Yep, I did a little page maintenance. I haven't felt a deep connection with my blog lately and the guilt has built as vacant days pass by. So by customizing it myself vs. a generic template, I feel a sense of responsibility to share... here are some of the latest happenings:

My weekends regularly involve of a stroll through Central Park and occasionally during the week,  I will walk home from work. And thank goodness I did because I have been missing out on Monday Night Lawn Bowling League. It is hard to imagine life without it now, and though I can't keep white clean for long, our uniforms are quite sharp, wouldn't you agree? My teammates are all 50 years my senior, but Herb says, "Britney, you've got a real competitive edge. I see trophies in your future. Just make sure to put the corn dog down when it's your turn."

When I'm not kicking ass and taking names on the lawn, I like to sit at a little cafe Le Pain Quotidien and read over little old ladies shoulders or run into old co-workers from Montucky. I was ordering a coffee at the counter when the manager walked out of the kitchen and asked me what-the-ham-hock I was doing in the big city. It was a guy I slung drinks with from Ted's MT Grill. It really is a small world. Especially when Mark Ruffalo walks by with his family. I thought, "Man that dude looks awfully familiar." Maybe it's because he was on the cover of the May issue of Details that was in my bag...

Yesterday I spent the day doing what I do best. Antiquing. I scoured the Hell's Kitchen flea market and Chelsea antique stores all day, dreaming about how my future home is going to be stylin' with treasures galore. Someday (soon I hope).  I opted for word games with letters, another favorable pastime...

I must have been hungry (shocking I know), because I definitely wasn't craving a few hours with Angelina Jolie in her cinematic catastrophe. Was that not the worst movie ever? Two thumbs down Ang. Speaking of food, she needs to eat some.

As I've stated before, subway rides are always a mystery... usually a comedic grab bag if you will. This weekend alone I witnessed not once but twice, the "Ghetto Flutist of the N Train." Not too shabby if it weren't for the over-rehearsed sympathy speech that preceded the performance. I should start a business... Underground Self Promotion: The Charming Way to Ask For Dough. My dreams were shattered when a hobo yelled, "Homelessness is a DISEASE!" I bit my tongue from responding, "And the only cure, is more COWBELL!"

I met some friends down on Front Street and walked around Pier 16 last week... they were filming on the Brooklyn Bridge for Men In Black III... . Helicopters, motorcycles and jet skis... oh my!

Every Sunday farmers from upstate NY set up a little market on Broadway  along campus. For those of you who have never seen fresh produce before...feast your eyes:

 The city has been kept my quote quota and typography obsessive-compulsiveness in order... a little inspiration:

 Couldn't agree more Dave, image by Mico Toledo

West Village art

 Image by Mico Toledo

And here's a big Happy 235th Birthday America... now go put on your dancin' shoes and enjoy!

From Kate Spade's ebook, "Things We Love"

There once was a little girl named Whit

Who was only little for a little bit

She grew & grew, oh how she grew up so fast!

She graduated into the saskwatch elite as years passed

While tiny people look up in disgust

They realize that sky high heels are a must

Miniature women of Jewish decent are not in the fan club

It could be the confusion with them and a tree stub

 Although there is so much more of this girl to dislike

It deems unnecessary when you witness her on a bike

 Why not try smiling, a far cry from a frown

And rest assured, the circus is not in town.

I sat on the subway, minding my business, going to work, with my purse on my lap and workout bag on the seat next to me. On walks a woman (need I even say she barely made the cut for rides at Disneyland. I was taller than her sitting down...) who was older, so of course I move my workout bag onto my lap so she may sit down. Polite, right? Apparently she drank a jar of pickle juice for breakfast because began to yell at me, "Scoot ova'! That's disgusting! I don't wanna sit where your filthy bag was. You prowbly set it in dawg poop and gum... you sit there and clean up your own pants!" Now I've never been a drug abuser, but some might same my "laid-back" attitude in life is that of a user of the canibus- it takes a lot to get me worked up. So of course all I could do is laugh, along with everyone around us. She then proceeds to yell at the man sitting across from us who was getting a kick out of the situation... "You think this is funny asshole? Well how funny is it when you have to wipe dawg shit off the back of your pants, huh?" That naturally made him laugh even harder, which encouraged her even more. I did not say a word, just scooted ova'. (Why do you think I put my bag on the seat in the first place?!)

My encounter of a second kind (literally) was in Fed Ex. When I entered the establishment, a woman at the desk was demanding to speak to a manager and for a stack of complaint forms. Apparently the address she provided (on Mars) was not legit and the woman working A. was a sista' who's bad side I would not enjoy being on and B. Hadn't eaten in hours so her demeanor was that of a grizzly coming out of hibernation. I have to give it to these little New York nuggets, they are fighters and will not back down. Just like their brainless miniature poodles. A delivery man finally came in and explained where he was going to insert his foot if she did not leave the premises. In a furious huff she stormed out, shaking papers in bystander's faces, screaming profanities all the way out the door. In the mean time, I was filling out a mailing label, chuckling to myself, when I heard a very familiar voice. It was unmistakable- it was the tenor from high school choir and long time friend who is a photographer in the city. Maybe it really is a "small" world...

Somewhere between corduroys and skater shoes to handbags and mascara wands, I missed the tutorial on "How To Use A Curling Iron Without Giving Yourself Third Degree Burns." Although I've thrown my coif into a ponytail or bun for 76% of my life, there have been days when I thought, "Ya know, I'm going to put a little effort in today." But with effort comes a price, and this pretty penny wasn't so pretty... it was more of a guessing game: hickey? birthmark? gang sign?

Whit vs. Curling Iron

 For anyone that has had the pleasure of seeing "Bridesmaids," you'll appreciate the photo below... during a long walk from Columbia down to midtown, I cut into Central Park and took pleasure in the watching of the fitness freaks... I took this from the bushes... great way to get a workout in without paying your first months rent for a private session... I did get some funny looks jumping around in boxing gloves...

Hi-Ya!

In other news... I joined a new friend, DW for some mexican food on the UWS.* DW is a friend of a friend- an actor/music producer/lover of dogs who has lived in the city for years and years, and slightly resembles Kevin Kline and Ray Liotta's estranged brother. Great guy who has been showing me the ropes and lends acting advice for my ongoing mastery of interviewing celebrities... "Make them think you genuinely care when their last BM* was!" We cruised through Central Park late night and he introduced me to the Dakota where Lennon was killed, as well as the building he used to live in with Steve Martin. Wild and crazy guy!
*Upper West Side and Bowel Movement, FYI... For Your Information

After the photo shoot on Sunday, I cruised through the Chelsea Market and spotted a few celebs shoving crepes in their faces... I meandered through the very unique High Line Park, which was originally constructed in the 1930s, to lift dangerous freight trains off Manhattan's streets. The elevated park runs through the West Side neighborhoods of the Meatpacking District, Chelsea and Hell's Kitchen, and upon completion, will be a mile-and-a-half long.

Ahhhh the public transportation. Psycologists should have their offices in underground transit carriages. The poopoo platter of people watching is priceless. You never know who you are sitting next to... serial killers, Nobel Peace Prize winners, ewoks... seriously. There was an ewok on the subway this morning. (It) sits at 79th street eating potato chips and gets on and off randomly... and (it) literally sounds like an ewok. I started to feel sorry for (it) until (it) started yelling and throwing potato chips. Somewhat frightening, but there was a female body builder who's veins were about to explode from under her neon orange skin standing between me and the 'wok, so I felt safe. The other day there was a man selling his book, "Don't Beat Your Kids Or They'll End Up Like Me." Catchy title, but I'm not sure about his approach. I would go for the subtle, open-mic tactic... sit in the corner, reading Blond Voyage excerpts out loud...with different accents.  Surely someone would discover me. Maybe I'll wait until I get kicked out of Dean & Deluca.

As you may know, I work in right in Times Square, between Radio City Music Hall and Rockefeller Center, so my walk to the 1 train includes dodging a lot of tourists and witnessing some serious claustrophobia. Yes I know there is open air, but sometimes I feel like I'm in a bikram yoga class with 8 million people. Example A:

Yogurt on 7th Ave... no thanks

But when I get uptown and walk "home," I see little gems like this... bad-ass chess phenom.

Bobby Fischer

Green: grass, growth, money
Blue: sky, melancholy, wisdom
Yellow: school bus, sunshine, joy
Orange: Pumpkin, tropics, creativity
Red: Princes' corvette, blood, passion
Black: black widow, mourning, power
White: light, goodness, perfection

We associate color with nearly everything day to day, culturally and emotionally. What we wear can speak volumes, without saying a word. The French wear black because its fashionable and flattering- the staple norm with no more significance than what they ate (or didn't eat) for breakfast. The Kalash women in Pakistan have worn black for centuries, in honor of the "black prince." In Portugal when women wear black, it means they have lost the person nearest and dearest to their heart, and they continue to wear black daily until they are reunited. Several cultures follow this custom... in general, widows wear black to signify mourning.

Today is Father's Day. Today was an unforgettable day. Did I have an amazing time with my Pops? Unfortunately no. There were actually no fathers involved. Just an extraordinary group of women. Women who lost their husbands in the September 11th attack, and the children whom they were pregnant with during that horrific time, ten years ago. The children who will only meet their father in photographs and in stories.

Robert Cumin's photograph

In 2001, the magazine featured 33 women who lost their husbands on 9/11, and gave birth soon after. In 2003, another story featured 41 women, many of which returned from the year before. In 2006 there was a much more intimate piece that featured several of these women at home, depicting how they were getting on with their lives as single mothers. This year is the tenth anniversary of 9/11, and today we had a photo shoot with ten widowed mothers. Most have found love, built new families and moved on with their lives. But not without a daily reminder. The most precious gift their dearly departed could have left them with: a child.

The mood in the Greenwich Village studio was considerably upbeat. Pro stylists primped the women and kids while an extremely well-known photographer and his team prepped. The women wore black, not only signifying mourning and loss, but more importantly power and strength. They deserve medals of honor and bravery just as much as their husbands who were on a plane, in Tower 2 or fighting fires.

The children wore white. They looked like angels standing solo in front of the concrete wall, holding mementos and beaming with pride- extremely touching coming from a ten year old. One little girl cradled a locket with her Dad's photo, a permanent fixture around her neck. Another hugged a fire fighter helmet, while boy wore his father's badges and medals of honor, appointed by the President. Looking on through the somber space while mothers wiped bittersweet tears away, was indescribably moving.

Photo by Erica Berger

 One of the women, Jackie came all the way from San Antonio with her three kids. In the photo above from the mag's first photo shoot, she holds Ronald Jr., who is now a tall, energetic ten year old. She and her husband both served and met in Korea at a military party. They both worked in the Pentagon at the time, but she was on the opposite side of the building when American flight 77 hit. Today the newest member of her family, John, was the most popular man in the room. The ladies couldn't keep their hands off of him!

 Later this afternoon, I sat under a tree in Riverside Park overlooking the Hudson to reflect on my day. I looked down the hill and saw a group of women and children having a picnic. There were no men. Perhaps none of them were married, or all of their husbands were out of town coincidentally. But I don't think so. Though not in their own making, it was a sisterhood, and it was powerful to witness. I realized how much so many lost on that catastrophic day. Not only were their sons and uncles and brothers lost, but wives and cousins and grandmothers and friends. It demonstrated life's fragility and provides a constant reminder to never take people for granted. Make sure you tell the people you love how much you love them. And often. It's never too late until it is too late.

Happy Father's Day to all you Papa Bears out there, mine especially. I love you dearly and am so, so fortunate and blessed. To those who have lost loved ones, especially your Dad, hold them near and dear in your heart and know you are loved.

Nap time with Dad, 1984

 For approximately twenty-seven trips around the sun, I have been disgusted to the extreme by detached hair. Ask any of my past roommates or kin and they will tell you that hair, especially another human's hair, is right up there on the gross factor with snakes. Perhaps it has something to do with the way they try to avoid say, the drain in a bath tub at all costs. They just slither up the walls and scummy shower curtains, trying to find their way out. Snakes on a plane is my #1 worst nightmare, followed closely behind by hair in a bathtub. To my detest, I have been making an appearance in my #2 nightmare for approximately 5-7 minutes a day. I am sharing a loo with 3 other girls, all of which have long, black hair. Needless to say, some of their best assets (past tense) are really testing my tolerance levels. The only redeeming fact is that they (the hairs) are clean.

When given a yellow receipt that reads: NO RETURNS OR EXCHANGE EVEN IF MALFUNCTION in bold handwritten letters at the bottom, you should definitely reconsider your purchase. There is a tech store next to my gym, and I was desperate for an Ethernet cord for my room (no www means no whittyalacity), so I thought, "How convenient, I'll just run in." I should have turned right back around when I saw 14 men of Middle Eastern decent scatter like field mice as I approached the counter. "Sketchy in Times Square? How could that be?" I internally laughed at myself, predicting what I was about to do would not be my most intelligent moment. Well, I am here to warn you against purchasing a $40 Ethernet cord on 49th street without "shopping around." Blonde move for sure ($10 at University bookstore). I'll blame desperation and loyalty to my blog followers. (Donations can be sent to...)

Today was my first reporting mission. I would love to tell you what I covered, but you would hear a distant chime "Off with her head!" I'll just say that I met and interviewed some very powerful women. Some of you female readers might be wearing "them" right now. Another attendee was a real treat... you could say she paved the way for measly writers like myself. I felt honored to have these celebs as my first assignment!  My "good day" high inspired me to take a moment on my walk home this evening, around dusk, in a perfect 70 degrees, to follow fire flies through hydrangea gardens on campus... the air was intoxicating and the flying lights provided sweet previews of petal palettes. I felt like I was making my cameo in The Secret Garden. Simply dreamy. Much better than shower time.

Upon leaving my building on campus and the four minutes it takes to make my way underground, I feel (and look) as if I worked out in a gym with no air conditioning, in Louisianna with 95% humidity. Arriving "fresh" to work is not an option. The trek uptown late in the evenings isn't nearly as bad, and the captivating fragrance wafts from the blooming magnolia trees make my morning "workout" worthwhile. I've decided the sky is pinker on the east coast... maybe the grey tones from all the sludge in the air saturate the UV... stunning whatever the cause may be. I never thought I'd say the sun setting over the Hudson is a magical sight, but here I stand.... (sit). Nothing beats the majesties in the Big Sky, but the cityscape has its own sense of bewilderment... it has put a spell on me.

Columbia is an enchanting campus... I feel as though each building is a museum. I pass by Philosophy Hall each day where one of my favorite French sculptors famous fellows sits... a casting of Rodin's "The Thinker" watches over the walkway, just thinking the days away...

Original Rodin in Paris, January 2010

Whelp, I've got week numero uno at People magazine under my belt... in a nutshell, it's fabulous! Average day goes a little somethin' like this: wake up to the sound of not so distant asphalt drills and the clanging of steel... a 15-20 minute commute from Harlem to Midtown with a quick stop for my morning-must-have: triple americano... morning staff meeting on the 30th floor of the Time Inc. building begins at 10 a.m. where we view and discuss, usually with much sarcasm, photos and current events happening with people. Mostly famous people. Mostly pretty people. Though the sarcasm heightens when the famous people act not so pretty. Case in point: a large percentage of people were not a fan of Frances McDermott's get-up at the Tony's last night... though I find it somewhat refreshing. I mean, she only lives a few blocks away from the Beacon Theater... maybe she took a pre-game nap, slept through her alarm and ran down to accept her award... at least she showed up with clothes on.

WTF Fran?!

Besides the celeb gossip, smashed photos and gravy, my most recent assignment involves studying food photographers and prop stylists, and compiling mini "style portfolios" to reference for future photo shoots. Of course I have LOVED this jobber not only for my passionate love affair with cuisine, but I LOVE the styling aspect... potential calling? We'll see... I wish my breakfast table looked like this... simply lovely.

Photo by Ngoc Minh Ngo

What better way to celebrate a normal-hour, five-days-a-week office job than big hats and betting? To the Belmont Stakes I ventured with some newly acquired friendlies. Long Island is a drag this time of year... well, this year at least. Our parade was not to be rained on... instead we rallied from 9 in the marning to 3 in the... marning. Yes, the day was eventful, the night was dance-full, but the next morning... dreadful. I don't think I can muster another pony race for at least another 365 days.

It's all about the hat...

One of my new habits is getting off the cross town bus around 75th street and moseying up Broadway to take in the sights (and in yesterdays case, blow the stink off). I am completely occupied and entertained by the people passing by... this woman and her hipster kicks made my day. I insisted she and her hubby get off the bus before me and to my delight, she was rockin' the Nikes. Happy Monday!

You go gram.

On my 6th birthday,  I stood in the middle of an obnoxiously loud group of guests and demanded their attention by yelling, "people, People, PEOPLE!" It must have been an omen, because 21 years later, I stand in front of the Time & Life building, yelling "people, People, PEOPLE!" Much less annoyed, much more exuberant.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to work at a magazine in New York City. I obviously honed in some psychic powers when I was half a dozen years young, because I somehow managed to find myself brushing shoulders with some seriously talented peeps. Day #1 on the j-o-b: met the editors, my creative director and 40 other people who's names I'll never remember.  My desk is intermixed with the IPad designers, a bunch of laid back dudes whom I already get along swimmingly with. There is one photo intern, four editorial interns and I am the lone art intern, though after a chat today, I may have the opportunity to jump into editorial as well... best of both. Fantastic for me! More attention+more work+more critiques=more success. Unfortunately I'm forced to look at stuff like this all day...

Mondays slightly resemble a dog and pony show, as it is the closing day for print issues and Tuesday is closing day for Ipad issues. Great time to jump right in... I literally heard people saying, "I'll do the Olsen Twin's if you want..." and "make sure Kate Bosworth's right eye is... right!"  It's cool to watch ideas being planted, grow and bloom in 6 days- crazy turn around!

Funniest part of my day was riding down the elevator with a fabulous man who screamed, "Can you BA-LIEVE Weiner Man?!?!" "Ehhh, to which weiner man are you refering?" "Only the New York Congressman, ha-llo!" I definitely need to brush up on my current events, and pretend to be deeply saddened or ridiculously overjoyed depending on whether or not Snookie gets her drivers license back...

Stopped for groceries at Fairways on 75th and Broadway and walked up to 116th to stretch the legs... best people watching ever... I heard a lot of Yiddish, dodged a midget on a bicycle wearing a cowboy hat hollering yee-haw and followed two men with matching pastel polos, hand in hand strolling leisurely and discussing in depth, the free range chicken salad they shared for lunch... "It must have been tarragon! I can't imagine what else it may have been? And those grapes, lord those grapes were di-vine! ...Should we share a cupcake? Yes, let's go get a cupcake, cupcake."