Halloween is less than two weeks away and I have no idea what I’m going to be. But that’s okay because my favorite Halloween event is this Saturday and no one will be looking at me. We’ll all be look at super heroes like this beautiful boy at the…
I’m pretty sure my dad still thinks of NYC like it was in the 70s. He worries about his little girl walking past scores of porn palaces when ever she sees a Broadway show. He imagines I’m the only WASP to venture north of 86th Street on a daily basis. When I got robbed on 25th Street at 8:30PM, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Well, you’ve lived there eight years,” he said, like duh, I should expect people to grab my belongings any time I turn the deadbolt on my apartment door.
I know my father is proud of me, thinking his only child is brave and kinda a bad ass. Yes, and kinda stupid too. But hey, he loves me anyway.
Last week I turned the corner onto my block in Hamilton Heights and entered a time warp (and I don’t mean the dance in Rocky Horror).
Orange cones and antique cars lined the street. Read More
“That’s the problem with living in New York. You’ve got no New York to run away to.” – Amor Towles
It’s a cliché that New Yorkers shun tourists. We fume at their snail’s pace on our sidewalks and roll our eyes at their fascination with Times Square. Maybe we’re jealous of them. They’re experiencing all the magic of a New York vacation while we plug away at the New York daily grind.
There are two types of New York tourists: ones who whine, “Ugh, I don’t know how anyone could live here!” and those cry, “I can’t wait to come back.”
I try to live vicariously through the later. They keep me from becoming too jaded. I discovered a Welsh bloke on Twitter, sharing the highlights of his New York vacation.
Yesterday I wrote about being mortified while on a date seeing “Mortified”, the storytelling show that features people reading from their teenaged diaries. Now I am dying to be properly mortified at “Mortified“. As someone who loves being on stage AND has kept a journal of some kind since age 12, of course I am. Of course I went home after the show and poured over old composition notebooks so full of adolescent angst Manic Panic hair dye practically bleeds from them.
As this blog is called New York Cliché, my high school online diary would be been called Teenaged Cliché.
Its content is wildly bipolar, most entries starting with creative intros like “This week was awful,” or “Today was great!” Song lyrics compose the titles of nearly every post, with some exceptions: like June 6, 2003 aptly titled, “fuuuuuuuuuuuuck” and December 12, 2003 more succinctly, “FUCK”. Read More
I’m weird about meeting a date’s friends too soon. I wrote a whole post about this last week. Until I’m pretty sure I like someone, I’d prefer to stay far, far away from their dude-bros. I, in turn, will sequester them from my squad.
That’s in a perfect world. As we know, the New York dating scene is anything but.
I made plans for a second date with some dude I met on some dating app. Mortified had a show in Brooklyn and it seemed like a perfect date idea- if it goes badly you get to be mortified at Mortified! You know, it’s possible I love word play so fucking much I subconsciously sabotaged this date just so I could say that… Read More
I hate meeting friends of people I’ve barely started dating. Manhattan is a teeny tiny island so this happens more often than you might think. I’m on a first or second date and, oh, my date knows that couple over there. We have to go say hi. Fuck. As we walk over, I take a breath and assume the role of Perfect Girlfriend Material.
The curtain goes up when my date exclaims, “Hey guys!” they turn around and I throw myself into a performance I’ve workshopping for years. Working title: “Nice to Meet You: A Delightful Display of Humor, Cleverness, and Good Looks! This Gal’s the Total Package!” I perform as if all my date’s friends are Ben Brantley, the notorious NY Times theatre critic. I crave 5 star reviews, “Dude, she was so great! We both loved her! You better not fuck this one up, bro, we’re already planning a myriad of adorable double dates for the four of us!” Read More
These kids set up their table on a corner in Tribeca. Look at that tray, look at that pitcher, look at that DECORATIVE BASIL . That wooden box of napkins in the background actually says LEMONADE. I’m not exaggerating when I claim this lemonade stand to be fancier than any cafe in the Midwest. Fuck “rice crispy treats”, these children have “Brown Butter Crispy Treats”. Read More
Do you want to get back to the earth? Get down and dirty? Feel a strong urge to clutch a sharp, pointy object and smash it repeatedly into something soft? You can do all this and more if you volunteer at Brooklyn Bridge Park!
Saturday Morning Volunteering with Brooklyn Bridge Park Conservancy
I looked out my window last night and this is what I saw:
Way up in Harlem, over 200 blocks away, the 9/11 Tribute shone bright. So did the moon.
I sat at my window and thought of all the people who lost their lives 15 years ago. I stared at the moon and thought of bravery and courage and rebuilding. At the tippy top of the beam of light, I could see two stars and I made a wish on each of them. For the first responders, people who lost their lives, for the loved ones who still feel gaping ground zero holes in their hearts every day. Read More
Come child, come sit on my knee and I’ll tell you a story of the olden days.
Long ago- before Ubers roamed the streets, when only rich nerds had iPhones- way back then, people got excited for first dates.
I imagine telling this story to my 21-year-old co-worker who is fresh out of undergrad. She’d probably shriek and fall off my knee, “OMG LOL no way! That never happened IRL, only in the movies!”
Here in 2016, first dates are chores. “Ugh, tonight I have to pick up toilet paper and go on a first date.” Let’s be honest, sometimes the choice between two-ply and extra soft is more stimulating than first date conversation.
First date butterflies are on the endangered species list.