Thursday, March 26, 2009

In Gotham: A Hearty Helping of Brunch 2.0

Take 8 young NYC creatives of different ethnicities, sexualities and um...absurdities, and dump them into a circular white pleather booth for Sunday brunch at Perry St. Stir. Simmer for a few hours and serve while snarky. 

This is what I have taken to calling "the brunch club;" banal as the name may be, our weekly gatherings continue to grow in size as well as Michelin star rating of the destination. I may be a starving member of the "emerging media," but I will never deny an invitation to nosh on fancy-pants pancakes

Aside from the excuse to drink 4-5 cups of coffee in a row, these meals serve as a good sounding rod for opinions on current hot topics and exchange of inside jokes. You'd do well to eavesdrop on us, marketing peoples, with recent topics such as these:
  • What's the first song that alphabetically appears on your iTunes? Consensus says: Aaliyah "Are You That Somebody?"
  • What've you got lingering in your Netflix queue? Me: La Vie en Rose
  • If you had to pitch an infomercial product to everyone at the table right now, what could you sell the pants off of? Me: the Yuletide Fireplace DVD
  • Did anyone get around to making New Years resolutions? Answer: no. But what about New York resolutions? Answer: yes. (get out to Flushing this year, avoid the NRQW, etc)
Ah, the lazy conversations of the creative class. One day I shall look back and scoff at that term and these topics. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Straight Trippin': Atlantic City and Endorphins

I am in Atlantic City. In March. On a Tuesday. Deduce what you will from that, but one thing's for certain about my brief jaunt here: I'm thinking up a storm. 

The wittiest quips and true clarity of thought usually come to me during brisk walks around urban environments, and although I was encased in a glass dome today, hitting the hotel fitness center on full power caused a vortex of vision. I had several treadmill revelations: my average walking speed is classified as "valley jog," I enjoy random judo-chopping, and running in striped pajamas is just as good as in spandex. I experienced stationary bicycle inner peace: damn, I'm good at this. And lap pool nirvana: why are they taunting me by playing only the music of "Rock the Casbah?" Whatever, I'm down.

Ever since my own personal recession set in the second I set foot in NYC, I banished my old Crunch membership and their 3-story atrium tube slides and Vitra furniture from my memory. Then I said a temporary goodbye to my big bike, which had for several years been carried up and down 3 stories of stairs by me on a daily basis, and which has successfully pedaled me through two marathons and given me the endurance to complete the "Hustle Up the Hancock." Now, with the exercise endorphins racing, I resolve to return. Chicago, I will see you in July for L.A.T.E. Ride.  
[Image via Flickr/bluedonkey]

Saturday, March 14, 2009

My Fashion Aesthetic, In Summary

So it all began in Hong Kong. While my friend J and I perused the eccentric and awesome wares at Joyce, I came across a pair of Rick Owens S/S 2009 Foldover boots and was immediately struck dumb. They. were. everything. I've. ever. dreamed. of. and. more. If it weren't for the price (about $1,250), I'd be clodding all over town right now in these babies. 

This kind of shopping experience, where I fall so hard for a single item, happens so rarely that it required some reflection. J and I tried to peg our individual styles down to a few designers, and I had some definite favorites named right off the bat. So for my pleasure just as much as yours (not like you really care), behold my five favorite designers whose designs I would actually wear:

Yohji Yamamoto and Y-3: I already own quite a few Y-3 pieces, but I hunger for YY
Rick Owens: Damn. Just damn. I covet it all.
Diane von Furstenberg: Already own some, but have to admit the "Foreign Affairs" Collection to be most me.
Donna Karan: Gorgeous, fantastic, sexy, chic...blah blah blah
Comme des Garcons/Rei Kawakubo: This is for when I let my freak flag fly. 

[Rick Owens boots image via Browns Fashion; All other images via]