Blue Velvet Sectional

Well, that was a day. As I have documented to death, New York and I have a special relationship. Things almost always go very well for me here. Today was a bit of an exception, in that things were fine, but not spectacular.  My expectations are exceedingly high in this town. The flight was smooth and quick, but our rooms weren't ready early, which is not a crime, just not what I usually encounter.  Headed down to SoHo, but didn't find any great deals. Had lunch at Charlie Bird, and it was good, but didn't rock my world as I had hoped. I think the new plan is no plan.  Just let the city come to me.  That being said, the play was great. More on The Audience and Rum House later. Right now, what I need more than anything is sleep. Let's hope the women who were screaming at each other in the next room have also called it a day. 

I've had these shoes for a decade. They were priced incorrectly, i.e. way too low, and an eagle-eyed friend spotted them before the sales staff did. They were kind enough to honour the price tag, but they wouldn't let me get the smaller size, so these are a bit big.  I only wear them a few times a year, so the size hasn't been an issue.  They're just one of many lucky purchases I've made at Barney's over the years. They'd look better against something other than office carpet tiles. After shopping in Buffalo last weekend, there's nothing I need, so this weekend is all about eating, drinking, and Broadway. Can't wait to try some new places.  I am sure I'll keep blogging as I make my way around Manhattan, though I'll be wearing shoes considerable more comfortable than these.  Extremely cute shoes, but comfortable too. That's just how I walk.

Peter O'Toole figures in all of the above. My Favorite Year is a classic New York movie, one of many I saw growing up that made me fall in love with the city. It's set in 1954, and although I can't go back in time, when you look around, you can still see old New York all over the place. The movie is about a young writer on a variety show, and the week he has to babysit a drunken movie star, played to perfection by My Favourite Actor, Peter O'Toole. The man was simply the best.  He never won an Oscar for his work, despite EIGHT nominations. The year he was nominated for The Lion in Winter, he lost to  Cliff Robertson  in  Charly .  Yes, the man who played The Big Kahuna in the first  Gidget  movie died with an Oscar, but Peter O'Toole didn't (I'm not counting the honourary one he was finally bestowed in 2003).  If that's not proof that awards for art are largely bogus, I don't know what is. Cliff Robertson may have been a fine actor and an upst

I worry that I come off as some sort of shopping-obsessed clotheshorse on this blog.  That's really not the case.  Yes, I like to dress well sometimes, but most of the time I am perfectly happy in jeans. It's about dressing appropriately for where you are, not being decked out in labels and expensive stuff. And, as the proud owner of a t-shirt that reads "LED BLOODY ZEPPELIN, THAT'S WHO",  really, how classy can I be? That being said,  the annual Buffalo excursion happened last weekend, and even when I say I'm not going to buy anything, somehow I always do. I found a lovely shirtdress at Brooks Brothers; a classic, not too logo-ish Tory Burch purse at the Sak's outlet; and a few other great finds, most notably  this short nightgown  from Soma: Not me, sadly. It's just perfect for my hourglass shape. It looks amazing on, if I do say so myself, and it's so supportive I could practically go jogging in it. I'd never heard of this place,

Next Friday night, I am seeing  The Audience ! I know, it's not the  best-reviewed  play, but the chance to see Helen Mirren was too great to pass up. The next night, it will be Carey Mulligan and Bill Nighy in Skylight  for me, while C drinks at a classy bar somewhere.  She told me if she hooks up with a billionaire, she'll leave word with the bartender :)  I'm terribly excited for both shows.  As with everything else in New York, there are just too many choices, but I am happy with these. Didn't get Sir Ian, but got Sir Patrick and Billy Crudup. I hadn't seen a Broadway show in ages, but last year, with the  FNGs , I saw the Sirs Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen in No Man's Land , then in August, Neil Patrick Harris rocked my world in Hedwig and the  Angry Inch . (Might have to go back and see Taye Diggs in that role!)

I may be sad that Mad Men has ended but I am devastated by this one. Ah, David Letterman.  He's why my sense of humour is as warped as it is.  From the moment he started Late Night on NBC, I knew he was great.  It was past my bedtime, and it was a struggle for me to see his show. We had a VCR, but with my stepmother recording every soap opera known to mankind, there was never any videotape left in the house. Mostly, we all pretended that we'd watched it, and recited things we'd heard from older kids. When I went to NYC for the first time, as a teenager in the mid-80s, the coolest thing about Rockefeller Center was that Dave was in there somewhere.  Never mind the architecture or the stores I couldn't possibly afford.  Knowing I was outside the building where Stupid Pet Tricks, Top Ten Lists, The Alka Seltzer Suit, and Stupid Human Tricks happened was practically the highlight of the trip. Late Night was all over the place, which is what I loved.  It wasn't r

Fuchsia is hiding the lemon tree. Last Friday, on my walk to work, a man said to me "Excuse me, can you spare some change so I can buy breakfast?"  I don't carry much money, so I said "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash on me."  Then, he yelled "BUY ME BREAKFAST!!" so I yelled "NO!"  A string of creative expletives ensued as I walked away.  Fellas, if you want me to buy you breakfast, you'll get further if you don't call me a, let's say, sucker ... Bought a lemon tree and a fuchsia tree this weekend!  They're both lovely, but let's hope they survive the cold nights we're going to be having for a while. Busted out the Gwyneth again, and made  these amazing cookies , but with superior Canadian maple syrup, of course! :) The Mad Men finale blew my mind.  It was far more satisfying than I imagined it would be.  Again, I recommend Matt Zoller Seitz's  recap .  Eloquent, and on point.  (I hesitate ev

Yes, these look more Canada Day than Victoria Day, but I made them for an office party last week, for a friend who's moving to Australia, so I thought I'd share the recipe now.  We had a Canadian-themed potluck, which is basically carte blanche to bring food from everywhere, since Canada, especially Toronto, is so multicultural.  We did a pretty good job with the Canadian part, I must say.  I also made  Nanaimo Bars , and someone brought Butter Tarts , our other sickly sweet but amazing national dessert. I'm not linking to a butter tart recipe, since there are so many, and the recipe I use is from an old cottage cookbook that I can't find.  Suffice it to say, whichever you use- NO RAISINS! We also had maple baked beans, and some bright young fella brought a mountain of Kraft Dinner (it's Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in the rest of the world, but for some reason, here, it's KD, and we  love it  all out of proportion.) Cupcake, Butter Tart, and Nanaimo Bars.

It's the beginning of the Victoria Day long weekend in Canada.  May 24, 1819 was the birth of the (so far) longest reining monarch. We traditionally call it May 2-4, as in a case of beer, as this is when cottage (and outdoor beer drinking) season begins.  It's pretty dreary tonight, and I've outgrown epic beer consumption, so I am starting the celebration with a drink found  here , on Cupcakes and Cashmere: the Ivy Gimlet. Aaahhhh! Thanks for the Monday off, Your Majesty! "You're welcome, Lori!"

Well, I pulled my bags out of the various closets they were stashed in. All together, I have 24. This doesn't include a few small clutches, laptop bags, and an insane collection of canvas bags, the most precious of which are obviously from the Pigly Wigly in Harbour Island (pic below), and my Vandelay Industries tote.  Honestly, with those in my arsenal, why do I even have all these other bags? I imagine this number repulses some people, yet it's a drop in the bucket for others. For me, it feels like too much, but is there anything I can do about it?

I came home from work yesterday, and when I opened the front door, I felt like I was hit in the face with a wet mop used to clean up vomit at a bus terminal.  A horrible, fetid smell had developed in my condo while I was at work.  I immediately tried to fix the situation by seeking the source of the smell and getting it the hell out of my house.  As it was humid and wet out,  instead of opening the windows, I cranked the A/C. I assumed this was a refrigerator-based problem, since, to be honest, that has been the occasion in the past once or twice.  I'll admit, I am not great at remembering what's lingering in the crisper or way in the back.  I have left lettuce in the fridge so long that it turned into a brown liquid, so I went on a reconnaissance mission. I tossed out the obvious suspects- some old kale, and some lentils that had morphed into a solid mass. Spice Market, Aix-en-Provence.  A very nice smell! I assumed that was the end of it, so I sat down to watch the secon

Purses are like orgasms: a good one can knock your socks off, but when you fake it, trust me, you’re not fooling anyone. I don’t get the appeal of fakes. Are you trying to convince people you’re rich? Because when I see you sitting on the subway wearing an Old Navy hoodie and running shoes, I really don’t think you spent $3500 on that “Vuitton” bag you’re carrying. Still,  you know what’s even sadder? When the person I’ve just described actually does have a real bag! Seriously, if you got rich selling credit default swaps to suckers, or your dignity to reality TV, go to town, and spend all you want on your accessories. Get all the Speedys and Birkins and whatever else you need to advertise your money and justify your facelift.  Whatever. But if you’re middle class (or lower), and you scrimp and save, maybe blow that hard-earned money on some savings bonds or something. Don’t hand it over to a super rich designer to try to convince everyone else on the bus that you’re actually wealth

My mom and me, a loooooong time ago. Blue on a girl- how progressive!

A while ago, I had a dinner party which devolved, as gatherings of city dwellers often do, into a bitch session about our fellow citizens and their lack of manners.  The things that drove us the most nuts: Subway door crowders.  Oh, you're getting off in 3 stops?  That's fascinating .  Get away from the damn door.  I cannot tell you how many times I have struggled to get onto a subway in the morning, only to find there are actually seats available. I have to fight my way past a gauntlet of door-blockers, and I do, let me tell you.  I always start politely with "Excuse me," but if that doesn't work, I make like an NFL running back at third and inches . Once I break through, I have been known to then exclaim "Oh look seats!", but I try not to, as I am fully aware that I sound insane when I do. Sidewalk texters.  They need their own lane.  Seriously, China invents everything! My personal favourites- able-bodied people who refuse to open doors, but ins

The best thing about having a big balcony with a lake view is sitting outside drinking rosé and noshing on some homemade guacamole. An avocado, some chopped red onion, a squeeze of fresh lime, some Maldon salt, ground cumin and chipotle chilli pepper is all it takes. I spooned a bit of hot salsa in the middle, for fun. I don't add cilantro, as I have mentioned before that I think it's a colossal joke being perpetuated by the culinary community. You're not supposed to eat that stuff, I am sure of it! Happy weekend! Ravine Vineyard wine in Jefferson Vineyard glasses.

I have a lot of purses, in a lot of different sizes.  I keep clinging to the idea that I can still make do with a small bag, like I did until I was about 30.  In university, I used an amazing French leather book bag, but most of the time, all I needed was a tiny cross body no bigger than a DVD case. Just a selection. In my high school in the 80s, a big purse was the hallmark of the fast girl.  The kind who carried around ( and wore! ) makeup.  We fresh-faced preppy girls needed nothing beyond a Chapstick.  My little bag would have contained folded up bills and a coin purse, a debit card, ID, the aforementioned Chapstick, and my keys.  Seems like all you'd need, right?  So why have my bags gotten so damned big?  And it's not just me, it seems to be all of us. When I walk to work, I pass an astonishing number of women in the downtown core who are packed up like mountain climbers heading for the Himalayas, except with big purses, giant tote bags, and often wheeled carry-on

I finally watched season 3  The Americans . Yes, it's time for another of my Too Late to be Useful TV reviews. I PVRed the first episode in February, (I find it too intense to watch live; I like to sit down on the weekend, when I'm not obsessing about work, and hang with the World's Most Fetching Russian Spies).  I saved up a few episodes, but something happened along the way- my PVR got too full, or I forgot to set record, but I missed an episode.  Well, that was that.  No way I was going to watch any of them until I knew I could see all of them. Last Saturday, FX played the whole season, and I watched it in a very productive 48 hours.  Not my most egregious waste of a weekend -18 Breaking Bads would be the winner.  It's so lovely out all of a sudden, I stopped intermittently to plant some boxwoods and herbs on my balcony, but I still managed to watch them all.