Out And About

The social life certainly is perking up this autumn. Between Junior League parties and the New Yorker festival, this past weekend was quite a scene.

These are a few from the Junior League party this weekend, one of my favorites of the year. It's rare that you get a chance to get dressed up, have some drinks and just chop it up with your friends, all just a few feet from a dance floor. Logic would dictate that a cab or an Uber would bring me home after, but I'm always fascinated by how crowded subways are in the middle of the night. When I first came to Manhattan, I had a few friends who refused to take the subway after 8:00 p.m. because they felt it was unsafe. This was on the advice of their parents, who hadn't lived in New York City since the 1980s. It was outdated and silly, and, quite frankly, made them seem like little princessas (Notable: all have since defected to the suburbs, never to be heard from again.)

Unless it's freezing or I'm carrying a lot of bags, I rarely hop in cabs. Trains and buses have always been my thing. Fast, efficient, and far from the nuisance of traffic. (If you ever want to see me truly lose my mind, stick me in a cab in the middle of Midtown traffic.)



Also seen: Lego flowers in Madison Square Park.

Quite A Week

Autumn in New York City is the best time of the year. Now that everyone's washed up on shore from summer there are all sorts of things to do.

This week:

1. Saw former Cosmo editor Kate White talk about career success tactics. I've been to a million rah-rah lady empowerment talks, and Kate's insight was actually worth the price of admission. I even bought her book.

2. Stood in a line that wrapped around the Columbia University campus to see Peter Thiel talk about all sorts of things.

3. Got my Wynton Marsalis on and finished off strong with Caribbean jazz at the opening party at Jazz at Lincoln Center.

And it's not even October yet, which brings The New Yorker Festival. I went a little crazy buying tickets.

Tuesday Night = Taking A Random Selfie With Tim Gunn In Midtown

The first rule of living in New York City is to never make a big deal about celebrity sightings. Because that would only show how green you are and no matter how recently you came to this town, no one wants to look like a star-struck rookie.

And then you see Tim Gunn on 50th and Madison at 7:00 on a random Tuesday night, and suddenly all bets are off.

I'm the least sentimental person that I know, but every year at around this time I get a little nostalgic because I moved to Manhattan during the first weekend in September in 1999. For you mathematicians out there, that means I've been here for 15 years. Always in Manhattan. No defections to Brooklyn or the suburbs. Always on the East Side.

The city is a vastly different place than when I got here, and most of my core crew of people have moved on from Gotham. When I think about who started with me in 1999 and who is still local, the list is a bit like that scene in Austin Powers, when Austin is going down the list to figure out which of his friends from the 60s are still around. (Jimi Hendrix? Drugs. Mama Cass? Ham Sandwich.) I've stayed because the jobs and --believe it or not -- affordable apartments -- were always here. Plus, up until very recently, I didn't really drive, which makes public transportation all the more important.

It's easy to be jaded and cynical after this long in Manhattan. I'm still surprised that there are luxury apartments on the Lower East Side, or that the Second Avenue Deli is now on 33rd Street and Third Avenue. But then -- and it usually is this time of year, when the air and the weather all remind me of the fall of 1999 -- something fun will happen that reminds me why I stay. It's cliche to say but every day in New York really can be an adventure. Sure, jobs become drudgery and partners will bore you to tears, which is exactly when it is time to change things up. And in Manhattan, there are no shortage of options. If you think there are, then it really is time to exit, stage left.

I'll still be here, though.

Bodega Cats Are The True New Yorkers.

After 15 years in Manhattan, people often ask me when I knew I was a real New Yorker. The answer is right away, when I realized that I had an instant affinity for bodega cats. I love those little furballs, napping on top of the fruit at the local deli, or standing guard at the door. I even have a Flickr album full of ones I've found along the way.

And so I love it even more when places like WNYC put together videos, like the one below, "Bodega Cats in Their Own Words." It's refreshing to think that I'm not the only one who wants to leave the deli with a sandwich and a tabby.

The cat in this video is orange, which is a bonus.here.

Running, The Smith And Daniel Radcliffe

It's important to have friends in low places. While enjoying the gorgeous weather on Friday, the phone buzzed thanks to an email from a friend who works for a Broadway producer. Was I busy that night? Would I like to go to the invited dress rehearsal for the new play that Daniel Radcliffe is in?

It's not often that I get invited to dress rehearsals for major productions and even if I was busy, plans would be canceled. So yes, I went. The Cripple of Inishmaan is a wonderful, funny play. Radcliffe plays the cripple, which is quite a feat to watch since he can only use one hand and one leg, and he gets into some pretty physical stuff.

Saturday, of course, means running with the ladies. I have been waiting months for a run like today's. It was a fast four miles, since no one felt like dealing with the Harlem Hills, and in gorgeous sunshine.

We always take a photo before each run, in case someone gets lost and we have to send out a search party.

And then we bon vivant it up at brunch, because we are all accounted for. This week we hit The Smith over in Lincoln Center.

On the way home from all this merriment, I had an age-old question answered for me: Where's Waldo? He is, apparently, waiting for someone by the clock in Grand Central.

The Weekend, Thus Far

The ladies and I have a standing running date every Saturday morning at 9:30. We ran 59th to Battery Park again, this time in wind and rain.

Brunch at The Dutch, though, made up for the unpleasant weather. The Dutch totally didn't mind that a group of wet and sweaty women came in to potentially stink up everyone's dining experience. We didn't. They even sat us in the front room.

Next week: the full loop of Central Park and then a Boathouse brunch, as is tradition.

This is an obligatory "Got My Hair Did" photo. It's a nice change of pace to have hair that is one color, as opposed to the inadvertent ombre I'd been rocking for far too long.

And the rest of the day?

Photos From The Phone

Sometimes I leave the house. This is the photographic evidence.

Last weekend, when it was a tropical 45 degrees outside, my friends and I ran the six mile loop of Central Park in 53 minutes. Yeah, I don't know how that happened, either.

Not sure if this was the detritus of a very good or a very bad Valentine's Day.

Just some guy making art in the vestibule of the Bank of America on Houston and Lafayette. I guess it's not vandalism if he takes it with him.

The sidewalk on 37th Street and Third Avenue wants you to succeed.

And this song. It's the catchiest tune on the planet right now. My Sunday morning tap class uses it for the warm up. Forget pharmaceuticals, this song can fix whatever ails you.

The More Things Change...

Oh, hi. I've been rather quiet lately. Such is the case when one is working on a book project. I spend a lot of time lost in my own depth, in silent places like Butler Library up at Columbia. I come up for air -- and lunch -- at Community Food & Juice, but then go right back to my laptop. (Get the rice bowl with salmon. You're welcome.)

Don't fret. There is still much socializing. On Monday, while en route to brunch with some of my lady friends, I passed the office in the photo above. In the back of my head I always knew this guy and his newspaper delivery business existed, I just didn't realize he was still there. And on Great Jones Street, which has become a niche of fine dining and pricey loft apartments. I slyly poked my head through the door, because I'm a creeper, and it was business as usual in there, as if the internet and 347 area codes never happened.

(Note that his phone number doesn't have an area code. It is assumed that it is 212.)

Welcome, Superfans!

When it comes to being a jaded New Yorker, I could win Olympic gold. The Superbowl brought Christmastime-level throngs of tourists into the city. Given that I live in midtown, the extra people -- and their giant parkas -- in the neighborhood were no bueno.

Then this afternoon I was coming out of dance class (tap, if you were curious) and I saw these two ladies in Times Square. They are twins from British Columbia, and clearly Seahawks fans. It's this kind of happy zealousness that makes me think that perhaps this faux holiday isn't so bad.

This Is Not A Grandmother

It's absolutely arctic outside, which means we're pulling out the heavy artillery when it comes to winter gear.

It also means that people will refer to large, furry hats as "babushkas".

Let's stop the madness. Babushka means grandmother in Russian. No one wears a grandmother on their head. Large, furry hats, made popular by Soviet Russia, are called shapkas or ushankas. You can learn more about them here.

Snow Day

As someone who did her undergrad at Syracuse, this is but a flurry.
Plus, the bagel shop's open. So I don't see what the issue is with a little snow.

The Unexpected Bonus Of Running In The Rain

As the days grow shorter, getting in a decent run during the week is difficult. Especially if you have a job. So I have to take advantage of the weekends. When I got up to Central Park this morning around 11:00, which is late for me, it was pouring rain. (That didn't stop all the people waiting in line to see the Vermeer at The Frick, though. That line was wrapped around the block all the way to 71st Street for hours.)

Since I was already up there, I figured I would at least try the four mile loop in the rain. As I started running, I noticed something -- I was practically the only one there. Drizzle has the incredible ability of keeping all the fool tourists on rented bikes out of the park, where they cause collisions, and into the Arms and Armour room at the Met. Yahtzee!**

It was the polar opposite of Saturday morning when on three different occasions I had to tell someone on a bike to get out of the runners' lane. It's confounding that it even has to be mentioned. Riding a bike near people who can't see you from behind and likely can't hear you due to headphones is a bad idea. But we can't all be geniuses.

Eventually the rain stopped and I ended up doing the whole six mile loop (in well under an hour, thanks for asking) without having to deal with a single tourist. My iPod, however, seems to be obsessed with Christmas carols. 'Tis the season.

**It is often said that you know you are a true New Yorker when you realize you can't deal with tourists. If that is the case then I have been a New Yorker since the summer of 1998, when I was an intern at Elle magazine. The Wednesday afternoon Broadway matinee goers used to clog up my local lunch spots, which was maddening. It was then that I realized I could never live anywhere else.

New York City, Pre-Bloomberg

Now that Mayor Bloomberg is on his way out, a lot has been written about his legacy, focusing mainly on how he made New York City a cleaner, safer place to live.

Like clockwork, there are now lots of photo galleries popping up of pre-Bloomberg (and pre-Guiliani) New York City. It's the New York that was covered in graffiti and somewhat unsafe. And still very beautiful. I'm a late-90s arrival, so many of these photos are way before my time. But I still remember when the Lower East Side was considered edgy and the far West 40s were the last place you wanted to be late at night.

Click on any of the photos below to see the entire collection. Vintage Everyday is a wonderful source of old photographs, of New York City and elsewhere.

Who Says Kids Don't Pay Attention?

This guy seems to know how to do it. Saint Vartan's Park, Murray Hill. Perfect day for Halloween tom foolery.
Not that Andre had much interest.

On Loneliness In A City Of Over 8 Million

Back when I was an undergrad at Syracuse, someone once asked a professor during a writing class, "How on earth could someone be lonely in New York City? There are so many people."

My professor's eye widened at the student's naïveté. "It's very easy to be lonely in New York," he said. "You'd be surprised."

This beautiful video sums up his sentiment perfectly.

8,336,615 (New York) from Paul Riccio on Vimeo.

Around Town

If 90% of life is showing up, then 90% of getting nice photos involves just leaving the house.

Abandoned Davie Bowie record on 19th Street. (The others were in Russian.)	This man speaks the truth

The young urbanite

Discarded Santa set outside Macy's, 35th and Broadway. Sad face.

All idyllic after a run in Central Park

Just Another Thursday Night In Murray Hill

There wasn't an impromptu fireworks show in your neighborhood? Amateurs.

This Is Why You Can't Let The Interns Write Anything

The fashion start-up that sent out this e-blast this morning will remain nameless (to protect the guilty), but I don't know anyone in Manhattan who would consider Babbo a new restaurant. It's been around since 2006. Even interns have the technology to fact check their own stories. (The internets!)

And suggesting a brasserie in Paris as a hot new eatery, again, is hardly the stuff of style innovation.

File this one under: Fail.

The Unwritten Social Rules Of Manhattan

A few weeks ago some friends and I were talking about how the MTA needs to have an etiquette campaign on par with "If You See Something, Say Something." There's a lot of wrong every day on buses and trains, and usually via perfectly normal-looking professionals, en route to work.

It came up when a friend of mine, who has four-year-old twins and takes the 7 train from Queens every day, said she often had a hard time physically getting onto the subway because people stand in front of the sliding doors. Ever the clever woman, she now shouts, "Hot coffee!" whenever she needs to get onto the train. Miraculously, people move. (It should be noted that she rarely ever actually has coffee in her hands. She just wants to people to step aside.)

In addition to the unwritten life rules in the video above, there are a few other points I would love to see in this imaginary etiquette campaign:

1. Always give up your seat to a pregnant woman. Always. Even if you are also a woman. This is not about chivalry, it's about being thoughtful to someone who needs that seat way more than you do. (Creating life is exhausting.)

2.On that note, always offer your seat on a bus or subway to someone with a small child. It is infinitely easier to manage a toddler when they are sitting down.

3. Clipping nails and eating chicken on public transport is always no bueno. This needs no elaboration.

4. Be present: When someone is walking down the street, wearing headphones and texting at the same time, it is hard to feel sorry for them when they trip and/or bump into someone.

5. Cross on the green, not in between: This was a public service annoucement back in the 1980s, yet I seem to be the only one who remembers it. It's timeless advice: if you're not looking to get hit by a semi, wait for the green light. Jaywalking may not be an enforcable crime, but in Manhattan it can actually land you in the emergency room.

6. If you're on a Citi Bike, wear a helmet: I would love to hear an intelligent reason as to why anyone rides a bike in Manhattan without a helmet. If professional bike messengers wear helmets, we should follow their lead. Clearly they know something us bike rookies don't.

Evening Stroll

#nofilter