Psychos at Starbucks

This morning I read an article about a woman who got kicked out of an Upper West Side Starbucks after getting into an argument with employees over how to "correctly" order a coffee and a bagel.

Little did I know that I would witness another Starbucks altercation only a few hours later. Crazy how a chain that's been slinging delicious beverages for years still inspires such rage and confusion in people.

I oftentimes head to the Starbucks by my office in the Financial District for a little afternoon pick-me-up. There aren't a lot of people there at 3 or 4 p.m., so I can usually place my order, get my drink and get back to the office in about five minutes.

However, that wasn't the case today. I relayed the story of my Starbucks outing to a friend via chat. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Katherine says:
i got there and there were two foreign dudes in line having trouble ordering
and after much debate
they got a tall coffee frap and a grande coffee frap
then i ordered my thing
then this guy came in after me and ordered a tall hot chocolate
then the guys get their fraps and become ENRAGED
Katherine's Friend says:
...
Katherine says:
like, they go ballistic
they're like screaming "COFFEE FRAPPUCCINO! COFFEE FRAPPUCCINO!"
Katherine's Friend says:
lol
Katherine says:
and the barista is like "YES THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE THEY'RE RIGHT HERE"
and they get even more mad! they're like "NO! JUST COFFEE! JUST COFFEE! NO FRAPPUCCINO!"
Katherine's Friend says:
whaa
Katherine says:
and the barista's like "um, well, you ordered it wrong, or there was a miscommunication; go back up to the register"
and the dudes picked up handfuls of straws and started THROWING them at the barista
Katherine's Friend says:
omg lol
Katherine says:
and then barista's like "WHAT THE HELL DUDES" and suddenly the manager comes outta nowhere and is like "LEAVE. NOW."
meanwhile, no one has been making my drink, obvi
and then tall hot chocolate comes up to the barista and is like "WHERE IS MY DRINK NIGGA"
SERIOUSLY
and the guy was like, "um, first, don't call me that; second, clearly i haven't made it yet; third, i have to make her drink first" and gestures at me
Katherine's Friend says:
jeez
dramaa
Katherine says:
and tall hot chocolate's all "I WUZ HERE BEFORE SHE WAS" whilst pointing at me
and i was like "no you weren't"
and the barista was like "no, no you definitely weren't"
and tall hot chocolate said (and i kid you not) "DON'T PLAY ME LIKE THAT, HOMIE"
which the barista ignores
and he finishes my drink and puts it in a tray with the two coffee fraps and said "here you go. sorry for the wait."
and i was like "sorry you got assaulted! thanks for the extra drinks!" and i came back to work and gave the fraps to people in the lunchroom.
Katherine's Friend says:
poor barista
but that's awesome FREE FRAPS
Katherine says:
i know! i felt way bad for the dude.
were people that psycho when you worked at starbucks?
Katherine's Friend says:
occasionally. psycho comes in many flavors, though.
Katherine says:
mmm.
so do delicious frappuccinos.

Confessions of a Gym Virgin: Part II

This past Monday morning I woke up with feelings of grit and determination and resolve and knew that it was The Day I Would Begin Bettering Myself Through Physical Fitness. So I printed out my one-month gym membership Groupon and assembled a gym bag of sorts — old pajama sweatpants from summer camp that I had since modified into capris, a Pizza Lucé T-shirt, my threadbare sports bra and a pair of running shoes that I had bought on sale with good intentions but had never broken in.

I made it through the work day and headed to the gym directly afterward. As I approached the doors, a tiny knot of apprehension blossomed in my stomach. As I got closer, the anxiety spread; my palms were sweating as I grasped the door handle. "Get a grip, Katherine," I whispered to myself, then blinked hard as if waking from a dream and threw the door open.

I approached the front desk. A short, fair-skinned girl beamed at me. "Hi, welcome to Crunch!" I thought briefly about turning on my heel and leaving without a word, but instead awkwardly responded with "OH HI. Hi. Yes. I have never been here, but here ... is where I want to be. Yes."

She gave me a quizzical look. I silently cursed my ineptitude and continued. "I have a Groupon."

"Oh!" She was smiling again. "Let me get a manager."

Soon, a brusque, overly tanned middle-aged woman was entering my information into a computer. She followed up by giving me a membership card and a half-assed tour of the facilities. I was impressed that there were always classes going on in various studios, plus more treadmills and elliptical machines than I could count. The locker room, though ridiculously crowded, was immaculate, and a lot of the bathroom basics — towels, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, hair dryers, mouthwash and even Q-tips — were provided free of charge.

I headed back to the front desk to grab a towel and have the cute fair-skinned girl scan my card. I also bought a lock (rather necessary) and a bottle of water (almost more so). The girl pointed out some clipboards on the desk. "These are sign-up sheets for classes. We put them out half an hour before the classes are scheduled to start."

I glanced at one. "What's 'The Ride'?"

"That's our spin class," she responded. "It's probably the most popular class. We offer it at least once every day of the week."

Stationary bikes, I thought to myself. How hard can that be? Well, probably pretty hard. But I used to bike everywhere. I can do this.

I grabbed a pen and wrote down my name and noted that the class started in 20 minutes. I headed back down to the locker room to change. Suddenly, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings. Everyone around me was lean and muscular, towels draped around their necks in some kind of nonchalant athletic manner, SIGG bottles and VitaminWaters tucked under their arms. Oh god. Where was I?! This wasn't the Minneapolis YWCA. These people weren't lazy schmucks looking to negate their grease intake with a couple of sit-ups. These were Serious Fitness People.

And I was very, very afraid.

Confessions of a Gym Virgin: Part I

The realization hit me like a pillowcase full of batteries: HOLY SHIT. It's August. August already. Do you know what I did last August? I packed up my downtown Los Angeles loft and hit the road — again — with my boyfriend and kitteh.

We didn't end up in our cramped Williamsburg one-bedroom apartment until the first week of September, but still. It was mega-transition time. And almost a year later, what do I have to show for it?

I'm settled, sure — well, to a point — but I obviously still have some Things to Figure Out. Like what I'm going to do with my life, or at least a direction to take it in. I'm feeling empty when it comes to considering long-term careers or anything creative. Why am I not writing? Art-ing? Something? Why am I in the midst of a creativity famine? I can't even be counted on to update this blog regularly. Sorry, people who clearly don't read this.

I do have some things. The apartment, for one. A full-time job. A handful of nice new friends. An addiction to Belgian wafels from a truck that roams the NYC streets. A new favorite restaurant of all time, conveniently located in my neighborhood. An obsession with Southern soul food, particularly from another neighborhood joint...

Food. Food is my constant. Food is what I love. So what I really have is a new home, a new job, new friends and 10 or so new pounds on my body.

My (not terribly significant, but still noticeable) weight gain didn't all happen after I moved here. It started when I was in the last throes of Minneapolis and continued during my year and some months in LA. I have always loved food and always eaten voraciously, especially when it comes to things that aren't good for me. I love salt, I love fat, I love red meat still oozing with blood. I love things that are breaded and things that are buttered. I love anything prefaced with the word "fried" and anything finished with a nice Béarnaise.

I've always eaten like this. But I am no longer a growing girl. I am in my mid-20s. My metabolism — once the most amazing metabolism on the planet, allowing me to eat all of the foods mentioned above without gaining an ounce — is slowly disappearing. "Fuck you, I'm done with this shit" is something I imagine my metabolism saying.

To sum up: Not only am I unmotivated and uninspired, I am also ... unthin.

So I've decided to do something about it. All of it, hopefully. A sort of revamp of my life. Starting with my body, because that's something I can at least sort of control. And maybe if I start a fitness routine, it will encourage me to get everything else in my life on track.

On Monday, I joined a gym. Gym memberships, like absolutely everything else in New York City, are ridiculously, ludicrously expensive. So when Groupon offered a cheap one-month membership to a fancy fitness chain I'd been eyeing, I leapt on that offer like a jungle cat. The thing that hooked me was that not only was the one-month membership heavily discounted, but if you chose to continue being a member after the trial month, the joiner's fee was $30 rather than an insane $150.

However, just because I am committed to this change in my physical well-being doesn't mean it will be easy, especially since I haven't worked out regularly since I was on the varsity swim team in high school. Exercise, for me, is the few city blocks between subway stops and whatever my destination is: home, work, the grocery store, the bar. Physical activity does not come easy to me at all. It means sweat and pain and sideaches and unquenchable thirst, not the invigorating feeling that fitness junkies claim to get.

So here goes nothing. Here goes everything. Here goes...

Reason No. 1,257 to Love Lady GaGa

She dresses like the people who interview her.

Subterranean Birthday Blues

O hai. It was my birthday ... about a month ago. Good lord I suck at blogging.

Actually, I don't. I only "restarted" this blog after my second ridiculous move across the country ... and just as I was getting into the habit of posting regularly, I found employment, and one of my major tasks at work is to blog thrice weekly. So I got a little burnt out on blogging. But now I'm a fucking pro at it. I LIKE writing ... especially about myself. Heh.

Anyway, what? Oh yeah. Birthday. I'm old. Here are the highlights, presented without comment:

More Thoughts on Cupcakes

Awhile ago, I made some observations and comparisons of "cupcakeries" in New York City. I noted that the world-famous Magnolia was a bit sweet and overrated ... then again, I find most cupcakes sweet and overrated. I'm more of a salty-savory-umami girl, so I'm kinda sad that "Sex and the City" didn't make cheese popcorn stands or steak tips vendors all the rage.

Anyway, last week I tried a few more cupcake places, with surprisingly delicious results.

BUTTER LANE CUPCAKES.

I like Butter Lane's simple formula — offer cupcakes in three flavors (classic vanilla bean, classic chocolate and banana) and choose your frosting (from a list of several delicious French- and American-style buttercreams). They will then frost your cupcakes before your very eyes.

The French vanilla and chocolate buttercreams were great — less sweet, more meringue-y. I like that a lot. And the American buttercreams came in so many flavors! I chose raspberry (with pieces of actual raspberry) and burnt caramel (pictured above, creatively topped with a few kernels of kettle corn).

I picked up a little postcard that listed all the frosting flavors available — there were several listed on the card that the shop didn't have that day, but that I would absolutely love to try: pistachio, salted chocolate, lemon rosemary.

CHIKALICIOUS DESSERT CLUB.

I'm absolutely flabbergasted after eating ChikaLicious cupcakes. I never thought I could really CRAVE a cupcake, you know? But ChikaLicious was perfect. Absolutely amazing. Like ... I want these all the time now. They are to be served at any future event in my life that could call for baked goods: my birthday, my wedding, my cat's birthday, my cat's wedding, Theodore Roosevelt's birthday, promotions, cat showers, what have you.

The cupcakes. Holy shit. Perfectly sized, perfectly moist. The frosting isn't some terribly sweet buttercream, it's smooth and light and airy and perfect. I want to swim in it. The deluxe cupcakes have a good-sized dollop of filling in them. May I recommend the caramel? Caramel inside, whipped-tasting frosting on top. I think I ate the thing in about three bites, then obsessively licked my fingers and the wrapper. My god.

The s'mores cupcake is positively out of this world. I've had a s'mores cupcake at Crumbs before — an oversized mess of mini marshmallows and unwieldy hunks of chocolate and graham crackers. The ChikaLicious s'mores cupcake was a yellow-brown cake with a hint of cinnamon to it, filled with chocolate frosting and topped with burnt marshmallow. Seriously ... it's a flattened marshmallow (perhaps marshmallow fluff) that was then toasted with a crème brûlée torch. (Both the caramel and s'mores cupcakes are pictured above.) 

That's it. Game over. ChikaLicious wins. 

An Ode to Brunch

Or maybe just an ode to Bloody Marys. I'll start off with a Lucille Bluth-esque winking-eye alcohol suggestion...

And Suddenly...

And suddenly, it's the end of March.

It's funny how you let things get away from you. Well, maybe there are some people out there who have a pretty good grasp on their shit, but I let things get away from me. But the things that get away are usually replaced by other things — sometimes lesser things, sometimes greater things. But even the small things have been making me content lately, which is the first time in a long time that I can say this.

Not everything is perfect or easy. There's been difficulty in the past couple of months. But I have real support — boyf, friends, family — and a solid outlook that I haven't had in years. Maybe ever.

My grandparents' wedding photo. My grandma passed away at the beginning of February; my grandpa died about a decade ago. I miss them. This photo is badass and makes me happy.

The Wafels & Dinges truck makes me quite happy. Have you heard of spekuloos? It's seriously life-altering. Actually, I should just move to Belgium. The best waffles, the best beer, the best chocolate. Plus I really liked the movie "In Bruges"! Belgium is clearly my destiny.

Cats in bags make me happy. What else do you need?

Etsy ... So Addictive

Like virtually everyone I know, I have a serious Etsy addiction. I also live in a city where the cost of rent, groceries and the occasional jaunt to the bar with friends leaves me with absolutely no extra income. I wish I had money to spend on clothes, jewelry and other ridiculous accessories. Alas.

This is what I would buy right now on Etsy, if only I could...

Liebling Designs is responsible for this gorgeous necklace. The majority of the pieces in Liebling Design's Etsy shop incorporate gorgeous satin flowers with chunky beads or gems in rich hues. The effect is mesmerizing — a piece that is completely classic and still strikingly modern. Liebling Designs appears to be based in Minneapolis, which makes me happy — my old home! I do miss it so. While we're on that subject...

 

Truche makes this glorious Minnesota necklace, a perfect nostalgic accessory for me. Truche makes over 25 states and several countries — a pretty piece of wearable art that can serve as a reminder of where your heart may lie.

Made With Molecules is such a fabulous shop! Raven Hanna, a former scientist, makes absolutely beautiful pieces that "commemorate molecules that are both aesthetic and have functions that suggest a symbolic meaning." This is a caffeine molecule — my life force. Yes please.

Bonzie! "An independent Irish fashion label with romantic vintage appeal." That says it all, right? Bonzie makes a lot of pieces that would be absolutely beyond perfect for a creative wedding — embellished shrugs, corsets with steampunk-esque detailing and full skirts with layers of lace and tea-stained tulle. I don't feel like getting married anytime soon, so if someone wants to get me this beautiful Victorian-inspired pewter velvet blazer, I certainly wouldn't object.

This is simple: I want a beard. As a female, I am unable to grow one. I Made You A Beard will make you a beard. Yarn. Felt. Any color you want. Once I get my beard, I will finally be at home in Williamsburg, the world headquarters of ironic facial hair.

I'm obsessed with Lady GaGa. I must emulate her. But I don't think my boss would appreciate it if I showed up at the office in a dress made of bubbles. So I think I'll just order a hair bow from Puppy Cat Meow. They come in virtually every natural human hair color — and even some colors not found in nature. Oh yes.

They make the supersized version as well! GaGa ooh la la. Want your rad hair bow...?

Much Ado...

There's a cold wind blowing in Brooklyn. The kind that makes exposed skin sting.

This three-day weekend was a nice little adventure. Parties, alcohol, inept cab drivers, a horrible case of food poisoning, movies, literature, sleep.

I've never been a resolution-making sort of person, but I need some goals. Some ideas. I need to wake up — physically, creatively, mentally. All weekend I felt like I was putting something off, postponing something I desperately needed to do ... but there's nothing. Maybe that's the problem. Not too much on my plate ... too little. Expand. Advance. Charge forward, guns blazing, into the vast unknown. I taste blood. Let's go.

Trust Buster!

I feel like I should write some succinct summary of the holidays, my plans for 2010 or some kind of year-end review of the books I've read or the movies I saw.

But I really don't feel like that. I feel like writing about Theodore Roosevelt ... THE BEST PRESIDENT EVERRRRR.

 THE HERO OF SAN JUAN HILL!

I was never really into U.S. history. I can't recant the details of all the wars or list the presidents in order. But Theodore Roosevelt is just so incredible that I can't even deal with it.

SERIOUSLY...

• He had a mustache and looked like a friendly walrus.
• Reading and writing were among his favorite hobbies.
  
• He didn't like being called Teddy, which is rad, because Teddy is a stupid name.
• But on that note, the whole thing about not shooting the bear ... you know the story ... he considered it "unsportsmanlike" because the bear was already tied up. So yeah, he was morally awesome. But he still liked shooting animals, which is badass.
• He was all sickly as a child, but exercised vigorously and built up his stamina until he was healthy. So basically he just kicked weakness's ass.
• He went on African safaris and expeditions to South America. Like I said ... badass.
  
• He was a Rough Rider! And he was awarded the Medal of Honor for leading the charge at San Juan Hill in Cuba.
  
• He started the U.S. National Parks Service, which is apparently "America's best idea." More like T.R.'S BEST IDEA, AMIRITE?!
• Oh yeah, he had all these sweet nicknames: T.R., Trust Buster, the Bull Moose and tons of others.
• You know Maxwell House's slogan, "good to the last drop"? HE COINED THAT. Holy shit.
• He had a menagerie of pets, including exotic mammals like hyenas.
• He was the first president to be given the Nobel Peace Prize. He got the award for mediating the Russo-Japanese War. He also apparently said that his biggest regret was that he was not president during wartime. So, war = bad, but also good. Adventure! Contradictions!
  
• His favorite foods were fried chicken, roast beef, grits and meat from the animals he killed. Some historians believe he drank nearly a gallon of coffee each day. Fabulous.
  
• In Milwaukee, he was about to give a speech and someone SHOT HIM IN THE CHEST at close range. He was all "IT TAKES MORE THAN THAT TO KILL A BULL MOOSE!" and gave his speech anyway. He didn't even go to the hospital until over an hour later. BADASS.
• Oh, and when he ran on a third-party (the Bull Moose Party) ticket, he garnered a larger portion of the popular vote than any other third-party presidential candidate in U.S. history.
• He said all kinds of wise and iconic things, like "speak softly and carry a big stick" and "do what you can, with what you have, where you are."
  

My favorite maker of comics, the talented and hilarious Kate Beaton, has depicted good ol' T.R. once or twice. She pretty much sums up everything that's incredible about him.

Man oh man. I love you, T.R. Happy New Year.

Some Thoughts on Cupcakes

What's the deal with cupcakes?

They've certainly been a hot little thing for the past couple of years. I'm not exactly sure what or who launched this trend ... apparently "Sex and the City" had something to do with it? Carrie Bradshaw, taking breaks from typing absolutely ridiculous hypothetical questions into her iBook (or did she have a PowerBook?) in her sprawling Manhattan abode, calling up her quirky friends and marching down to Magnolia Bakery to mack on some cupcakes. Was the cupcake trend full-blown when Andy Samberg and Chris Parnell unleashed "Lazy Sunday" that fateful Saturday night? They love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling.

But I digress. The thing is, I'm more of a savory person. My favorite meals and preferred snacks usually have a salty, spicy or umami thing going on. I love steak, potatoes, pasta, butter, cheese and popcorn. I have nothing against dessert, really, but I rarely bother with it. I'd rather order a greasy appetizer or an extra side dish in lieu of saving room for something described on the menu as "sinful" and served with more than one spoon.

However, when I moved to L.A., I couldn't help but notice all the boutique bakeries and the lavish praise they garnered for their cupcakes ... especially in Beverly Hills, just around the corner from where I worked. I had to know what all the fuss was about.

The cupcake works for me. I don't crave them, and I'm not sure they're worth standing in line for, but I appreciate them. I dig the individual portion size; the taste of thick, sugar-saturated cream mingling with moist, crumbly cake.

And now. Now. Now I am in New York Bloody Fucking City, the world's cupcake shenanigans headquarters, or something. So yes. Yes. Now. Here I am. And these are my thoughts.

LOLkat. (Get it?!) Erm, I didn't have any photos featuring me actually consuming cupcakes. Moving on.

CRUMBS BAKE SHOP.

The first time I ever had Crumbs was in Beverly Hills. Crumbs was on Santa Monica Boulevard, just a block away from the ultra-mega-hip cupcakery Sprinkles. There was an insane line for Sprinkles, and — like I've said — I am not a person possessed by cupcakes, so I ambled down the street to Crumbs, where the line was much more manageable. Turns out Crumbs is everywhere. Beverly Hills. New York City. Stamford. Probably even somewhere in the good ol' Midwest.

Cupcakes from Crumbs are huge, and I think that may be their downfall. Don't get me wrong — they are not inedible by any means. They do have the most creative toppings, and they always have a blob of chocolate, fruit jelly or cream in the center, which is delightful. But I've had several cupcakes from Crumbs that were a bit too dry, and sometimes the icing was almost stale-tasting. I also don't think it's necessary for the cupcakes to be quite so gigantic. Crumbs should scale down the size and focus on staying moist (that's what she said? Ewww).

MAGNOLIA BAKERY.

When I moved to L.A., people asked me if I saw celebrities. (And yes, I did. Fairly frequently.) When I moved to New York, people asked me if I'd gone to Magnolia yet.

Andy Samberg and Chris Parnell mentioned that this bakery had all the bomb frostings, but I'm not sure that I'm inclined to agree with them. Maybe if you're really into frosting this could float your boat, but it was so sweet it made my teeth ache after just two bites. It was like I could feel cavities forming. Excellent presentation though, as you can see. Very seasonal. And all those toppings were edible, save for those larger broom-toting snowmen. Alas! They were plastic.

The actual cake part was pretty phenomenal. Sweet, light and very moist. Maybe I'll just scrape off some of the frosting next time.

BILLY'S BAKERY.

I came across Billy's when I did a Google search for cupcakes within walking distance of my place of employment. They have two locations in Manhattan; a Chelsea spot is apparently their flagship, but there was also a TriBeCa location that was perfect for me. I waltzed up Broadway to check it out.

Turns out Billy makes a damn fine cupcake. A simple, classic cake that was neither too large or too dry, topped with buttercream icing that didn't make my molars ache. There was a nice dusting of jimmies to seal the deal. They were also selling some fantastic-looking slices of cake.

I'd say "until next time" at this point, but I think I've had my fill of cupcakes for awhile. Maybe I should start reviewing hot dog vendors.

I Want to Go to There

Oh dear oh dear. Whither goest thou, December?

I didn't start this month on the best note. I succumbed to some kind of horrible malady ... I'm not sure if it was the flu, the swine flu or some other wretched virus, but it was certainly unpleasant.

Once I felt better, I decided I needed some holiday cheer. The weather's been all over the place during this first two weeks of December — everything from a bitter 18 degrees to a balmy 65. No consistent cold weather + no snow + no car playing holiday tunes on the radio + no room for a tree in my apartment = I keep forgetting it's nearly Christmas.

 

So I went to 30 Rock.

 

Tree! Ice skaters! New York City landmark!

 

Such a lovely little winter picture.

 

Of course, Radio City Music Hall was right around the corner, looking terribly festive as well.

The night after my Rockefeller Center sojourn, I set out to do some errands in my neighborhood and got caught in a sudden rainstorm. I sought temporary shelter in one of my favorite bars, The Lucky Dog. I made small talk with the 10 or so other patrons and occasionally plugged the jukebox with quarters so I could have Of Montreal accompany my beer.

After "Gronlandic Edit" finished playing, the bar fell eerily silent. It was as if everyone's conversations had just concluded along with the song, and there was no money left in the jukebox. Suddenly, someone at the end of the bar yelled, "HEY! IT'S SNOWING!"

Everyone's head snapped up and we all turned in unison toward the door. Huge white flakes had indeed replaced the cold December rain. A murmur of excitement made its way down the bar and led to a few sincere whoops of pleasure. With a Cheshire grin on my face, I downed the rest of my drink, queued up the holiday playlist on my iPod, slipped on my headphones and set out in the snow for home.

Reflecting on November

November sped by on wings of fire (and ice? and rain, definitely rain), but it was a very necessary month ... a healing month, a month when I settled, when I branched out, when I found a routine, when I made friends and money and food, when I stopped worrying and learned to love the bomb.

I reread all seven Harry Potter books (in a row this time, no two- or three-year wait in between books) and remembered what was like to be really and truly enchanted with a (well-written! I'm looking at you, Stephenie Meyer) story for all ages.

I saw "Fantastic Mr. Fox" at a theatre in Union Square two weeks before its wide-release date. It was maybe the best film I've seen all year.

I embraced Twitter (I know this isn't necessarily a good thing, but it's something that happened). My cat jumped on that bandwagon long before I did.

 

More bingo in New Haven hosted by a man dressed as Joan Crawford and other delightful members of the Connecticut Gay Men's Chorus. This time with my Domo and some transcendent cupcakes from Crumbs. And finally...

 

...duck on Thanksgiving. Who could ask for anything more?

Photography 101

There's something clichéd about taking and posting pictures of subway stops.

I mean, there's just something that screams "12-year-old budding photographer" about the whole thing, you know? The giant signs, the poor lighting, the lack of upkeep, the ridiculous people. Not to mention the subtle undertones of "I live in New York and I am better than you" that lace every photo.

 

I guess what I'm trying to say is ... I'm not above it.

 

Chambers Street = the apocalypse.

 

Beautiful fish made of tiny tiles at the Essex/Delancey station.

 

This is my stop.