Playing on Repeat: Champs

Stumbled across "My Spirit Is Broken" by Champs and haven't been able to stop playing it. Give it a whirl and lemme know what you think.

 x

Starlight Express

My friend Grant was in town the other week, and the first thing he requested to do? "Roller disco". More specifically, the "Crazy Legs Skate Club" roller disco.  Located inside a Salvation Army in Brooklyn, this spectacle happens every Wednesday night with a live DJ.

The three block radius of this building is completely dead, so we heard the music blaring from the gymnasium before we even turned the corner. If we hadn't been about to enter a rollerblading disco party, I might have feared for my life. The street was dark and there was no one in sight, but slowly, one by one, people started to roll up. Literally. Out of the shadows, people came skating up to the door in their roller blades. They meant business. My care-free attitude about the night's events quickly turned into an, "Oh My God I am so in over my head." As we walked in, people were standing around in their skates, socializing with drinks and snacks in the entry room. It was a mixture of young hipsters in high-waisted mom jeans and older, die-hard locals in un-irconically high-waisted mom jeans. We paid our $15 (steep!) and sat down to put on our skates.

On our way over, Ariella had been confessing her anxiety about getting back on skates for the first time since the '90s. While I was in the same boat, I had this idea in my head that rollerblading is one of those things that, even if you were terrible the last time you attempted, the power of time and maturity would magically have enhanced your skills. I would pop into those bad boys and skate away like Nancy Kerrigan pre-Tanya Harding. Fun fact: Nope. I refused to stand for the first 10 minutes, terrified out of my mind. These weren't inline skates, mind you. These were those terrible, old-school kind with the "brake" in the front. But the "brake" is actually impossible to use so you have to adopt a kind of pizza-wedge technique I typically reserve for skiing. And while Grant and Michael swore they hadn't skated in years, they zipped away like the graceful water nymph and child of an ex-Rollerblade employee (true story) that they are.

My second mistake of the night: "Oh, a disco-themed roller rink? What fun! Let me just throw on my most obnoxious '70s gear and tease me hair! I'll blend in with everyone else and look fabulous at the same time!" Apparently, "disco" refers solely to the type of music played and not the dress code. All of a sudden my furry coat, patterned pants and gold sequin top became my worst enemy. I turned into a shining beacon of light, slowly orbiting the gym in such a pronounced way that when people started lapping me (which they did. over and over again) they knew. They were well aware. No blending in for this gal! Every time Michael or Grant whizzed past me, I'd get a tender, encouraging touch on my upper back and a supportive wink. Sometimes these intimate gestures came from other people. I think that's part of the skating culture(???).

By some great act of God, I never fell. I must say, however, that when you're going at a snail's pace, it enables you to really take in the endearing details of Crazy Legs Roller Club. For example, the way star crossed-lovers skate arm-in-arm, backwards, with their eyes closed while you claw along the wall like a leper from Jesus Christ Super Star (honestly, that's the only comparison I could think of at the time). And while people skate laps around the dimly lit gymnasium, center court is reserved for the break-dancers. Yes, break-dancing in roller blades is a thing, and these guys are good. The majority of them are middle-aged men and I found it fascinating that this is obviously their Wednesday night, every Wednesday night. One man took pity on us as we encircled the seasoned pros and gawked at their talents. He tried to teach us some moves, and Michael was dedicated enough to actually get on the ground and bust a few. Grant, being a naturally elegant swan, didn't need any lessons and floated away.

Michael attempted to convince the DJ to play Beyoncé's Blow, because, duh, but the DJ stuck with B-list disco songs (except for when he played Lorde's Royals...?). But once our back sweat had thoroughly soaked through our paisley button downs and fur, we decided it was time to turn in. And like the true Brooklyn-dwelling, disco-skating bohemians that we are, we Uber-ed back to our warm beds and called it a night. While I can assure you that Michael and Grant will be back for more, I will probably opt out for a new, slightly less death-defying adventure. Canoeing down the toxic Gowanus canal, anyone?

getting our blades on.

Photo cred: Michael Offerman. See, I wasn't kidding about the shining beacon of light. Or the being in pain thing.

xx

A Weekend Outing

This past weekend I received the most welcome text from my friend Michael saying, "Hey! Let's go on an adventure!" When I moved to NYC, the first advice someone told me was: "In order to live in New York City, you have to leave New York City." For this specific person I think that entailed more of a weekend-trip to-a-house-in-the-hamptons kind of deal, but until I sign the lease on my beach house, I'm content with a slightly less glamorous approach. After living here for 8 months now (!!!) I completely understand the sentiment; as wonderful as this concrete jungle is, human beings need nature. 

So Ariella, Michael and I voluntarily woke up at 7 a.m. on a rainy Saturday morning, hopped on over to Grand Central Station and, with coffee cups and pretzel packs in hand, boarded the Metro North. What an incredibly pleasant experience! We spent the train ride catching up, listening to Michael's dramatic reading of the mind-blowing NYTimes article on Mole People, and re-introducing ourselves to the concept of scenic views. 

We got off at the beautiful little town of Cold Spring and made our way up Main Street, which was, in fact, their main street. Not a ton going on at Cold Spring, which made a day trip more manageable. Every storefront on Main St. was jam-packed with antique stores ("depression-era glass and Bakelite nicknacks" according to our Hudson River Valley pamphlet) and everyone was SO NICE. I forgot that there are people in this world who will give you the time of day without expecting something in return.

 We had the most scrumptious brunch of bacon-basted poached eggs, raspberry cornmeal pancakes and babka french toast at Hudson Hil's Cafe & Market (HIGHLY recommended if you're ever in the 'hood) and perused Old Souls, the local hiking shop (a super hip transplant from Brooklyn). We then set upon our trail, getting directions and advice from locals and finding ourselves down a wooded path that led to a beautiful waterfall, all set in the historic site of the West Point Foundry Preserve. Along our hike we:

gawked at the beautiful babbling brook,

 risked our lives while channeling our inner Troop Beverly Hills,

drank from the fountain of youth (not me, though. I played enough Oregon Trail to know this is exactly how you get dysentery),

and contemplated the meaning of life.

Once we were thoroughly soaked to the bone, we wanted one thing: soup. Thankfully, we found just the spot and downed bowls of butternut squash and chili. As soon as we were nice and cozy on the inside (though still very damp on the outside),  we grabbed a few muffins from a local bakery for the road and jumped back on the ole steel horse.

All in all, I would do it again in a heartbeat (but maybe wear a real raincoat and two more layers.) The round trip cost $25, and for a ticket out of town, it's not a bad deal. Heck, if I had a lot of work to do or a good book to read, I would head out and spend the day in a cute coffee shop along the way, just for the change of scenery. But of course as the weather gets nicer, there will be a million and one things to do in the city every weekend and it will get harder and harder to get out. I guess I just found the upside to bad weather.

Let me know if you ever want to adventure!

 xx C

The Secret Correlation Between Plants and Adulthood

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I love my apartment more than anything. The Williamsburg location, the four story walk up (jokes) and my wonderfully talented roommate. But lately I've been feeling as though I'm missing some key element that will take my apartment from pleasant to sophisticated, and yesterday I realized the answer: plants. 

Now that I've landed a J-O-B (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), having living things in your apartment feels like a natural transition into the next stage of proving that you are a responsible adult capable of taking care of others. Plants will eventually be replaced by an animal of sorts (chinchilla? sugar glider? a cheetoh?) and then, finally, fingerscrossedIgetmarried, small humans. But for now house plants will have to do. 

We must take baby steps when entering new phases of life, however, and I'm not sure I'm quite ready for the challenge of watering plants per se, so I've contently settled on some adorable succulents (read: can survive in the desert). Ariella bought me the most beautiful terrarium for Christmas from a local store called Sprout, so I took a trip down to Grand Street (they also have a Chicago location!) because yesterday was perfect plant-buying weather. I would highly recommend Sprout's extensive selection of make-your-own terrarium ingredients (plastic dinosaurs included), floral arrangements and abundance of moss. I settled on three little fleshy Echeverias (only $3.50 each! BUY ALL THE ECHEVERIAS!) and re-potted them into some Anthropologie glass jars I had lying about (below).

 I put them on the windowsill next to my bed, and this morning the sunlight was streaming in and I felt very positive about life.  I must say, it was the loveliest sight to wake up to. So do yourself a favor today, and go buys some succulents. xx

BYOB(runch)

This post is about brunch. "Brunching" is a thing I did not do enough in college (the amount of mornings I wasn't eating at Half and Half or Winslow's is my biggest regret in life) and I still don't do enough of today. The concept of sleeping in on a lazy Sunday and then rolling up with friends to New York's hottest restaurant to discuss the previous night's cacophony over mimosas and pancakes for hours sounds like all I've ever wanted in life. But when it comes down to it, it takes quite a bit of organization and, more importantly, MONEY. Adding brunch to your list of hobbies and activities can set you back a significant amount each week. So it's something I'm going to aspire to.

 In conclusion, I am job-searching so that I can brunch.

As a solution, I found a temporary substitute: The BYOB.

My good friends Jacob and Sarah were visiting NYC last weekend and obviously wanted to max out their socializing, but trying to meet up with 10 people for brunch in Williamsburg is like trying to get a reservation at the Dorsia in American Psycho. So Ariella and I had the genius decision to host the brunch at our apartment! However, we decide this the night before and didn't have enough time to shop for a full-out brunch. So to make it as easy as possible, we ended up doing a Bring Your Own Brunch. Instead of worrying about cooking for everyone or even bringing a dish large enough for everyone, you just worry about yourself! This is especially convenient when you have gluten-free (and fabulous) or vegetarian friends. Our BYOB still ended up being a little pot-luckish though because I have generous friends who are willing to pick up a dozen donuts and bagels and (my favorite, thanks Hillary!) macarons. It was a lovely get together and I would fully recommend the concept when you're feeling lazy or poor or selfish and don't want to share your food.

I promise Jacob and Steven are having more fun then they're letting on. 

I Wore This

Am I the only one who hates the abbreviation of Outfit of the Day? Whenever I see people hashtag #ootd on instagram I get a weird feeling because my immediate reaction is to try and sound it out and then I end up say "ooh-t-d" in my head and it's uncomfortable.

I digress. 

I often have these moments where I say to myself, "Hey, I kind of like my outfit today. And the world needs to know." But the idea of forcing my roommate to take glamour pics of me or, even worse, posing in front of my camera on a tripod in self-timer mode gives me amateur shivers. So I figured I'd do a more forgiving version of portraiture using watercolor of what I wore when I had people over for  brunch the other day (post to follow on that).

It was incredibly therapeutic and after having done hundreds of fashion illustrations for my major, it was kind of nice to get back into the grind, as rusty as I may be. I'm still deciding, though, if this is something I should do more often. Thoughts?  Also figured I'd go ahead and put some info on what exactly I have on although, not gonna lie, my life is all URBN all the time since I started working for Anthropologie (you can't really not use the discounts, you know?) so sorry for the lack of excitement in the labels on this one.

Necklace: Anthropologie

V-Neck: Anthropologie

Printed Harem Pants: Urban Outfitters

Chunky Platforms: Topshop

Bangles and Bracelets: Chan Luu and a lil sumin sumin I picked up in Uzbekistan.

Looking back, I got every single thing I'm wearing on sale (the Chan Luu I got at 60% off (!) at a great 2nd Street Boutique in Austin). Guess I'm just naturally thrifty. Also that Anthro V-Neck is the softest thing I own, I highly recommend it. 

peace out.

Gold Heads

As many of you know, I went to Wash U to pursue a sculpture major. I ended up switching to fashion because sculpture is something that, no matter what, I'll always be doing regardless of my job. Fashion, however, was something new to learn and would open many more doors than sculpture would. Since moving to New York, I've been searching for the right career path in fashion, but sculpture is something I've consistently kept up with. I rented some studio space in Brooklyn in a beautiful facility with a wonderful community, and I've been spending a lot of my free-time there. I've working on sculptures that are a smaller version of what I did in high school/college  because I just don't have the storage for any more 5 foot sculptures! The process of making these guys is a rather long-winded one, as I have to sculpt them, wait for them to dry, bisque fire them, apply the white glaze, fire them again, then wait until I have enough of them to fill the small kiln (which I have to rent out) to high-fire for the gold lacquer. So all in all it's taken several months to complete all of these.  

Being in studio is my happy place as I just sculpt while going back and forth between listening to NPR to catch up on world news and serious deep-thinking time. The only problem now is forcing myself out into the polar vortex to get there. I'm also trying to decide/figure out the whole "making money" thing as a sculptor- so let me know if you have any ideas! (There are a few more pictures over at my website)