Rise & Shine

This weekend, I accidentally spent an afternoon devoted to myself. First, I went to Via Quadronno, an Italian café in the heart of the Upper East Side that features delicious paninis and the best cappuccinos ever. It cost me a mint (or let's be honest, about eight mints), but the wild boar prosciutto panini was worth it. The cappuccino was light, foamy and rich. It completely lived up to my expectations, and I'm probably going to dream about it for the rest of my life.

It didn't stop there (of course not). I went to Ladurée. Duh. About every other word on this blog is about macarons. During the forty minutes waiting outside on line, I steeled myself to resist temptation and only get five. Once I got inside the actual shop, I gave myself a break and bumped that up to six. And then, when I reached the counter, I ordered eight. One chocolate, one caramel salted butter, and six raspberry macarons later, my bank account is empty and my appetite, satiated. They too lived up to my expectations: melt-in-your-mouth and perfectly sweet.

How was your weekend? Please tell me it was as good as mine or I'll feel awful for having devoted this post to gloating.


[photo cred here and there]

Say Yes...

...to wintertime.

Yes to the NYTimes Life Report.

Yes to wearing a sweater and no pants when you're home alone...

...à la Carrie Bradshaw.

Yes to chocolate-covered Oreos.

Yes to a heartwarming story.

YES.

[photo cred here and there]

The Fine Print

Do you have time to read the paper in the morning? I subscribe to NYTimes.com, but it's not until the evening that I have a spare moment to pore over the articles. Therefore, I'm oh-so-pleased to see this Little Printer. Created by BERG, it allows you to curate content from sources such as The Guardian and Twitter to create your own miniature, receipt-sized newspaper. Plus, when it's not in use, it doubles as a tiny, quirky tsotchke. But my favorite part, as someone who works for a magazine and majored in English Literature, is the paper component. I see screens so often that sometimes, my dreams appear in a computer monitor in my head. I'm so pleased to see paper that I can fold, scribble on, and tuck in my purse at the forefront of this concept.

My ideal pint-size paper would most likely consist of a game of Sudoku, a photo of my friends or family from one of my Facebook albums, and a headline each from the business, fashion, and health sections.

What would your personalized newspaper include? Wouldn't this make a fantastic stocking stuffer?


[photo cred to Fast Company]

'Tis the Season

Unforeseen perks about living in New York City during the holidays: passing by Christmas tree stands, which virtually appeared overnight. There seems to be one every two or so blocks, and when I walk by, I'm smacked in the face with the warm, refreshing scent of fir trees. I'm that girl who stops and buries her face in the lush needles. Are you surprised? Not at all? Is that a compliment? No? Plus, at night, there are strands of bobbing lights criss-crossed over them. It's like a Christmas fairy just decided to do something about the smell of trash sitting on First Avenue.

When my family opted to buy an enormous (and fake) 12-foot tree, I insisted on getting my own real miniature tree. I just love the fragrance: inviting, a little sharp, and cozy. I get that needles make a mess and dry trees make for an unpleasant fire hazard, but I think that that's worth it. (Although I'd probably take a different stance if I, say, accidentally burned down my building). (Knock on wood). (Pun unintended but so awesome that I'm going to allow it). Real or faux, which do you prefer?


[photo cred here]

For the Love of Leopard

On any given day, I walk at least 44 blocks to and from work. It's actually a fantastic commute—I just stroll down First Ave, under the 59th St Bridge, and cut over to Third. I think it's very good for my temper that I don't try to squeeze into a rush-hour 6 train, but the havoc that my walk wreaks on my feet? Not so much. Pumps are out of the question, and I'll only wear wedges when I'm desperate. (I keep a pair of each under my desk). (Obviously).

I'm crushing on a good pair of flats that, comfort and endurance aside, will make an easy transition to the office. My Bensimon sneakers won't cut it (cute as they are) and my satin Marc by Marc boat shoes are already really pissed that I let them near the gritty sidewalks of Chicago. These Madewell leopard print skimmers ($118; Click to Buy) are perfect. I love the pointed toe and the honest-to-God calf hair. Bonus: they're neutral enough to match almost everything, but still add a playful touch. And it's at moments like this that I regret memorizing my credit card number. But are they worth it? Absolutely.


[photo cred to Atlantic Pacific blog, top, and here]

Coffee and a Thought

I have been terrible about keeping up with blogging. I used to wake up with hours to spare, which I would then spend reading my favorite blogs and updating my own. Now, I wake up to a strict schedule. I'm too anxious to waver from it—between events and working at the office and finding time for the gym and walking everywhere in between, one misstep can throw off an entire day.

But I've realized that I make time for things I find important: a weekly hour of speaking French, boxing classes, going home a few times a month. So why does blogging get the short shrift? I have no idea, but I'm going to change that. If my blog were a kitten, the ASPCA would be hunting me down right now. I love blogging. I love to write about things other than holiday hair styles or the best fashion picks for the season (although I really enjoy that too).

So, in conclusion, I am back and less crazed. Stay tuned for a concerted effort and, in the meantime, here's a shopping list I put together for you.


[photo cred here]

Romance in Retrospect

“They say that each generation thinks it invented love. But from what I can see, my generation seems to fear we’ve forgotten it.” — NYT





Do you go on dates? Or did you? My mom had a boyfriend named Pete; he wore socks with sandals. My dad won't even wear sandals, so it's clear that this wasn't meant to be. Pete happened either before or after she dated Bernie, who, she recalls, was actually attractive. There were dates, which included dinner and movies and dancing. Then my grandfather pulled up in a silver station wagon and whisked her home. There were no preliminary text messages or gin and tonics involved, so I obviously don't relate. (Just kidding). (Kind of).

A new NYTimes essay describes the difference between the perception of love in that generation and that of ours. In high school, instead of shyly passing notes, I printed out AIM conversations. I locked text messages in my phone so that I couldn't accidentally delete them. The saved messages on my phone include voicemails from three different boyfriends. Communication and the consequential intimacy occur so fast that the gradual, step-by-step romance of the past is all but extinct.

The organic chemistry classes at Northwestern were designed to weed out those who weren't dedicated to pre-med. (I'm Exhibit A). Maybe the dates—the coffee, the drinks, the dinner, the goodnight kiss before two people go their separate ways—are a way to weed out the boys who aren't worth it, the guys who don't deserve the goodnight kiss, the preserved conversations that you'll pore over years later, the intact text messages and voicemails. It's a slower and steadier way of developing a relationship, but don't good things come to those who wait? What are your thoughts?


[photo cred here]