I do try to stay away from them, but it's going to get a lot harder now after my friend Sarah (pictured to your left) told me that they were right in my neighborhood. I'm of course talking about cakes, those delish things that I could eat all day long. And now that I know Dyckman Bakery is in the world, it's going to be hard for me to just walk on by like I'm not affected by the delicious smell of sweet, sweet sugar.
Just as I thought that lower SoHo was just a bunch of fancy boutique windows after dark, I go and find this place: Milady's. After an evening being intellectual and interesting in SoHo, my friend Brandy and I decided to head for the nearest dive. Enter Milady's, a friendly place in the middle of tourist mecca where you'd normally not expect to find anything this cool and divey. 
You know how it is. You get home from somewhere and you just can't be bothered to make dinner, neither can you be bothered to convince someone to go out for dinner, so you find yourself in some greasy spoon trying to get some unhealthy take-out. Well, not anymore. In the wondrous Inwood area there's a Venezuelan place called Cachapas Y Mas and they dish out some of the most delish food. But not only is it delicious, but it's cheap and the portions are fucking huge. This is a score. 
However, this is not all for today's post. As I was walking home the other day I heard the sound of opera. Curious as I am, I decided to follow the sound and of course it led me straight to the Metropolitan Opera, where they'd put out a gigantic screen outside for everyone to enjoy. On it they were playing Anna Bolena live; the real version was played inside the theatre. I always gathered myself someone who didn't care much for opera, but this was amazing. Not the music, mind, but the scenery, the storyline and the atmosphere around me. Everyone seemed to have stumbled upon this by accident, and that's one of the beauties of New York. Once in a while culture will just come and slap you in the face when you least expect it. 
Just like you guys I have a sort of routine. My routine mostly functions on Sundays however, where I always do the same stuff: talk to my mom on the phone, take a walk down Upper West Side to end at Chelsea where I get myself a seat at Cafe Grumpy to drink mocha and read. Yes. This is the perfect Sunday for me. It's pretty simple. Not much goes on. But it's such a peaceful parallel to the other days of the week, and the best way of relaxing. What's even better is that cafe Grumpy makes the best coffee drinks on Manhattan. I've tried a lot of places, but there's nothing like this place. Granted, it takes you a little longer to get your coffee, but that's such a small price to pay.
This Sunday I finished The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead as I sat inside Grumpy. It is such an exhaustingly beautiful and horrifying book that I dare all lit lovers out there to read it. It's been criminally overlooked since it's publishing in 1938, and deserves all the recognition it can possibly get. This is a masterpiece. Nothing less.
It's Monday morning and the weekend has passed. I don't know about you, but I enjoyed my weekend tremendously, starting with Friday where I went to The Museum of the Moving Image. Oh, my. I have been a hardcore movie aficionado since I was 5 (what can I say, I love that stuff), so last Friday I decided to take my bag and head right to the MotMI after work. Did I love it? Yes! And so would you if you were ever into films and the making of them. 
There is something familiar about the Coffee Bean in the East Village and that’s why every single person in the neighborhood seems to go there – the baristas know everyone and everyone brings their dogs. There are dog biscuits by the counter and locals by the big windows, working on their Great American Novel. It's the familiarity of the Bean that makes it so tempting to walk inside whenever you pass. 
First of all: whatevs. I don't care how much you love Absolute Bagels, I will always be a Nussbaum & Wu girl. The bagels are just as delish and they have cakes, so there. Also, they generally have much more variety in their spread.
First of all there is Housing Works, a non-profit bookstore on Crosby Street. I love this place and even though I rarely buy any books (I always get them straight from the Strand... sorry), I love their events and the fact that most of their space is taking up by a coffee shop where playwrights sit and discuss former plays. This is the truth. I have heard so many conversations about theatre and plays here that it must be some sort of off-Broadway central. However; as stated, I also adore and admire their events. Book sales (the time they had lit mags for $2 is a personal favorite), street parties (yes, this bookstore actually knows how to par-TAY) and The Moth. That's right. They sometimes have The Moth here, and I love it. 
We all have it: that happy place where everything seems to alright with the world. Our home away from home, placed right in the place we live. For me, that place is The Strand, New York's finest and possibly most popular bookstore. Whenever I feel a little sad, I go here. Whenever I feel a little giddy, I go here. Whenever I am depressed and want to cry all night, I go here and whenever I am so happy I can hardly contain myself, I go here. This is just a place for all seasons, and I can't help but to feel entirely at peace whenever I open the doors and see all those books just waiting for me, which I'm sure they don't. I admit I read a lot of books (a lot, too many, a lot), but The Strand makes me want to drown myself in words, and start a bookclub and be a better writer and everything else that has anything to do with words and the literary world. This is quite simply, as stated, my happy place in New York, and I would probably evaporate if it ever ceased to exist. But thankfully that seems unlikely. This is, after all, The Strand. 
First of all: I am going to Estonia at the end of the year.
I don’t live in Portland, Oregon so I don’t have the privilege to go to Stumptown every day. But wait a second… I do have that privilege! In New York we have our very own Stumptown now, complete with hipster baristas and incredibly well-made coffee. But New York has many coffee shops and why would a smart girl go to midtown to get it when she can instead venture to East Village or Brooklyn? I’ll tell you why: because this Stumptown is part of some fancy hotel and when you sit down and drink your coffee, you’ll do it in the lobby. Doesn’t sound great? Let me re-phrase: this lobby is dark and gloomy and filled with sleep-deprived workaholics staring into their macs. The couches are nearly gone in the dark, but if you manage to get a seat, the strange spectacle will be enough entertainment for part of the afternoon. 
Last Saturday I was lucky enough to get into the Designers and Agents Trade Show for the NYC Fashion Week (courtesy of the lovely Kate Russell), and was overwhelmed with - no, not the fabric or the clothes or the shoes or the jewelry - the people there. Everyone is so overly friendly, asking the name of what store you're from. When they realize you're not buying any big orders there's this utter disappointment on their faces... it's priceless. 
