Category: Adventures

Amelia, it was just a false alarm

There’s a marvelous post on the New York Times photography blog, Lens, about women aviators taking to the sky at the dawn of aviation. Shall we call them aviatrices? Their fabulous stories, daring adventures, and frequent epic disasters are almost as romantic and swoon-worthy as their outfits. Poppy Wyndham (née Elsie Mackay), above, became a vaudeville actress against her father’s wishes and ran away with a fellow actor, scandalizing society- she perished in her plane attempting to cross the Atlantic.

Ruth Elder, who named her plane “American Girl”, was divorced by her husband, who claimed she “caused him many sleepless nights by her transatlantic flight attempt and much embarrassment in New York when she failed to kiss him upon her return”. She, like most good ladies, also packed a mean picnic for her transatlantic flights with lots of coffee and sandwiches. She had to bail out over the Azores, but was rescued by a steamer.Beulah Unruh, below, was a New York City waitress who got her license out on Long Island (she probably flew in and out of Governors Island and Floyd Bennet Field). She estimated that her pilot’s license (and those amazing knee high socks) cost her about 13,000 tips.Such a wonderful place to put your mind, to think about the frictionless allure of sky-bound women taking to the heavens in icy altitudes. See the whole piece here.

Doesn’t this Meerkat look like Woody Allen?

This little guy lives in the Prospect Park Zoo with a few of his meerkat pals, I went to see him the other day and I couldn’t get over his nebbishy little aspect. Imagine him in glasses and It’s like he’s saying:

“Basically my wife was immature. I’d be at home in the bath and she’d come in and sink my boats.”

 

meerkat image by featherbyfeather, woody allen image from here.

Happy Halloween!


Tonight we’re going to be marching in the 39th Annual Village Halloween Parade, singing into megaphones with our dear friends, the awesome boys of No Small Money Brass Band. Here they are, marching in the parade in 2009. It’s going to be almost as good as candy! And, BONUS, since I’m a grownup I can also have as much candy as I want all the time. Happy Halloween!

Childlike Wonder pt. 1

I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, coming from me- if I’m drawing a feeling of awe out of the air like a lightning rod or if there has been extra beauty latent in the world as of late and I’m drawn to it like a open-mouthed moth to a flame of awesomeness. Either way, I really feel like the past few weeks have been full of wonder. This is a hard thing to come by, so needless to say it’s been pretty great. Is it that we’re too tired usually to look around? Is it that the world is extra-lovely when it tilts its orbit to squeeze the last bit out of fall? I went to Dumbo to see the Creators Project and poke around and I simply could not get over how beautiful everything was. It was ever so marvelous a feeling.

Things Could Be Worse

I’m going to plan the rest of my day using this fabulous collection of drawings. First, I think it’s time for a mid-afternoon coffee. And then I think I might make myself something delicious and fall-y:If I can get my mitts on the recipe.And then maybe I’ll go see Roosevelt Dime play tonight at the fabulous Brooklyn Winery.Cutest infestation ever.

City Mouse, Town Mouse

Visiting our friends in Pennsylvania over this past weekend, I discovered something new: the life of the town mouse. Until now, I’ve only known the pretty sharp divide between Country Mouse (beauty, idyll, low rent, and terrible chinese food) and City Mouse (the glittering compromise of paying pounds of flesh for the privilege of seeing a human poo on the subway… on the way to get amazing sichuan and see The Moth story slam live). My dear friend McKay, sensing a potential shift, gave me this New Yorker cartoon when I first moved up from my Virginia farmhouse (sidenote: the fact that a New Yorker cartoon actually pertained to me was an early City Mouse thrill):

Cartoon by A. Geisert, 12/1/06

But instead of either traipsing down a fetid sidewalk or run over in the middle of 6th avenue, there could be another fate: Town Mouse. Rare in America, my friends have a beautiful old sort of Craftsman house in an awake little old-fashioned downtown- walking distance to the market, the dry cleaner, the bookstore, the coffeeshop, the train station, and (!) work etc. but with space, calm, fabulous light and a good mortgage (I’m guessing. City Mice don’t think twice about talking rent money and square footage over $8 beers, but when you’re drinking a very nice cote du something with some Town Mice, it feels unseemly to ask them whether they paid extra for the washer/dryer). But think. Town Mouse could keep her jewels in a tiny cup when she was at the sink. Town Mouse could have a sweet, sunny little place for strawberry baskets, eggs from the chickens, and muddy shoes.Town Mouse could have this tree in her backyard.But…City Mouse still has it pretty good, for now.

Gone to Lebanon

My mama was in town all last week and we had a time. When we weren’t covered in paint or dust we were covered in flour and wine and good long hugs. Just as things should be. You’ll have to wait a minute for the before/after of all the projects we tackled… but first! I must tell about the Kitchen Garden Cooking School. This was the theoretical “excuse” of her visit, that she would come up and we would meet our dear old friends (a mother and daughter just as prone to nesting and cocktails as we, of course) and take a short class on Lebanese cooking. Glorious. The air was gilded, the kitchen was warm and bright, and the lions share of the ingredients came directly from the garden. Things I didn’t know about before: sumac (a deep red powder that lends a lemony sprinkle), pomegranate molasses (deep, dark, tart, sweet, the best new discovery since Maggi Seasoning, and available at Sahadi’s on Atlantic avenue), and, of course, how to make pitas from scratch:We left with full bellies and a packet of recipes- some that will become favorites, some that may never be attempted again- my favorite? Muhammara. This roasted red pepper dip is not only a total revelation of deliciousness, it’s made from ingredients that can simply lie in wait in the pantry, ready to ambush a blitzkrieg of unexpected dinner guests.

Muhammara

2 roasted red peppers (from the jar is just fine)
1 cup walnuts
½ cup fine bread crumbs, crackers or panko
1 T lemon juice
2 T pomegranate molasses
1 tsp dried Aleppo pepper or hot paprika
¼ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp sugar
2 T olive oil

In a food processor, puree all of the ingredients except the olive oil until completely combined and creamy.  Add the olive oil in a thin stream.  Serve at room temperature. Marvel at the skill and ease with which you entertain.

(from Sheila McDuffie and the Kitchen Garden Cooking School)

 

ps. don’t all New Yorkers wish their kitchen felt like this? O! The Open Shelves! O! The TWO sinks! O me O my!

Blue Bottle Coffee

Even though summer is lingering as we always wish it would, confusing trees whose leaves blushed too early, thank goodness the transition from iced cold brew to hot-cha-cha coffee is still imminent. Jocie and I met for a brisk picnic lunch on The Highline and she, with a little persuasion, gave me an ad hoc architectural walking tour (awesome!). En route, we decided that if we were going to discuss Highline Architecture 101 (encompassing topics as diverse as “barrier elements mirror forms of both the in situ natural and industrial” and/or “life/work integration of public and private spaces”) that we definitely needed some coffee. ASAP. For my own life/work integration, I sort of, really, very much need, want, and have to have at least one of these single cup fast-as-lightning drip brewers from Blue Bottle Coffee. All I need is gravity and (in this case) the rarefied sideways light of the Highline over 10th avenue. Simple as that.

“Nobody’s Perfect”

And then I went to Cubana Social for drinks, where they had two awesome things happening at the same time in the same place: a noise-jazz quartet with a bassist with a hottentot, and “Some like it Hot” playing on mute in the background. I’m not sure which I liked better. You can see in this picture that it’s that part at the very end where Jack Lemmon (as Geraldine) tells Osgood that they can’t be together because he’s a man, and Osgood says “Well, Nobody’s Perfect”+ Micheladas, and it almost was.

Goodbye South… for a bit.

I’ve just gotten back from marvelous adventures back down South… whenever I go home all of its specialness seems to hit me right in the mouth with the force of humidity and biscuits. It’s starting to feel like cool plaid fall in New York, which might be the bittersweetest loveliness that a city girl can ask for, but the joyful heartache that is the autumn city is right up there with the effortless still warm evenings of southern indian summer, the kind where the air is as full as the moon. So, I’ll be back soon.