Went down to my old house after work today to pick up mail that hadn't been redirected. Walked up to the bus stop after and caught the most amazing sunset on the river. This song came on my ipod and I just got a shiver down my spine and felt incredibly sad. Beautiful song, beautiful sunset, beautiful neighbourhood that was no longer mine.

(Beautiful teenage lead singer as well, but saying that totally detracts from the mood of this entry...)

Somebody Else's Clothes - WinterKids

i'm from barcelona

Joyous is the only word I can use to describe last night's I'm From Barcelona gig at Ko-*cough*Camden Palace*cough*-Ko. Balloons, confetti, kids jumping up and down... it was a lot of fun. Swedes do know how to do fun pop.

Treehouse - I'm From Barcelona
We're From Barcelona - I'm From Barcelona

.

Oh the irony!

As I was publishing the previous post, I was asked my availability to carry on working after NY, and have basically just been booked up for all of May and most of June. Haaaaaa.

Ah, well. At least it means I can be a bit more reckless in NY.

How I know when I’ve been at a temp job too long and it’s time to start thinking about moving on (yes, I have bad job commitment issues, I know):

1. I don’t even remotely care about what time I arrive at work and turn off my alarm about five times, eventually rolling out of bed somewhere between 8:30 and quarter to nine, just about arriving on time in the end
2. If I get to the station and the trains are cancelled or just generally fucked up, I neither care nor consider calling in to let someone know I’ll be late and why
3. What I wear slowly degrades from suitable for work (skirt, t-shirt, ballet flats) to suitable for casual media company (usually where I’m working: jeans, t-shirt, flats or Chucks) to plain old can’t-be-bothered: jeans, tatty tee, grubby Chucks and hoodie
4. I spend time cleaning out drawers in my desk that are overrun with pens and paperclips when there are urgent clearance requests and reports that need me to get a signature
5. I spend time spacing out staring at the computer screen, occasionally moving the mouse around, so it looks like I’m doing something
6. The music emanating from my computer gets louder and less workplace-friendly
7. I write blog entries
8. Although I technically finish work at 6, by about 5:15 I’ve stopped working and kill time till about 5:40ish when I don’t even pretend that I’m working

Oh well. Back off to NY in about 10 days, hopefully that’ll clear the systems and get me back in work mode for the end of April. Hopefully…

monday night

I judge books by their covers. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Recently, I've found myself judging a book and therefore not reading it, then somehow picking it up again a while later and *loving* it.

Major cases in point: Maus - couldn't believe how amazing it was. Preacher - one of my favourite series, even if I still don't like the cover art that much. And now Bill Willingham's Fables.

The prologue of the book I'm currently reading got me really choked up this evening as I finished reading it during intermission at the National.

And then thinking about the book and its title led me to thinking about Hans Christian Andersen tale that I always loved, that always made me sad.

And then the play re-started, and my arse went numb and I fidgeted like a little child, much to the harrumping of the in general much older audience all around.

birthday time

Birthdays stress me out. I hate having to organise something. One year I tried just not organising anything, not doing anything for it, and to be honest, that was even more miserable. But I hate the pressure of having to have a good time - it's like New Years in that respect. And then there's the weirdness of all my separate friendship groups (high school, uni, london) colliding.

So this year I decided to drag everyone to West London, to Crazy Homies for mexican food and margaritas. I'm a huge mexican food fan (they need to open Taco Bell over here...) and hell, the name of the restaurant alone was enough to convince me that was where to go.

So after a week of back and forth emailing, sending out streetmaps, telling people what time the table was booked for, various people dropping out or not responding, Thursday night (night before the birthday), we invade the restaurant. And more people turn up that I'm expecting (makes me feel popular for a change) so we all cram around a table and order pomegranate margaritas and burritos and more pomegranate margaritas, until the waiter brings out a birthday cake (Marks & Spencer's finest caterpillar cake, in case you were wondering) that my sister had dropped off earlier, much to my horrendous embarrassment. I genuinely had no idea, nor noticed him carrying it until he was behind me and everyone - and I mean everyone in the basement of the restaurant, not just my party - started singing. I'm fairly certain I turned bright red. And went even redder when the waiter then started a round of hip hip hurrahs. Oh boy.

The East Londoners had to leave a little early, we stayed on a little longer until the table next to us got up and started pole dancing. I wish I was joking.

I got home a little before midnight, waited till it turned 12 and opened what I'd been given at the restaurant. The child in me could wait no longer. I have lovely friends, I'd just like to say. An awesome mix CD (this is one of my favourite things to give and receive ever. As long as they're personal. Not like my sister last year, when I was living in NY, who sent me one for my bday that she then told me was actually just a copy of one the boy she was seeing had for her. Loser), a Dick & Jane Yiddish book (lol), Rough Trade compilation, a beautiful bracelet, and a "Dog TV" from Mark - a little television that you look through the back of, click a button and see eight different photos of dogs. Remember those kind of toys? Brilliant. And the closest to the puppy I actually wanted for my birthday that I'm ever gonna come.

Although I have to say (and I know I'm going to sound lame saying it, but...) the coolest present was a totally unintentional one from my six and a half month old godson, who waved - for the first time ever, and at me - right before his mamma and I left to head to the restaurant. He did it three times in a row, it was no accidental hand gesture. It was so awesome.

The next morning getting up supremely early and then spending an hour and a half on rocky seas crossing the Channel heading to France wasn't so awesome after all those margaritas though. I can tell you that for nothing.

neon bible

Last night. Arcade Fire at Brixton Academy. Patrick Wolf supporting.

My mind has just officially been blown.

Although I do have to take a quick moment to mention the complete twats behind us at Brixton who had been doing many drugs beforehand, and were then smoking a joint throughout the show and chatting absolute shit. My favourite was the conversation between two of the girls:

Girl 1: "Yeah it's like Andy Warhol, you know-"
Girl 2: "Yeah, Andy Warhol-"
Girl 1: "Everyone's famous now-"
Girl 2: "Yeah, so famous"
Girl 1: "And it's just like Warhol, you know? And like The Velvet Underground, I mean it's like them, you know? They were underground and then they were famous-"
Girl 2: "Yes, yes, I know."

Whateverrrrrr dudes. Just shut the fuck up and stop elbowing me. Stupid people at gigs make me cranky. And big venues like Brixton mean a lot more stupid people.

Keep The Car Running - Arcade Fire
Bluebells - Patrick Wolf

I did also have a brief moment, watching the Fire up there, where it suddenly struck me that in a couple weeks' time my friends are gonna be playing that stage, which was weird but made me grin.

A Little Electricity - British Sea Power

i just needed to say

i love the postsecret website. i feel like something about it saves me a little each time i read it.

some weeks more than others.

i think this week was a 'some' week.

lego - the maccabees

emo baby strikes again

he left his hair au naturel (ie, unruly and curly) but remembered the stripes and skulls...

also: emo baby drools over the camera (vimeo)


emo baby pt 1

spring is one of my favourite times of year

my kind of archeology

Oxford Circus tube station is undergoing renovations. In the walkway from the Bakerloo line up to the exit, they've taken all the tiles off the walls and stripped all the posters, revealing ones that were put up in the early 90s, that some culturally enlightened tube worker has left up, to my delight



"Wherever. Whatever. Have a nice day."


My Own Private Idaho is one of my favourite ever films.

la science des reves

Went with James D. to see The Science of Sleep last night. Holy moly. I didn't really have any expectations, but I loved loved LOVED it. I know it divides audiences, and I understand some people's points about Stephane not always being a sympathetic protagonist, but I think I identified with him far too much (I spend my life in a daydream). As much as I enjoy Eternal Sunshine, I still found Science of Sleep reached me on a more emotional level than Sunshine.

I also came away with a huge girl crush on Charlotte Gainsbourg.

PS. Did you know the Borders on Charing Cross Road has now made its bathrooms for customers only? I mean, I know most stores' bathrooms are meant to be customers-only anyway, but they've now gone and put big sodding keypads and shit on them. I asked a guy that works there how to get it. "Well, have you bought anything here?" "No. I'm about to, I just reallllly have to pee first." I almost crossed my legs for extra emphasis. He told me reluctantly how to get in.

PPS. In case you were wondering, the code for the ladies is 0272. Although I don't know how often they change the code.

why temp jobs are crap

Apparently the morning would be audio typing, the afternoon would be taking some photos for the marketing company.

I don't know if I'm just a fast typer or they radically overestimated how long it would take, or perhaps both, but I'd finished all the audio stuff by 10am.

Man was today boring.

girl of my dreams

The Lula fashion week party, at the Cobden Club sponsored by, among others, Belvedere vodka and Moet & Chandon champagne.

After stressing an unbelievable amount about going (no idea what to wear, I'd only know two people at the whole party, one of whom was the hostess, the other wasn't going to be there until late), and a heart-stoppingly bad first two minutes (clutching a mini bottle of champagne while I anxiously looked around for someone I knew), I finally spied Leith sitting on the far side of the room, so headed over. She was with her cousins and told me to pull up a chair.

The rest of the evening basically involves a lot of champagne, talking with Leith and her cousins, a bit more champagne, watching Emmy the Great (adorable), losing Leith and her cousins, champagne cocktails, running into James who eventually turned up past 11, one more champagne-vodka cocktail, eventually deciding to call it a night and walking out into the pouring rain (hello London in February)... oh, and let's not forget the cupcakes. I tried to smuggle one home for my sister (aren't I a good sibling?) but just ended up getting frosting *everywhere*.

And yes, this morning was funnnn. Happy v-d everyone. Happy b-d Dandy

little miss crappy technology

I'm interviewing Toni Collette for the international DVD release of Little Miss Sunshine (although it was actually released in the UK a couple of weeks ago). The interview time has already been pushed back two hours, and now we're waiting in the hotel lounge for a few more minutes. There's been a room mix up, something to do with a television crew - and to top it all off, Mzz Collette is a bit ill.

Eventually we're called and six of us, covering different territories, file in to the conference room, introducing ourselves. This room is in the basement of the hotel and has the weirdest goddamn wallpaper. I've never done a "round table" interview in this style before; it feels a little like a seminar at university or something.

Dictaphones are turned on and slid down the table and before I even realise it, a Japanese interviewer has jumped in and is already asking questions. I'm still sitting there, notebook open, pencil in one hand, frantically trying to depress the 'Record' button on my dictaphone. It's not working. I'm scribbling down what's being said in the short hand that only I can understand that I perfected at university (just adds to that back-at-college feeling) and fiddling with the stupid brick of recorder. Finally a click, and the record button is on. Breathing an internal sigh of relief, I add my dictaphone to the small pile in the middle of the table, the journo opposite me kindly pushing it nearer to Toni.

Things are looking up.

And then a high-pitched whistling noise interrupts the room, quickly turning into a shrill scream. The sounds of a dictaphone being murdered. Everyone stops talking.

"What is that??"

"I think it might be one of the dictaphones."

Groan. "Umm, it might be mine. It wasn't working just now-" I volunteer.

The writer nearest the dictaphones is picking them up and holding them near his ear to check.

Sigh. "No, it's that one at the back."

He picks it up. He quickly puts it back down and pushes it towards me with a half-smirk. "Yes, that's the one."

Oh CRAP. "Umm, sorry, sorry guys-"

I fumble quickly for the 'Stop' button. Blessed silence.

Only now I have the rest of the interview and nothing to record it on.

Groan, sigh and double crap.

The Brazilian writer opposite grins at me. "Don't worry, I'll email you the mp3 when it's done."

I smile at him, and try to keep my head down for the rest of the interview, wishing I could throw the dictaphone (stupid Argos) at the weird wallpaper. Oy. Techmology.

The day is only redeemed later (after much wandering in the rain looking for new sneakers and/or an outfit the the fashion week party on Tuesday evening) by a hasty dinner at the Stockpot and two potent cocktails before 8pm.

Oh, and PS. Toni Collette is just as wonderful as you'd expect her to be, even jetlagged and ill.

xxEmoBabyxx

"Yeah, my favourite bands are Dashboard Confessional, My Chemical Romance, Avenged Sevenfold... When I grow up I want to be Pete Wentz..."


I know, I know, I should act the grown up, but it's still funny to give him emo hair (when it's normally like this)

this is *so* a scene

The ever-lovely Alex Sarti hooked me up for the Fall Out Boy show at Hammersmith Palais last night (ahh, the Palais, thee of the eternally sticky floor).

I hate to admit but I was pretty stoked to see them. The crowd at the Palais did not disappoint - totally full of emo-teens. Pink Spiders supported - saw 'em at Roseland when Cobra played there last October - but we kinda missed their set this time around 'cause we were running a bit late.

We eventually managed to find a good spot - far far away from the mosh pit. I'm an old woman. The show was taped to be released as Leaked in London, a bonus disc when Infinity on High gets a proper release (not that I don't already have a leaked copy, oh no, not at all). I'd promised Gurj that I'd holler her name during a quiet moment so she'd hear it on the record (naively assuming it wouldn't be edited out) - which I had forgotten about until a couple songs before the end, when I laughingly reminded my sister what I had said. The next quiet moment comes along and all of a sudden, from next to me: "GURJ!" I turn to stare at her, and she's cracking up.

Pete seemed to be the only one that ever really chatted with the audience (including "All you bloggers can blog this!": *flips the bird*), and he totally took his life in his hands by jumping into the crowd during the last song (Saturday). But they seemed to be having fun with it.

And of course, a high point for me right at the end when PW said they'd be back in the Spring with my boys Cobra. It's nice having friends in bands. It means when you can't afford to get back to NY at least there's a chance they might tour over here. So here's to the Mar/April FOB/Cobra dates. Hurrah.

well wishes *do* sometimes come true...

About three times yesterday I mentioned I wished it would snow. Then I wake up to this...

tuesday evening and i'm a cheapskate

Sunday actually ended up being a thrifty day, in the end. Sam, my plus one for the screening, brought me books (courtesy of Penguin, no doubt...): Peter Pan ("Because no one's ever actually read it") and The Outsiders, which had been on my Amazon wish list. After the movie I headed over to east London where James D. and Jimmyjames (as above, with Tilda Plum) were entertaining Metal K and his lady, who were in from LA. Jimmyjay gave me a 2000 AD t-shirt that didn't fit him, and then bought me a Wonder Stuff LP (old joke). We went to get food in Spitalfields but nothing really took my fancy so I just didn't eat. We later wandered round the conservatory at the Barbican (fun to explore as none of us had ever managed to get in before), which JJ drove to. Then Tom bought a round in the pub. Result.

So all in all, I only paid for travel expenses. Which, of course, with the goddamn price of travel here, was still more than enough. Oh for $2 subway rides...

And while I'm writing: if it's got to be this cold, it could at least snow and provide some entertainment. The most fun I've had these past two days is getting over-caffeinated and dancing around with my ipod cranked loud to De La, Lady Sov, Marvin & Tammi and, um, Fall Out Boy, attempting to bring some order to my little corner of Universal Music.

Hot Fuzz

Where to start, where to start...

Spaced... the best British-made sitcom, always funny, ever rewatchable, still quoted [“Mine’s a pint of the black stuff.” “You can’t drink a pint of Bovril!”], inspiration of a ridiculous running joke Sam and I had at uni about being followed by squirrels [there are a lot of squirrels in Nottingham], and occasionally filmed in my old local, the Corrib in Queens Park, NW London [and if you've never seen it before you can apparently catch most episodes here.]

Shaun of the Dead... which, when watched on US telly and they edit out half the swearing, loses a certain je ne sais quoi, but otherwise … well, same as above. My sister still gets the giggles any time someone says “exacerbate” to her:

Liz: It's just that with Ed here, it's no wonder I always bring my flatmates out, and then that only exacerbates things.
Shaun: What you mean?
Liz: Well, you guys hardly get on, do you?
Shaun: No... what does 'exacerbate' mean?

And now Hot Fuzz. I was lucky enough to get an invite to the cast and crew screening this morning [thank you Working Title] introduced by none other than Messers Pegg, Frost & Wright, and Nira Park – and it was so worth getting up at 8 on a Sunday morning for. Seeing as it’s not released for another three or four weeks, I’m not sure how much I should [am allowed to…] say, but it’s utterly brilliant. The casting is just genius [Edward Woodward! Timothy Dalton! And Paddy Considine still looking hott even with his '70s pornstar 'tache!] There's gore galore. And it references one of the best films ever, Point Break (ahhh what I wouldn't have done for Keanu Reeves when I was 13 or 14).

And you know the best part about it all? That something so original and so well-written is homegrown.

With these guys around, perhaps there's hope for British film after all.

now i'm the king of the swingers

The last thing I read last night before dropping off to sleep was 'Saga of the Swamp Thing'

I was half-awakened at four a.m. by a rustling noise, something tugging at the duvet. In my semi-conscious (but, let's face it, mostly asleep) state, I was convinced it was the Monkey King in my room.

I froze and after a moment or two, the noises stopped. I relaxed a bit, turned over. The rustling noise got louder, the drag pulled once – then disappeared. There was fffffing noise as something hit the carpet. My heart was pounding and it woke me properly up…

…Whereupon I discovered the blanket that had been on top of the duvet had been slowly sliding off the bed for the last five minutes, friction from it pulling at the duvet cover as well, and there is, of course, no such thing as the goddamn Monkey King.

Stupid overactive imagination.

January playlists

January 2004
1. Last Goodbye - Jeff Buckley
2. I've Got You Under My Skin - Frank Sinatra
3. Wednesday Morning 3 a.m. - Simon & Garfunkel
4. Because - The Beatles
5. These Days - Nico
6. Saturday Sun - Nick Drake
7. Don't Leave Me Baby - Astrud Gilberto
8. Pale Blue Eyes - Velvet Underground
9. The Girl From The North Country - Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan
10. Tiny Dancer - Elton John
11. Don't Worry Baby - Beach Boys
12. Losing My Religion (unplugged) - REM
13. Ain't Never Loved A Man - Aretha Franklin
14. I Only Have Eyes For You - Flamingos
15. Ooh La La - The Faces
16. Homeward Bound - Simon & Garfunkel
17. To The End - Blur

This playlist not only persuaded me to go for a job (unpaid work on a film, where the Production Designer for whom I'd be working had listed at least three of the same tracks as his favourites) but gained me a new friend... or two (that Production Designer turned out to be none other than the fabulous Jimmy, who is still a buddy - and through him I met James D. and, of course, Leet & Tilda)

It also includes two of my favourite all time songs, Girl From The North Country & I Only Have Eyes For You, linked for your aural pleasure.


January 2005
Too much of January Oh-Five was spent worrying about my sister's seizures - a new occurence - and rushing up to Nottingham when it happened again to make playlists.


January 2006
1. Beating Hearts Baby - Head Automatica
2. Can't Lose - We Are Scientists
3. Neighborhood 1 (Tunnels) - Arcade Fire
4. Better Do Better - Hard Fi
5. This Modern Love - Bloc Party
6. Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park
7. Fuck Ups - The Holloways
8. 50 To A Pound - The Paddingtons
9. Where Damage Isn't Already Done - The Radio Dept.
10. Transition - The Longcut
11. Bukowski - Modest Mouse
12. Nowhere Man - The Beatles
13. Drugs - Giant Drag
14. Misery Is A Butterfly - Blonde Redhead
15. Needle In The Hay - Elliott Smith
16. The Way I Feel Inside - The Zombies
17. The Rapid - The Oohlas

Last January was probably almost one of the worst on record. I made a playlist to try and perk myself up - evident in the first few tracks... it does kind of descend into melancholy though. Bad effort on my part. My two main memories: listening to The Rapid on repeat, and just walking and walking, right down Manhattan, and not even stopping once I reached the river, just getting on the Staten Island Ferry and staring blindly at an amazing sunset.

January 2007
Turn away now if you're one of the people who might be expecting one of these in the mail (along with the December playlist and/or a stack of 1960s birthday cards, a belated birthday present, or a general pick-me-up)

1. Soluble In Air - Mystery Jets
2. Street Spirit - Radiohead
3. Teignmouth - Patrick Wolf
4. Imagine - John Lennon
5. Come See Me Tonight - Daniel Johnston
6. These Boots Are Made For Walking - Nancy Sinatra
7. Like A Prayer - Madonna
8. Small Parts - The Oohlas
9. Laid - James
10. Kooks - David Bowie
11. Shiny Happy People - REM
12. Cold Things Start To Burn - The Exploding Boy
13. Happy Kid - Nada Surf
14. I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honeybunch) - Four Tops
15. Everybody's Talking - Nilsson
16. Daydreamin' - Lupe Fiasco f. Jill Scott
17. This Will Be Our Year - The Zombies
18. Gypsy Death & You - The Kills

We have yet to see what this year will do.

a tried and tested remedy

When the January meltdown occurs - and it will, inevitably and unfortunately - my new cure: taking the day/afternoon off to wallow, and equip yourself with soup, blueberries and a musical. Last year it was Mary Poppins, this year it's High School Musical.

It works, honest.

i just need to have a geek out moment

I just want to say, I was childishly psyched when the Christmas special of Dr Who took place, in parts, in Chiswick (a.k.a. home)



I also kind of loved the Torchwood series finale - up until the giant monster appeared, when it became a bit ludicrous. And even though a lot of the characters are reaaaaaally quite irritating, the very very end, with the Tardis noise... sob.

And while we're geeking out, did I ever mention that when I was in NY I found first editions of both the first Sandman book, Preludes and Nocturnes, and the first Love and Rockets books in one of my favourite little bookstores that's right near City Bakery, and whose name I can *never* remember (I think it's called Skyline books) and was overjoyed (and spent money I didn't really have on them)? Then back at Dan's, his old stack of Love & Rockets became my second favourite form of procrastination (after watching Full House reruns, of course...)

so long, sucker

2006 was shite, with a few high points (first ten days of January, SXSW in March with Lauren, September 5th: arrival of Tayo)

Here's to a much much better year.

Come on, Oh-Seven, show us what you got...

Merry Christmas, mofos

Sorry, I had to. Kid looks so darn cute.

This is my favourite boy, my godson Tayo, all dressed up for Christmas:

Hope y'all had a good one, whatever you've been celebrating. I promise to resume normal, non-nauseatingly-cute picture posts soon.

Surfing On A Rocker

Aujourd'hui, je suis allee a Paris, pour interviewer (think i made that one up...) le band, Air. C'etait hypercool.

Umm, yes, well, my French is a bit rusty, and I barely saw much of Paris: it was pretty much Eurostar-taxi-hotel-interview-taxi-Eurostar. But still. Being taken to Paris for the day, always nice.

le grand move

Fi, mid-'Never Forget' armwave

Leaving the house I've lived in my whole life is kind of heartbreaking. Packing up the house we've all lived in for so long is totally nightmarish. How on earth did we accumulate so much crap? And how much bigger does the house now look??

now will you make us pancakes??

Or, the hilarious things you find while clearing out drawers full of mine and my sister's old schoolwork, birthday cards, invitations, notes and so on, that my mum never threw out:



Being a fickle child, however, I clearly also thought my mum was wonderful, on occasion.

music is my hot hot sex

The moment Jarvis came on as CSS's super special guest at their Kentish Town show last night. Awesome:

Kentish Town not so awesome to get back from, however. After missing the last southbound tube by about 35 seconds, I waited about fifty minutes in -1 temps, as four fucking night buses drove right past the stop without even slowing. Fuckers.

Never Forget

With this whole Take That revival thing I keep thinking I've slipped into the early 1990s. Especially when you factor in the afternoon we spent recently watching series one Beverly Hills 90210.

Hello to the huuuuge pre-teen/early teen crushes on Mark Owen and Jason Priestly.

I'm turning into the most boring person ever

I really miss my NY life, but look at this face and tell me you'd be able to walk away from him. For the record, in addition to his baby adidas sweater, he was also wearing tiny baby jeans and tiny baby Timberlands. Baby G.

NDA

So I wish I could tell you where I've been working and what I've been watching these past couple days, but alas I can't (my lips are sealed). Suffice to say, and further to that myspace bulletin I posted three days ago that is merely a strange coincidence as I had no idea these past two days were going to occur, that I still cannot *wait* for February 2007. And that is all.

And also: what the fuck happened to 2006? It's December 1 already. Man.

happy thanksgiving

even though i'm back in the uke, i made a pumpkin pie [with imported libby's pumpkin mix] and made my family try it. despite many "urgh, pumpkin!"-type comments all evening, once it was ready it went down a storm...

back in the smoke. again.

The good things to come home to:

The sad things to leave behind:

Stranger Than Fiction

Possibly the best film I've seen this year.

Certainly killed our collective case of the blues. And the walk home in the pouring rain, picking up sushi on the way, discussing the movie, and watching old Full House reruns once back were just the icing on the cake.

oye senor DJ

i love these dorks. nice to see the PMC-style mustaches getting some quality video time.

high culture, low culture

Spend the day running around - over to J&R [camera sale!], down to Abercrombie at Southstreet Seaport for my sister [I spend max. 2 mins walking through the store repeatedly thinking I fucking *hate* this shop then have to leave] and to Pier 17 where the view down the East River of the Brooklyn Bridge and beyond makes everything feel strangely fake.

Then it's back to Brooklyn, rest up for a few minutes, meet up with Dan then head up to the Met for some overdue culture. I've barely been to the Met - just one time on an MB organised trip that was ruuuuubbbbish - so I'm pysched to finally see it. The place is immense. We check out the mummies and the two exhibits and some photos and then spend a while trying to find a picture I want to see: "It's a number 5. It goes with that William Carlos Williams poem." "Okay. Who's it by?" "Ummmmm..." Figuring it's gonna be in the Modern Art section we head there and slowly but surely locate the painting I was talking about:*

By now we're both being old people and our feet are killing so we head home. I get in, text Lauren to see if she wants to get dinner in the 'hood instead of Union Sq - but apparently the party we're meant to be going to [that, truthfully, I was considering bailing out of 'cause I'm knackered] will have food. I sit down for five minutes, sugar up on Nerds, then have to head back out again to go meet Lauren.

We head to Shallon's book party just off Union Sq. We're like the first people there. We have the open bar and the snacks alllll to ourselves. Awesome. We hover by the chips-n-dip after pouring generous vodka-Frescas for ourselves until people we know turn up. Rob Hitt, Sarah H, Alex Sarti, other Crush Mgmt peeps... We're hanging out by the cupcake table - cupcakes with letters on them that, originally, spelled out 'Congratulations on the book Shallon'. Only after a fair few drinks...




All the free alcohol means things descend even further...



...until some of us decide to split. Lauren, Sarah, Sarti and I leave and, for lack of decision of what else to do, head to Beauty Bar where Omri is spinning. While there I also run into Jenny, the Lula photo ed., who I haven't yet seen in NY, which is pretty cool. We take a seat and argue about what to do next... Annex... Guns 'N Roses afterparty ["It's in midtown? Ewww."]... no decision seems to be reached but we head out anyway, waiting while Lauren runs into KFC to use their bathroom. There's a rat out front of the restaurant, just hanging out. It's kinda gross.

Standing outside the KFC, we all realise we're tired and a wee bit drunk perhaps, so - more old people antics - decide to head home. Lauren and I wait for the L and as it pulls in I notice Andrew and Alex Littl'an, and LaRue already on the train so we jump in their car and say hi. I entrust Lauren to them at Lorimer and stumble to the G to get back to Carroll Gardens...


*the painting is by Charles Demuth
**I stole most of these photos from Lauren

franks and beans

Michelle's pre-birthday dinner turns into a white trash cook-in... hotdogs [with a veggie option for us non-meateaters], beans, mash, orange soda... it was even classy 'sunkist' soda - no krasdale orange soda for a birthday party!

Lauren, Sarah, Cara and I eat most of the crisps [sorry, "chips"] before the others turn up. MIchelle comes by and starts making frosting for the cake, only she bought granulated sugar instead of icing [sorry, "powdered' or "confectioners"...] so it's kind of a purple mess... so the cake is frosted with Funfetti instead.

Ricky cooks for us all. Rob comes up, and Gurj comes by after a little while. I'm kinda chipped out so only manage one hotdog. Once everyone's eaten, Lauren suggests a game of Scene It?, the musical edition. Rob gets ultra competitive, and gets yelled at when he misses a really easy Johnny Cash question. "I don't know country music!" Gurj and Sarah gossip away on the sofa, for the most part ignoring the game. Michelle seems to know everything.

Rob disappears back down to his apt, and Ricky zoomed off when Scene It? was suggested, so it turns into a girly party. We discuss certain girls in band - complete with fucking hilarious impressions - then talk turns to stalker girls of bands. I can't believe some of this shit. It's *fascinating*.

coney island winter

Escape needed: hop on the F down to Coney Island. Being the off season, almost everything is shut. Head up to the boardwalk, which is still as rickety as ever, and on to the beach. The sand is hard packed with bird prints tracking this way and that. The sun glints silver off the ocean and gives the pier in the distance an ethereal kind of look. Magic.

I love the beach in winter.