HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

I've officially been blogging for one year today. Crazy how much nothing and everything has changed since November 10, 2008.

For whatever reason, I keep coming back to this, Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann:

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Yours,
EL

I've MOVED!

Hellooo,

I'm doing most of my updates on my new site, http://emilyluger.tumblr.com. We'll see how things go on Tumblr....Check it out!

Yours,
EL

Moms are awesome.

So i called my mom to ask about my leg cramping

because it woke me up last night

and she said "you need potassium. eat a banana."

so i did

and the pain went away.

moms are awesome.

Yours, EL

What we try to do every night. Take over the world.

So my new favorite game is to filter Textsfromlastnight for 919 (my hometown area code) and to try to guess who's doing the texting. Honestly, I probably know more of these people than even I think -- one benefit (?) of being from a small city. Anyway, what's even more fun is when people from different parts of the state text each other. It's like the texts represent the various North Carolina local psyches, and they're talking to each other. Check it out:

Conversation between RTP (919) and Charlotte (704). Sounds about right:

(919): What are we going to do tonight?
(704): What we try to do every night. Take over the world

Logical RTP (919) telling Lenoir (828) to get it together. Right again:

(828): can't come. weird drunk guy passed out on couch. long story, tell u later.
(919): wtf. wake him up, call him a cab, get over here!

Pretty fun game, right? (August is boring -- what can I say.) Anyway, go nuts.

Yours,
EL

The Quarterlife Crisis Project

"Until we lose ourselves, we have no hope of finding ourselves." Henry Miller

Europe, on a budget. Planning session 1. Stay tuned.

Yours,
EL

Also this.

Yours,
EL

Just a reminder.

Yours,
EL

Turn, and face the strange

That's the view from the roof of my new apartment. Pretty killer rooftop. Also made for this pretty killer sunburn I'm sporting, following my lovely 10-hour day up there on Sunday.

Yours,
EL

p.s. Yes, that view means I (finally) moved to Williamsburg. More on that soon.

Lapse

Yo,

I'm not apologizing for the fact that I've been doing other things than blogging. It is, however, good to be back.

Yours,
EL

Words of wisdom, c/o a teenager

My little (not so little anymore at 6'3") brother and I talked for the first time in a while last night. Now that he has his driver's license (as of a month ago), he has a lot of time to talk on the phone. Because -- you know -- that's what you do when you drive around in sprawling, suburban southern cities. Plus he has a physics final exam today, so talking to his big sister is a perfect form of procrastination. Anyway, this is my favorite part of the conversation:

Brother: "So...what's new?"
Me: "Not too much. Looking for a new apartment again."
Brother: "Um, are you still trying to live in New York City?"
Me: "Ha. Yeah. Trying."
Brother: "I was on Yahoo today, and there was an article that listed New York as the world's third most unlivable city. You sure you wanna live there?"
Me: "Only third most unlivable? Send me the article. And yes -- I'm sure."
Brother: "Hm....Ok Cool."
(We then, naturally, switched gears to talk about how his lacrosse team season ended up.)

Maybe it is just funny to me, but I just loved it. He's so rational, and I guess now he's knows that I'm not. That's okay.

Yours,
EL

Tell me about your move to New York. 1.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I am among the many who signed a lease in New York soon after a May college graduation. Thus, each summer, though I happily ring in another year gone by in the city that never sleeps, I find myself in murky territory, as I answer arguably the most important question in a New Yorker's life: Where should I live next? (More specific questions include, but are not limited to: What neighborhoods can I afford? Do I have to live with roommates? How much closet space do I really need? Will the divots in the floors from one too many stiletto heel result in the loss of my security deposit? How much will I actually compromise to live in this insane, ridiculous city?)

This year, as I began thinking about my next move, I decided to poll some local friends to see what they think. Rather than ask about a specific neighborhood or experience, I simply posed the question "What was the transition to New York like for you?" and waited to see what the answers would look like. Because my friends are smart, thoughtful, amazing (and excellent writers), the answers were, as expected, varied, insightful, honest, funny and -- on the whole -- totally delightful. I still don't know where I'm going to live, though I've begun to narrow it down (below 14th, above Canal, and west of 7th...or Brooklyn), but I know that these answers are too good not to share.

I guess I feel that hearing other people's New York stories somehow makes one's own more manageable. Knowing that everyone in this city has at least one commonality -- compromising to live in this city -- makes it easier to call it home. Anyway, here are some favorites. I will pass these along in installments, so here are the first two:

Q: Tell me about your move to New York.
______________________________________

A: "Whatever you thought you’d never do, you end up doing, and rather quickly. That is not the test of moving to the city. The real test is maintaining your façade, maintaining your “known” person in the face of all this.

New York is meeting one friend for lunch at 2; another for dinner at 7, and a third for drinks at 10; and having to be a different person for each. New York is an inescapable loneliness among a perpetual crowd. New York is heat and cold and walking and talking.

Everyone makes newcomer mistakes. Like avoiding a taxi at all costs, at 3am, in order to save ten dollars, while you wait, and wait, and wait for a subway in Harlem. (only to find out that the Subway isn’t running).

Or you attempt a “New York Activity,” like seeing the Philharmonic in Central Park, but you just can’t get a seat on the grass because you arrived a little too late, and a little too far from the optimal Park entrance. So you end up sitting behind a tree for 2 hours, straining to hear the violins as they play Vivaldi or the conductor as he asks for donations on the website.

In the end, it is not the fantastic things that you come to miss when you are no longer in New York. Those fantastic things like catching a skyline view late at night in a cab on the river. Or an ultimate party where you shed your skin and break out of your walls. Or New Years, or Halloween.

No, it is the small things that pull at your heart, that entice you back. Like that ten dollar Thai delivery that just isn’t the same anywhere else. Like that meadow in the park with those particular people lying shirtless. Like the oddball subletter that played an accordion ballad at a party, while her breast popped our of her shirt. Like those beautiful mistakes that you no longer make. Or the late night subway ride home, drunk and tired, when the whole car erupts into impromptu rap and dancing. You didn’t know, at the time, whether to be gleeful or annoyed.

But that doesn’t happen anywhere else. And you miss it."

________________________________________

A: "I remember the first time I felt trapped in NY. It was labor day weekend and everyone was leaving the city. I had no money and no where to go. All my friends down south were driving to the beach or the mountains or their parents house. I was trapped. On an Island. That had everything. I was on my lunch break from my miserable job in an un air conditioned brown stone in the west village and I was crying a little and I sat on the grass and people walked by juggling and walking on stilts and marijuana scent drifted over to me and I splurged on a $2 vitamin water. And I felt connected to all the people who had sat in that park before me. And I stopped crying. But it was the first time that I realized that NY had limits. That it couldn’t have everything. My family and friends weren’t there. There was no swim club or camping site. I was trapped on an island that had *almost* everything.

I have this theory that NY knows when you are mad at it and just does everything it can to make you love it. Like when I couldn’t afford to go home for homecoming and I decided I deserved a long lunch and go to Madison Square Park. And when I went it was the first day they were doing outdoor ice skating. And it was glorious. Oh NY- you know just how to get me.

I remember the weekend that I found myself alone in my apartment for the first time since I had moved in 6 weeks before. With four 22 year old girls with boyfriends and out of town guests and rotating couch surfers this was a rarity. I used to take personal calls on my cell phone in central park because it was the only place I could get privacy. It was mid afternoon after too many nights of drinking and partying and I had a little panic attack as I sat in that dark apt all by myself. It was the first time I left my mind slow down enough to really think about what I was doing and where I was. It was the first time I realized that this was not spring break, this was my life, and it was terrifying."

________________________________

Yours,

EL

p.s. The picture above is from my first New York apartment. My roommates lived in bunk beds. That's the compromise we made to live in the West Village. You do what you have to do.

p.p.s. If you want to read similar (though better edited) accounts, check out this amazing piece by Joan Didion, or this article from New York Magazine.

TUMBLR!

Before you freak out: No, I haven't quit good ol' blogger.

I have, however, started a new site (in addition to this one), and I'm pretty excited about it. Whereas here I write about what I do for play, on Tumblr I'm writing about what I do for work. (Yes, I work. And yes, that's why I get too busy to blog.) Anyway, if you want to check it out, it's http://dailycookies.tumblr.com/, and it's a collaboration between my colleague and me.

As far as this little gem goes, there are more updates soon to come, including a reflection on my recent (and first!) trip to San Francisco, some new music discoveries and an introduction to SUMMER 2009, which is shaping up nicely. (If you didn't already know that summer is my favorite season, check this out.)

Until then...

Yours, EL

YouTube - "Falling Slowly"- Once

YouTube - "Falling Slowly"- Once

One of my favorites. My mom bought this soundtrack a couple of years ago and made us listen on the way down to the beach. My brothers hate it. I adore the movie and the music.

Yours,
EL

20. Forgot to blog

Things I have done of late, in no particular order:

1. Attended a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show (in costume) at the Chelsea Clearview. I've been trying to write a post about it since, but I simply cannot find the words. So that's that. Maybe I'll post the half-written version. Or maybe I'll finish it. I don't know. It was wild.
2. Visited family in Boston. ($35 for a round-trip ticket on the Bolt Bus. There in four hours. Easiest thing ever.)
3. Bid adieu to my long-time roommate -- and great friend -- as she moved back South. (NYC is a transitional town - can't pin anyone down for long here. It's a lesson you learn early.)
4. Signed up to volunteer for Rock the Earth.
5. Walked out of the training session for Rock the Earth. It was warm outside that day, so I decided to go enjoy the environment.
6. Enjoyed warming weather.
7. Cursed cold April weather.
8. Turned 24.
9. Did my taxes.
10. Watched my alma mater win the NCAA men's basketball championship. I was a sophomore in college the last time they won. Retrospection ensued following win.
11. Spent time in Brooklyn (Williamsburg, Clinton Hill, Fort Greene). Thanks to Alibi, I'm getting really good at Big Buck Hunter (a marketable skill, really).
12. Visited with my oldest of friends.
13. Saw Jennifer Aniston filming her newest movie.
14. Celebrated Passover on the Upper West Side, (which allowed me my first trip to Zabar's...where else would a girl find prepared chopped chicken liver on Passover night?).
15. Dined at Cookshop. Delicious.
16. Rented Happy Go Lucky. Disliked it. Rented Rachel Getting Married. Loved it.
17. Signed up for the AIDS walk in May. And the MARCH FOR BABIES in April.
18. Bought a ticket to see Santigold at Terminal 5. Bought a ticket to see MGMT in Prospect Park.
19. Missed home, and missed the beach.
20. Forgot to blog.

So there you have it. More soon.

Yours,
EL

TOPSHOP

When I studied in London, there were two establishments that quickly became the sole recipients of my hard-earned (and parent-sent) money. The year was 2005, and the pound was twice as strong as the dollar, but did that stop me? No, not even a little bit. So what were these two locales? Where were these houses of mirth? Easy: TOPSHOP (The Strand or Oxford Street) and Wagamama (Bloomsbury).

Anyway, since my return to the US, I've managed to live without these favorites (although I make a detour into TOPSHOP whenever I visit my family in the UK).

I've managed, that is, until now. TOPSHOP will open its doors for the first time in the US THIS THURSDAY, at the new location on Broome and Broadway.

[The above picture is from a promotion the store is doing today, where these hipster kids drive this little truck around, and people can line up and get free stuff. Note: "Free stuff" is only a canvas bag, a catalogue and a gift card of unspecified amount. The gift card is only redeemable on opening day. I'm already anxious about the lines. I might skip opening day. After all, I've waited this long....What's one day more?]

Yours,
EL

p.s. The TOPSHOP photographer at the giveaway truck totally skipped over me but snapped a photo of my friend for their "looks we like" blog. I guess I should work on my sweet hipster duds [sigh].

Borrowed from my brother's blog

My brother wrote this about the house we grew up in. I love it so much I have to share:

The Side Porch

I remember the side porch of our sturdy old house

Brick, ten foot ceilings, crown moldings, hardwoods floors, upstairs and down

Thick walls. Sound didn't carry. Wind didn't shake it. Rain didn't flood it

The piano room had a striped chair that faced a door that led to the side porch

which was southern style, on the shaded breezeway between our house and the next

Always cooler there than the summer day would hint

I remember what it felt like to walk barefoot on the porch in spring

My feet touching the cool red tiles, which were dusted yellow and green by pollen spores

and the bottom of my feet would be dirty and dusty when I came back in the house.

There was a hurricane once.

Fallen trees smashed cars and some houses; large oaks upturned in naked violence.

Our house lost a few bricks from the chimney, up top. But otherwise didn't shake in the wind.

I remember there was a tall pine tree I could see out my window, behind the back yard.

After the hurricane, that tree was gone.

But not the house. Not the house.

Yours,
EL

New Store (Restaurant?) Alert!

Last Wednesday, I stumbled out of a work happy hour with a friend of mine who was heading over to check out her friend's new store/restaurant. The space (in the old Double Crown location on Bond Street, near my all-time favorite sushi establishment), is called THE SMILE, and it features not only Mediterranean-influenced food by Melia Marden (of Looking Glass Catering), but also various items to purchase, a coffee bar and a tattoo parlor. I was lucky enough to check out the space prior to the official opening date (they had just finished a sort-of soft launch dinner party when we stopped by), and it looked great. The interior, designed by Luke Scarola (of Williamsburg's Luddite), feels warm and welcoming -- I just can't wait to see what the place is like once Scott Campbell's downstairs parlor opens!

Good luck to owners Matt Kliegman and Carlos Quirarte.

Yours, with a smile,
EL

p.s. Highlight of the night might have been that Gail Simmons (Top Chef judge) was just leaving as we were getting there. Gosh, I love Bravo Reality show B-list celebrities.

p.p.s.
The Smile is located at 26 Bond Street, between Bowery and Lafayette.

DO NOT beware the ides of March

March is mad for me for a number of reasons. For one, I've been doing some traveling -- I'll get to that soon. For another, it's my birthday month, so that's always pretty exciting (though this year less so than ever before -- 24 is dumb). And lastly, and probably most importantly, it's NCAA TOURNAMENT TIME, which pretty much takes over my life for a few weeks this time every year...(that is, until UNC loses, after which I honestly couldn't care less).

That said, my friend Jen and I decided to link our alma maters (University of Michigan and University of North Carolina, respectively) with an "NCAA tournament" keyword, to see what the online buzz looks like (see above). She's quite pleased with the results that show Michigan buzz trending higher than that of UNC. I, on the other hand, am not entirely sure these peaks mean much when it comes to team talent. Rather, Michigan fans seem to be spending more time online than UNC fans. Or perhaps the buzz about Michigan is 100% negative, whereas buzz for UNC is 100% positive. Really, we'd have to dive deeper to tell. More to come.

For now, let's just assume the Tar Heels will top the Wolverines by a wide margin. After all, I'm not the only one who thinks that will be the case: the computers think so, too.

Yours, a Tar Heel born and bred,
EL

(It's the) least wonderful time of the year

So I've decided to take up running (slowly jogging) again. For a while last summer, I enjoyed waking up and going for a run (slow jog) on the Hudson River park. It's really one of the greatest perks of living so far west -- the river and all its manicured-bank goodness is right outside my front door. Thus, last night, after perusing the new SELF magazine (I'm thinking that reading health magazines is a more productive use of magazine-reading time than reading solely Vogue and Us Weekly), I decided this morning was the ideal time to start. No time like the present, right?

Wrong. Weather.com ever-so-mockingly informed me this morning that it "feels like 7 degrees" outside. Um, no thanks.

Which brings me to my point: WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH THIS SEASON? I mean okay -- even I, someone who loathes winter, appreciate November and December in New York. The city is magical, adorned with twinkly lights and full of cheery tourists. Even January's not so bad -- everyone's still coming off the New Year's high, resolutions are still fresh and Christmas/Hanukkah gifts are prime for the breaking in. No, it's February that's my enemy. And I'm not the only one who feels this way -- why do you think there are only 28 days?

Honestly, where I come from, the beginning of March means spring. I'm a March baby (Aries to the max), and it is always warm by the time my birthday rolls around. Not so in New York. Everything's confused here. The Empire State building doesn't even know what color to be right now. At Christmas, it's green and red. At Valentine's day, it's red. Now? It's green and blue. Random. Because that's what this season is. Random. And long. A holding period while Spring ever-so-slowly pulls its lazy ass out of hibernation.

Anyway, so what's a girl to do? Leave, obviously. And fast. Roommate and I are looking into the cheapest, seediest hotels in the Bahamas, and I might just have to check out one of these days. All I need is a beach. And some sun. And in the meantime, I guess I'll run inside.

Yours, freezing,
EL

...and it turns out, I'm not the only one

Jezebel agrees.

...but at least "the party's not over."

Yours, (and Happy Friday!),
EL

Fashion Week, and why I hate to love it

Well, here we are -- Friday, February 20 -- and Fall 2009 Fashion Week has just come to a close, its pearly gates not to open again until summer's end. [Sigh.]

In theory, Fashion Week sounds like a delight: The beautifuls fly in from L.A., Paris, Milan and Brazil, sail-like white tents drape over the lovely Bryant Park, and some of the city's most celebrated restaurants, hotels and bars open themselves up for some of the best celebrated parties of the year. Ah, yes, Fashion Week can be a fabulous time to be in New York City.

Can be.

In reality, Fashion Week is torture. It's champagne, champagne everywhere (prosecco, prosecco these days), but not a drop to freaking drink. At least not for me. At least not this year. Or last year. I mean I get it -- I am a kid from North Carolina with little connection or influence in this city. I'm okay with that. But unfortunately, I'm also a kid who knows the names of all the designers showing their collections, who follows the daily schedule of shows and who knows all the names (and some faces) of the magazine editors and bloggers who man the fashion beat. I get several-times-daily e-mail updates from Style.com, and I fervently check fashion blogs and live feeds (don't judge) from the front row.

Really, I'm my mother's daughter -- I grew up with her back issues of Vogue lining the living room shelves and her shoe collection the likes of which most little girls would die to play in. Despite my sensitivity to the fact that it's somewhat shallow and (probably?) not in good taste to think about Christian Siriano's accessories during a recession, I'm still the girl who will argue that fashion is an art form, and that it is no more superficial to want to talk about fashion than to want to discuss the Impressionists. Or politics. And hey, Michelle Obama seems to agree, so I feel that I'm in good company.

Now, I recognize that it seems silly not to have gone into fashion PR or some other profession that would have allowed -- nay, required -- me to be on the scene, but after I graduated with a journalism degree, I decided that I simply wasn't interested in slave labor, thank you very much. I figured, idealistically, that I would find another way in. Not so. At least for now.

I haven't entirely given up hope that I will get inside one of these days. (Maybe someone will read this charming post and think, "Man, I need to have that girl as a guest blogger in the tents next year.") But I sure as hell am not going to stop trying. And who knows -- maybe there will come a day -- sooner rather than later -- when I'll stop caring. That would probably be the mature, sensible and intelligent route to take. (People who think I should stop caring are probably the same set who tell me I should move to Brooklyn -- or, better yet -- a city that makes more sense, like Seattle.) But for now, I'll keep trying, I'll keep reading, I'll keep writing, I'll keep staring wide-eyed at the pictures of Marc Jacobs neons and YSL pumps...and I'll keep hating that I love it.

Yours,
EL

After these messages,

we'll be riiiiight back. Haven't been in the mood lately, but more soon.

Yours,
EL

The American Psyche

My friend Jennifer sent this link to me this morning, about the Obama family's impact on the perception of African Americans in America. While I think it's wonderful that fashion industry insiders -- some of the most stubborn and staid taste makers in the market -- will finally acknowledge and integrate diversity, the move is long, long overdue.

Yours,
EL

I love the New York Times...

and I'm so excited about this series. Let's all subscribe, k? I'd really like to keep newspapers around a while longer. Wouldn't you?

Yours,
EL

My bad

So...I haven't written in a while, but instead of apologizing, I am going to look at this as an opportunity for a post topic. (Given lemons, making lemonade.) Thus, in the style of Julia D, I am going to list The (10 most exciting) things I have been doing lately, rather than blogging:

1. Working (Turns out we're all pretty heads down right now, what with the dissolution of media and the dying economy and all. Plus, approximately 230,589 people have quit, which is hard because we all have so much work, but which is great because maybe that means we won't have layoffs?)

2. Hanging out in Brooklyn. Namely, Fort Greene. I reconnected with a good friend from (get this) elementary school, and she had a birthday party at this really different, eclectic restaurant, Madiba. Her ex owns it. It's South African and has fun giraffe heads and other African things all over the walls. And the food's good. Enough said. Oh, and apparently dive bars in Fort Greene are actually divey and amazing and low-cost (rather than the faux East Village "dive" bars, which are annoyingly trendy and full of NYU kids and rife with credit card minimums). Also, I'm pretty sure I ended that night as the only caucasian at some sort of underground Park Slope DJ party....All I remember is jumping up and down, touching an afro and being a little unsure of my location. Good times.

3. Hanging out in Brooklyn some more. Still Fort Greene. I had the best "New Brooklyn Cuisine" lunch with Julix at The General Greene, (although our waiter was sort of an ass), and I sat for a few hours at coffee shop/art store/music venue Tillie's, which -- like the Fort Greene dive bars -- just feels more authentic than anything in Manhattan. I really should live there....Whatever, I'll move out there one of these years.

4. Celebrating all the hope and change. Duh.

5. Re-reading Klosterman's Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. My college roommate lent it to me a few years ago, but it resonates now, more than ever. Took some growing up and living away from home to really understand some of the themes. God, I want to write a book.

6. Taking a fiction writing seminar at Gotham Writer's Workshop. (See #5) Decided I like creative non-fiction much better (for now).

7. Getting an A in my digital marketing class. SCORE.

8. Booking a trip to Greece.

9. Watching football. GO STEELERS! (I'm not much of a football person, but my roommates decidedly are. I just like anything that involves parties, gambling, creative marketing/advertising and spending time with friends. Obv.)

10. Watching LOST. It's back. I'm stoked.

Yours,
EL

Fight or Flight? (Pun Intended)

I just read this in the NYTimes about the natural human response when disaster strikes. According to US Airways passengers, the post-crash plane was quiet, and the people were orderly and respectful as they walked onto the wings. Similar accounts have been written about the stairwells after the World Trade Center attacks. Interesting.

Yours,
EL

The Power of Technology

Someone sent this picture via Twitter, just after the plane went down in the Hudson yesterday....That, coupled with the immediate write-up of the crash on the USAir Wikipedia entry, serves as (yet another) reminder that we are, in fact, living in a digital world.

Yours,
EL

p.s. Way to go, Captain Sully!

Risk big, win big

I just came across this article on Digg, about college students who monetized their great ideas into multi-million dollar companies (think Microsoft, Napster, etc.). It's an interesting article and inspires a definite "Just Do It" attitude, but one thing in particular struck me as I was scanning the bios: None of the companies in the article were founded by women.

One could argue, I suppose, that the author simply opted not to mention any women, and that there are examples right and left of lady risk-takers. Take Wendy Kopp, for example, who founded Teach For America as her senior thesis at Princeton. Or Sara Blakely, who invented Spanx, the (magical, if not a little awkward in the boudoir) women's wardrobe staple, soon after her graduation from Florida State.

But despite these examples and my awareness as the daughter of a female executive, I can think of many more male entrepreneurs than female. So in the age of Katie Couric and Title IX and Hillary Clinton, why is it that women don't stick their necks out to risk it big in big business as often as the boys?

A male friend of mine recently started his own business. After coming up with a concept, pitching it to a few friends and doing some research into his market, he quit his full-time job to devote himself entirely to his newfound brainchild. All it took, he explained, was writing a business plan and getting together some investment from friends and family, and poof! -- he was self-employed. I was shocked at his confidence, but when I explained my confusion to a couple of my female friends, they told me that they had male friends -- boyfriends even -- who had done the exact same thing.

So why don't any of my female friends do something similar? My friend Maggie says, "It's inherent to [men] -- a reflection of the greater message of being a caretaker and being cocky. [Women are] typically self doubters. Look at relationships. It's basically a reflection of that." Point taken. But in many cases, hypothetically speaking, women these days have just as many (many?) -- if not more -- "balls" than men. So does it take actual, physical balls to risk it all?

Yours,
EL

(Note: I'm not talking about success here. I'm just talking about willingness to put it out there.)

"Vicarious Kvell"

This is the most adorable thing I've seen in a long time. Remember when I wrote about that UWS kid who goes to restaurants and writes up food critiques? This is WAY better! (Leave it to Oregon to have a five-year-old boy advise you to use local foods.)

Yours,
EL

p.s. Recipe Exchange! Since we're all dying to know how to make a "Yummy Yummy Citrus Boy!"

What kind of writer are YOU?

NYMag lists "The Top Ten Most Abusively Blurbed Authors" and describes the kind of writer who identifies with each. Have at it.

Oh, and I think I'm some amalgamation of several....Like Sloane. (Note: I can only wish.)

Yours,
EL

p.s. If you haven't read each and every one of these authors, READ THEM. Make it your NY's resolution. I'm going to. (Edith Wharton, here goes nothing.)

I almost forgot!

I was just doing a mental checklist of things that I did last weekend, and I realized I forgot another favorite:

On Saturday night, I went back to Tim Robbins' speakeasy, The Back Room, for the first time this season -- (it's really a place best reserved for when it's cold outside, given the velvet- and upholstery-covered furniture and dark decor). And since the bar is inconspicuously labeled by a sign that says "Lower East Side Toy Co." and requires a walk through a dank alleyway to get to the front door, it's a classic place to make out of town visitors think you're really in the know (even if you're in the not). Oh, and although the shallow teacups that hold the liquor drinks are easily bumped and spilled by flying elbows in the usually crowded space, they make for a fun change in scenery.

Hint: DO try to friend an owner to try to get into the private back room of The Back Room. DON'T try to get in otherwise. You won't succeed.

Yours,
EL

An Epicurean New Year

Like most New Yorkers (or at least those few of us who did not flee to Florida or Vail for NYE), my post-holidays return to NYC was spent merry making, carousing and cheerily (and -- yes -- drunkenly) ringing in the New Year with new friends, old friends, and a lot of live jazz.

Some highlights:

Freemans
Despite how many times I write this about various venues, Freemans is by far one of my new favorites. Delicious, delicious food and drinks, a festive and fun wait staff, and altogether reasonably priced. I know this restaurant is heralded among the hipster elite and LES crowd, and I almost hate to write about it and spoil it, but it is just too good not to.

Fat Cat
For non-West Villagers, Fat Cat is probably best known as the place where dirty, "downtown" Jay, Whitney Port's manipulative beau from "The City," played pool with his friends (episode 2). For me, it is a favorite live jazz venue, complete with scrabble boards and pool tables throughout. I lived a few short blocks away from this spot last year, and though I live a bit farther north these days, it remains a neighborhood gem.

Nero
Nero's prix fixe brunch never disappoints, and you can't really go wrong with $25 all you can drink mimosas, bloody marys and bellinis. I have had some of my best, laziest Saturdays at this place, and it was the perfect setting to welcome the first day of the new year (and to recoop with a little hair of the dog).

55 Bar
See previous post re: KJ Denhert, who I saw here in November. GREAT jazz place, and I ended up there with a whole slew of kids from my high school....Ah, leave it to NYE to lure even the oldest of friends to the city.

The Met
Absolutely incredible, of course. And incredibly embarrassing that it was my first trip there since I moved to NY in 2007. Seriously though...I adored it. I always thought it would be enormous and overwhelming. I was right. But I still adored it.

The New York Public Library
A whole building where books outnumber laptops! Enough said. In love.

Ice Skating, Bryant Park
Worth the touristy, cold 1 1/2 hour wait. Such a fun thing to do with out-of-town guests that I probably would never do as local.

I could go on, but there seems not much more to say: It was a fabulous New Year's week and -- despite some overindulgence here and there and only the slightest smattering of drama -- a perfect end to one year and start to the next.

Yours,
EL

p.s. One regret (though I hate regrets) is that I wish I'd read this before now.