been set up to document the scene. There was lighting, mood, and three people conveniently at the bar. Guess who? The funny thing was that in all the times I've ever been filmed, I don't think I've ever felt as nonchalant. Want to film me tenderly enjoying my cupcake? Alright. My zipcode is known for its Devil-May-Care, go ahead. Why not.

When you have a city so big, you can cater to niche markets and still break even (or make bank if you have a little cupcake shop in the West Village.) And with the variety of people here, you kinda feel bold enough to do whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want. That sort of freedom then frees you to do something a little bit stranger.

I'm not trying to say that New York is the only place with cupcake and beer, or that it's even that strange - how many times have I gotten a beer and a cupcake?but the eyebrow quirk that I raised at first eventually mellowed out as I forgot there was a camera there, and ate my cupcake, watching as people walked through the rain, completely unaware of anything but what was in front.

All that was left within 10 minutes.