LIMEKILN LATITUDES
on place, purpose and pretty thingsArchive for Why Not
new york i love you but you’re bringing me down
The Onion strikes again, with today’s 8.4 Million New Yorkers Suddenly Realize New York City A Horrible Place To Live:
“…incidents that prompted citizens to pick up and leave included the sight of garbage bags stacked 5 feet high on the sidewalk; the realization that being alone among millions of anonymous people is actually quite horrifying; a blaring siren that droned on and fucking on; muddy, refuse-filled puddles that have inexplicably not dried in three years; the thought of growing into a person whose meanness and cynicism is cloaked in a kind of holier-than-thou brand of sarcasm that the rest of the world finds nauseating; and all the goddamn people.”
Genius.
city living
sadly i had to abandon what would have been a fantastic trip to boulder this labor day weekend, so in an effort to make up for the nature i’m missing i spent some time this morning appreciating the little patch of green i’ve cultivated here at home… not such a bad view to wake up to every day:
right now i’ve got two kinds of basil, flat and curly parsley, mint, a variegated vinca, a bunch of lantana, and a tallgrass out on the fire escape. the windowsill is home to my jade plant, some lemon thyme, two string-of-pearls, chives, and a baby succulent i picked up at the union square farmers market not too long ago.
there’s definitely been an influx of birds and butterflies this summer… could it be the highline?
onward and upward
It’s taken me a full week to digest the success of last Tuesday’s election – not only its national and international significance, but also the personal impact it will have on my own life. Granted it’s been a busy week, too – I celebrated Obama’s election on U Street in DC, capping things off with some 3am chili cheese fries at Ben’s Chili Bowl; I soaked up the latest climate crisis statistics at a heavy-hitting Rockefeller Foundation/UPenn conference called Urban Design After the Age of Oil; and I turned 30 amidst family and dear friends (and a few hundred other people noshing at Shady Maple… a somewhat mindblowing institution).
I’ve got lots to say on all the above, so will be taking things one by one. But in the meantime I just had to document this rare mix of euphoria, relief, and motivation. As someone else has been saying quite a bit lately: “Let’s get to work.”
condoms! lubricant!
god i love this town. i’m just back from my polling place, the LGBT center in the west village. at 6:20am the line was already two blocks long, and as i approached the center itself i noticed that the “VOTE HERE/VOTE AQUI” signs are nestled happily next to the bins enthusiastically promoting condoms and lubricant. no one blinks; it’s just a natural part of the landscape. what gets me most excited is how shockingly different this scene must be from, say, the small church in a conservative pennsylvania or iowa or texas town.
best part? the lines are out the door everywhere.
fifi lapin
for my bunny loving friends… you know who you are. (hat tip to joy for the image.)
fall is on
It always comes back to seasons. It’s about change, and the rejuvenation that we all feel as the light changes to white and the air clears to crisp and the layers emerge. It’s a very different hum buzz from the one I once felt in San Francisco – out there it was about a quality of light and life, a particular glow, an ingrained optimism. Here it’s about humanity. About being alive and up for the challenge and the changes that every goddamn day brings, for better or for worse. Everyone is pushing him or herself to an edge in New York – it’s both exhausting and stimulating, and precisely how we manage to fall asleep at night and get up in the morning. Again and again and again.
gravitron 2000
Looks like Michelle Obama is the guest on tonight’s Daily Show – can’t wait.
And on a semi-related note: I once worked out at the gym next to Jon Stewart. It was half-thrilling, half-mortifying. I mean really. There’s nothing quite like struggling on an assisted pull-up machine with your sweaty, spandex laden thighs a mere 3.5 feet away from the face of someone you’ve had on a pedestal for years. (He was on the adjacent butterfly press, facing me.) This sort of humbling moment can be expected with the occasional gym hottie… but with Jon Stewart?!
PS. A point of clarification: I am not in fact a member of the (absurdly nice) gym that Jon Stewart goes to – a friend gave me a free pass that week.
