Cherry Blossom Festival

Last night, Susan and I went to the premiere of Suburban Girl at the Tribeca Film Festival. The movie was really cute and frothy, and the clothes and the shots of New York were gorgeous. It was so cool to be at a premiere and watch the limos pull up. While we walked into the theater we actually got to stand on the red carpet. We both felt like we were at the coolest place on earth. Sadly, Alec Baldwin didn't show, but there were some scenes that erm, mirrored his current situation with his daughter and there was some nervous laughter from the audience. Afterwards we went to the Tribeca Tavern, which despite being in a such a trendy and ritzy neighborhood was totally unpretentious and fun. Plus, so many cute guys!

Today I went to the Cherry Blossom Festival at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

All kinds of gorgeous cherry blossoms. The weather was perfect for it too.

People were camped out all over, and there was music and food in those tents. Tons of kids, all of whom were suprisingly well-behaved and actually cute. Or maybe I was just in a good mood.

Bizarre fountain. It's a girl riding a dolphin, but it looks...obscene, somehow.

Little red riding hood. There were quite a few interesting looking people/ bizarre outfits out today, but this one was the best.



More cherry blossoms.

M

Leave a comment and I'll give you a letter. Then you list 10 things you like starting with that letter. Post them in your journal and give out new letters to your commenters in turn.

M:

1) Mozzarella. Of course my first thing would be cheese, and mozzarella is what makes pizza so delicious.

2) Manicures. I probably like pedicures better, but they don't start with M. I love them both; it's like a mini-vacation.

3) Manhattan. All I wanted growing up was to live there, but now I like living in Brooklyn better. Most of the ammenities and none of the hassle.

4) Mooshy. My nickname for Dugan, the most awesome dog in the world

5) My Morning Jacket. Awesome band. Really want to see them live.

6) M. Judi Dench is bad ass. I've been watching Bond movies with my dad since I was a little kid, and I love them.

7) Malayasia. I'm having malaysian food tomorrow for lunch. It's supposed to be yummy.

8) Motor City. Detroit is not my favorite place, but I love seeing my family and eating Red Robin.

9) Meatballs. My mom and I (and my sister) used to make spaghetti and meatballs when I was little. I have really great memories of being in the kitchen with them. And smushing all that meat and eggs and breadcrumbs is lots of fun.

10) Match.com So I was concvinced to sign up by a certain former roommate. It's not one of my favorite things, but I have a date tomorrow and possibly another this weekend so I will definitely keep you updated.

The Tyranny of the Ballet Flat

Ballet flats are in. When I saw them in the fashion mags a few months ago, I thought there was no way they'd catch on. But walking around New York yesterday, on one of the first spring-like days we've had this year, I realized how mis-guided I was. There were ballet flats everywhere. With skinny jeans, cute dresses and a-line skirts. There was no way I could get through this spring in last year's pointy flats, no matter how cute I told myself they looked with skinny jeans. When my friend and I were turned away from a Soho restaurant because we didn't have a reservation, I secretly blamed my shoes.



A few months ago, I was fully prepared to resist the lure of the ballet flat. In theory, they're cute, conjuring images of Degas's dancers, Audrey Hepburn and effortlessy chic and wide-eyed school girls. When I was eight, I begged my mom for a pair from Nordstrom. I'm sure I would have worn them to school with my tutu if I hadn't realized how uncomfortable they were. They never even made it out of the house.

But there are few articles of clothing with as many caveats as the ballet flat. On girls with long legs and slim ankles, they will only make her look longer and leaner. Something else I learned at the age of eight: skirts and flats are for the select few. As many girls as I saw yesterday pulling off the ballet flat, my mind is repeatedly drawn to one poor creature. Low slung skinny jeans that made her hips look as wide as a sequoia and zebra print ballet flats that made her look about as tall as an Olsen but ten times as dumpy. And animal print? There is no faster way to evoke both a New Jersey housewife and a wildebeast.

This seems to be the season of the unwearable clothes. Maybe we've moved on from midriff bearing tops and jeans low enough to require a wax, but we're not done making normal girls look fat. But don't say the designers didn't warn you. It's in the name. Skinny jeans are just that. They don't make you look skinny, they're only for the skinny. I thought we covered this last year? Ballet flats are for girls who have the legs of dancers.

But if you leave here with only one piece of advice, remember this; the stirrup pant is for no one.

I hate your kids

I solemnly swear that if I should ever find myself knocked up, I will promptly move to the suburbs. I will not crowd New York sidewalks with a MacLaren stroller. I will not take my baby/ toddler/ small child to quiet coffee shops, nice restaurants or R-rated movies.

Today on one of my rare days off, I decided to get a cup of tea at the local cafe. I was quietly reading my book, everyone around me also working or reading, when two SAHMs entered. For those lucky enough not to know, SAHM stands for Stay-at-home-mom. Otherwise known as women whose husbands make enough money that they neither have to work in or out of the home. This gives them plenty of time to drag their children to tens maybe even hundreds of innapropriate locales all over Brooklyn. Like the local cafe. Which is not an inappropriate place, per se. When I walked in a young mother had been sitting near the entrance with her toddler, and I didn't hear a sound from either of them. About fifteen minutes after I sat down, walked in the SAHMs. They made sure to announce their arrival. Their MacLaren strollers blocked the narrow path to the door. And they babbled over their sleeping children as they unzipped them from the strollers. They had the unmistakble self-satisfaction of people who had managed to procreate in brownstone Brooklyn. They continued to talk twice as loud as anyone else there. But the real kicker happened on their way out, after both children had begun crying. They noticed a flier for the annual house tour of brownstones and mansions in the neighborhood. "Ohmigod, we should totally do that," SAHM 1 announced in a tone more appropriate for a football game than a coffee shop. "I've never tried taking the stroller up all those stairs," the dowdier SAHM replied, and I realized with horror that these two planned on shlepping their teething, drooling toddlers through meticulously restored 19th Century homes. I looked up and stared at them. "I guess that's more of a carrier day," Frump continued. To which the first SAHM replied, "Yeah I've wanted to do it every year! We should totally get Michelle and Alex and Stephanie and Mike to come, too!" Guess where I won't be that day.

And I guess, that the children themselves weren't so bad. Sure they fussed and cried, but if these people were my parents, I'd be crying too.