bronx bound

When the weather permits I like to take a little stroll up to the bargain shoppers mecca known as Target. Or Targee for those of you who are as cheesy as my mother. Its a couple miles of Washington Heights, Inwood, and then the grand finale...The Bronx.

For those of you that don't know, I have a pretty intense fear of bridges. I have had many a nightmare about the Bay Bridge collapsing and my film getting wet beyond repair. Some people have children. I have cameras.

While crossing the Harlem River, I set my fear aside to take this shot. A wise woman once told me that as an artist, I can make trash art. I suppose this is taking it to a new, literal level.

february 2010

ironic

http://uptowncollective.com/

february 2010

love affair

february 2010

ladies lotto love

february 2010

http://ladieslotto.blogspot.com/

stay-cay

Day Four

Monday was President's Day. A day we are to honor or forefather's with a federal holiday. I bet Washington can rest in peace knowing that I cannot mail a package or visit a public library on this fine holiday. That being said, I guess I should relish my last day with nothing to do. I chose to honor our country by spending some QT in my own little country, Washington Heights. I usually run down to Harlem OR up to Inwood, but I brought out the big guns for this beautiful post snow storm day and went both ways (insert inappropriate sexual joke here).

A quick trip downtown to take care of some business and a brief encounter with a former paramour on the subway platform (which happens weekly now, by the way) and I am on the A train back uptown. Just in time for a reminder that life is good (or at least not THAT bad).

So, I am on the A train, reading my book, minding my own business. That being said, I am also visibly upset. Tears were streaming down my face as I attempted to enjoy the latest Jen Lancaster book. A satirical writer, the humorous words were being read, but certainly not felt. I see out of the corner of my eye that there is a man who has taken something out of his pocket and is doing his best to make it look presentable. Once the tattered white napkin has been smoothed out, and folded neatly into fourths it is handed to me; slipped under my eyes, and directly above my book. I look at the kind man who smiles and without extracting my earbuds I nod and give a smile of appreciation.

A couple minutes later I notice commotion in the same corner of my vision. This time he is scribbling something down in his day planner. Once the words are on the paper he turns the small book to me and has written something along the lines of "If I were your friend, I would never make you cry." A conversation ensues and, Ill be damned if I don't actually stop crying. At least for the duration of the trip home.

As I de-board and head for home I realize that although my weekend blew and no adventure was had. I at least had a nice moment with a stranger on the train.











Day Three

Sunday. The Lord's Day. Valentine's Day.























Day Two

Saturday morning I rise with slightly more east, but greeting a day is a battle, nonetheless. It is definitely after noon by the time I throw on my spandex and lace up my Asics. Another lengthy, if not challenging session at the gym and I am good to go. So good, in fact, that I decide to partake in one of my favorite past times. The movies. And by movies I mean sitting in a darkened theatre personifying gluttony with my massive diet coke and popcorn to match as I stare at the flickering lights projected on screen. What is on the playbill for this evening? Well, with it being Valentine's Day weekend and all I decide to keep the love theme alive and buy a single ticket to "The Lovely Bones." Yeah, so a story about a murdered 14 year old girl might not be the feel good movie of the year, but Tucci is genius and his recent Oscar nod only further solidifies my belief that the Academy is a sucker for prosthetics. I am telling you, grab some veneers, and hair piece, and you are money. Need I remind y'all about Nicki Kidman in "The Hours?"

Thoroughly exhausted by a real nail biter (literally, you should see my hands), I decide to keep it close and visit a favorite local watering hole of mine. Any bar with $7 cocktails and a proprietor named Jimmy works for me. This midtown oasis is like heaven for people like me. Cheap drinks, random crowds of visiting business men, post show theatre geeks, and the occasional straggler, topped with a cheetoh snack mix concoction is sublime, and keeps me coming back here time and time again. A single pink cocktail and I head home to read, sleep, and anxiously await yet another day with nothing to do.









































Day One

You know those weekends that are so fantastic that you look back for years to come and think, "Good Times?" This was not one of them.

Today is Valentine's Day. The day that every single woman convinces themselves doesn't matter until the sun sets, the lovers canoodle, and you hold, firmly in hand, a ticket to go see "Valentine's Day." A romantic comedy with a platonic girlfriend on National Single Awareness day is always an delightful treat.

This weekend was supposed to be spent at Mardi Gras having a fantastic time and documenting the debauchery first hand. Not only did the idea of a post Saints Mardi Gras Party excite me, but adding to my "travel blog" made me feel productive and creative. But alas, my trusty travel partner jumped ship, or economy vehicle as the case may be, mere hours before our slated departure. This disappointment was magnified when I came to realize I simply didn't know anyone adventurous enough to drive 20 hours to New Orleans for a little weekend jaunt. I am hoping that this is just because I have befriended a bunch of pansies, and in no way reflects my ever advancing age.

So, my non-Mardi Gras weekend kicked off with a bang, dining with Allison, a girl I met at the gym. Nothing says holiday weekend like sweaty gym socks and inauthentic Asian cuisine.

The following morning I rise to a heavy heart, and suicidal tendencies. Being the logical chick that I am, I decide the best way to combat this is to turn off my phone and stay in bed...until 3 pm. At some point in the late afternoon the Catholic blood that exists only by nature rather than practice starts coursing through my veins, and I am so overwhelmed by guilt that I will myself to get up and drag my ever expanding ass to the gym. Post gym I head out to meet Meghan for dinner and drinks. Lots of drinks.

I know what you guys are thinking. I don't often drink. I have had friends complain for years now that I always seem to be able to pull a drunk story out of my sleeve, but I am so elusive, that the story rarely includes some of my closest pals. This is true. The mood very rarely strikes me. However, after facing the reality that not even I am Destiny's Child Independent Woman enough to enjoy an entire day of driving south solo, I chose to instead relish this city in which I reside. And if alcohol will help me do so, by god I have got to give it a shot (or several).

Megs and I carb up at some SoHo Mexican eatery and a pitcher of margaritas later we head out into the cold. It is this pitcher that I blame for the ease with which the random comedy show guy standing out in the sub zero temps was able to coerce me into his basement cellar off of MacDougal. It is here that I will consume the required 2 drink minimum, $8 Coronas (sticking with the Mexican theme) in addition to being made fun of by each and every comic on stage and then, for an added bonus, by my fellow audience members as well. Awesome, right?

Some friendly ribbing with some choice comics apres show and Megs and I head home at a respectable 2:30 am. Not too bad for a couple of old ladies.

february 2010

snow storm 2010: the uptown collective

february 2010

i am very excited about the possibility of being involved in a new project. combining my love for art with my love for washington heights. sounds too good to be true.

see more here:

http://uptowncollective.com/

central america: revisited

All Good Things Must Come To An End

Hola

Up before dawn, Jackie and I were stoked to make our way back to Panama. Luckily, I had set my alarm for the wrong time and Jackie and I were up and ready to go by 3:35 am. According to the guard at Rockin' Jays, who seems to be the only Spanish speaker with whom Jackie can communicate, it was too dangerous for us to walk to the bus station at that hour, so we chilled in the magical beach-side hammocks until the sun rose.

Fortunately, this waiting period allowed me to see my future baby daddy, Jay, canoodling with an unidentified blond during the wee hours of the morning. They appeared to be retuning from a beach tryst. I know I should be offended, as our commitment to one another was solidified the moment I wrote 10 people in the US about it and said nothing to him, but I was instead turned on by the fact that he behaves inappropriately with those he houses temporarily. Y´all know what a sucker I am for a bad boy.

We headed to the bus shortly there after and bus did we do. First a bus from Puerto Viejo to Sixaola. Then a truck driven by the portly Pappito (his real name!) to Changuinola then a bus to David and THEN one to Panama City. 14 hours later Jackie and I rolled into our favorite bus station and hopped in a cab back to La Jungla hostal. Marcos, our tour guide/friend from the start of our trip was there to greet us and we proceeded to pass out.

Today consisted of a day at the beach on an island 12 k from PC. Tanorexia has seriously set in and I did my best to get some rays and chat awkwardly with the Panamanians on the garbage infested beach while I still could.

Casco Viejo is next where the cobble stone streets and dilapidated buildings I have been craving were to be found. Once a man holding an automatic weapon told us it was dangerous to be where we were we headed in a bachata filled cab back to the water front for Jackie´s last meal as a 27 year old.

Tomorrow is a birthday breakfast and a flight back to the states.

2 Girls, 2 Countries, 2 Time Zones

Jackie and I are now in Costa Rica and have finally found the (almost) perfect weather. Bocas got better after my last email and we went to some LOST-inspired deserted island for the day with some fellow travelers, including Ron, our Bocas roomie from Australia and our young tour guides who, of course, I chose to focus most of my attention on.

To practice my Spanish, of course!

Our last night in Bocas Jackie and I officially became the cliche of youthful travelers and chilled at the hostel and I continued to chat up Eduardo (our boat captain for the island) while watching the horrific Haiti coverage on CNN. We made cocktails that consisted of strange strawberry ice cream, fresh pineapple, and strawberry daiquiri Boons, the only alcohol we could locate that was within our budget. This is not a concoction I would recommend.

Jacks and I departed the following morning and got a beautiful view of the isles of Bocas as we headed to the Costa Rica with the most gregarious Kentuckians who were dying to talk politics, a pretentious Australian who has set up shop in Central America and who seemed to be the good will ambassador to the country after her 6 months of time here, and an amorous Argentinian couple who chose to use their mouths for besos as opposed to actual conversation.

A windy road and a couple banana plantations later and we landed in Puerto Viejo where I believe I will live out the rest of my days. This sleepy little surf town is filled with colorful houses, tropical air, and local surfers.

Dad, after hearing and Antony and the Johnsons/Bjork duet coming out of one of the local eateries, I decided you needed to move here. I think I am going to look into buying a house, so I will let you crash, as you and Mom did the first 18 years of my life.

Per a friend's suggestion and at the insistence of the woman at the boat dock we landed at Rockin' Jays, a hostel with mosaics and hammocks and a bloated middle aged proprietor whom I have decided might need to be my permanent object of affection.

Despite the fact that after shooting a local named Dennis the Menace I got into a confrontation about cultural differences, essentially, Jay calmed my nerves and will soon be whisking me off of my feet, whether he knows it or not.

Jackie will be planning the wedding in Panama, so stock up on sunscreen now!

Tomorrow morning is a bus back to the border so Jackie can relive her goal of walking across it (which we did just days ago) and then several more buses to head back to Panama City for our return.

Just in case any of you were jealous of my travels, thinking it was all fun in the sun, allow me to run down my list of injuries/ailments incurred whilst on this adventure:

A bump on my head painful to the touch from banging it on the night bus

A bruise on my arm swollen the size of an egg and blue from gripping the boat too tightly

Big, open wound blisters on my feet that make it almost unbearable to walk

A sun burn that left me shivering under the covers my last night in Bocas

My monthly bill with no tampons in sight (sorry gentlemen)

A cold that looks as though it will last just the duration of the trip, making my wipe my nose like a coke head every 5 minutes

AND what are soon to be full blown dreds, and washing does not seem to be a priority here

So, just when you think I am in a tropical paradise, think again..

Although I do believe I saw one of the most beautiful bare asses I have ever seen today....

But I digress...

Hope you all have a great weekend and Jackie and I will be back in the office on Tuesday...

Monday is her birthday, so I am sure well wishes will be welcomed.

Rain Rain Go Away

Mother Nature is playing a dirty joke on the poor American girls as rain has just begun yet again. We thought we were in the clear, but alas. Jackie and I roamed the streets of Bocas yesterday afternoon nearly jumping for joy at the first sight of blue skies only to be met by rain once again. Weather is big talk on the island, and luckily something I know how to discuss in Spanish.

My most interesting encounter yesterday was a 13 year old boy who continued to circle me on his Schwinn in Espanol asking to take me to bed and telling me I have a beautiful ass. I have to admit, I respect the kids chutzpah and we all know the ass comment is just a fact, but despite the fact that I think such indiscretions are legal here in Panama, I used my better judgment and resisted the nino's come ons.

Jackie and I tried to get off of the island yesterday, but missed the last bus so we changed locations to another hostel that is far less rustic and far more hygienic. It is also FILLED with Argentinians, as they are on some sort of winter break. Luckily everyone on the island seems to think I am one of them, so I am a happy camper.

We had booked tickets today to go to Costa Rica on a shuttle bus and try to get away from this weather but when we ran outside to check the sky at 730 am like five year olds rising on Christmas morning the skies looked blue, so we postponed to go on a sailing trip that I had been planning. Unfortunately, the captain decided to make other plans without informing us and we have since booked a tour through our hostile. Moments later, it began to rain again. I can take comfort in the fact that my new Argentinian language coach, Julien will be escorting us and I can practice my lispy accent while being soaked to the bone.

Wish us luck, with weather and under age foreigners.

Bocas Del Toro Is A Deserted Island

Wow. It feels already like we´ve been here forever.

Of course, we befriended a local who took us to all the hot spots yesterday and dropped is at the bus station, to make sure we were safe and sound. It would have been so gentlemanly if only he hadn't insisted Jackie and I basically check in with him before we take a leak because, while in Panama, we were his (Marcos) and Ulysses´ (our driver for the day) responsibility. Needless to say, this didn´t go over with us so well. I tried to explain the culture of American women. Not sure how much really sunk in. Needless to say it looks as though I need a slightly Americanized Latino with whom to procreate, because the last time I checked in with somebody to go to the bathroom I was in elementary school, and I wasn´t a big fan of it then either.

In true native form, I got to experience my first time at a race track in Panama City and found that if a dark skinned man is wearing a Yankees cap and a white t-shirt and listening to reggaton, I feel as though I am at home. Shout out Washington Heights!

Our night bus from Panama City to Bocas Del Toro on the Caribbean coast was artic and as Jackie and I cuddled for warmth I cursed the bus Nazi who would not allow me to get my boots from under the bus when stopped at one of our many middle of the night pit stops.I attempted to break the rules and sneak my stuff out, only to slam my head so hard on the bus door that I now have a huge knot. I suppose listening to authority has never really been my strong suit!

We went from bus to cab to boat in the wee hours of the morning today, watching the sun rise over the Bocas del Toro rain forest.

I sat next to a young local wearing a New Orleans' Saints hat on the boat.

It took us a while to find Dona Oti, out pad for the next couple of days. Once in our RUSTIC hostel, that had been coordinated for us by Marcos, my new Panama City boyfriend, we crashed for a couple hours being awoken around 9 am to noisy Chileans and a tropical storm that kept us indoors all day. Talk about cabin fever.

The crackers and cashews we had stashed from the bus station in PC were not enough to tide us over and after being too scared to venture out in Tropical Storm No Fun all day (needless to say we were not prepared with rain gear) Jackie and I made a run for it, garbage bag rain jackets in tow. The run was not so far, as we discovered an American themed bar literally across the street at which we paid exorbitant prices for foul food and beverage.

I cannot express to you how beautiful I feel after not brushing my teeth or changing my underwear for whole days. I should def include that on my eharmony profile!

Since we were land locked, and by land locked I mean room locked all day, we are hoping to go sailing tomorrow as planned with Captain Marcel.

These places have been a little touristy for my liking, but hey, I am in Panama. I am not complaining!

Safe And Sound In Central America

Jackie and I landed safely in Panama City this afternoon to a balmy, if not unimpressive day in PC. Nothing like getting up to near freezing temperatures in New York City and landing in sweat central. Not that I am complaining. Like many big cities it is dirty and industrial. There seem to be countless mid-construction projects that have halted mid way, like my nephews playing with their legos, only to be distracted by a shiny object or colorful light and running off mid project. We are off to see the Panama Canal (ill be sure to get some shots for your bucket list, Mom) and check out the rain forest before hopefully heading to Bocas Del Toro on the Caribbean coast on a night bus tomorrow. For any of you that remember my encounter with the guerrillas of Peru last year on my night bus, wish me luck! And send me a bullet proof vest.

They accept American currency here and maintain American prices. Guess all of Latin America is not cheap! We are living tonight in a hostile name La Jungla that is very ex pat and full of Nordics and women with lax hygiene. Luckily, we have an older Argentinian with questionable fashion sense, and questionable intentions in our room. He rose from his nap today to find me and Jackie changing.

Am I getting too old for this shit...

On a serious note, so glad I am here.

Will check in soon.

january 2010