Where were you on Saturday night?

I was over the moon–figuratively.  Physically I was at the Brooklyn Academy of Music soaking in a rare coupling: Grizzly Bear and the Brooklyn Philharmonic.  The event marked Grizzly Bear’s first performance with an orchestra dedicated to performing alongside of the band (Grizzly Bear has previously shared a bill with the Los Angeles Philharmonic at Disney Hall).

Perhaps the most special parts of the evening for a longtime fan like myself were the songs Grizzly Bear played that they had never performed live before, but that I have savored for years on their albums; namely “Central and Remote,” “Reprise,” and “Plans” (all from Yellow House).  “Reprise” was particularly special, given the leading banjo, a fact which Daniel Rossen acknowledged from the stage.

I found “Colorado,” another longtime favorite, to be particularly successful with the orchestral backing.  It’s another that you’re not likely to hear the band perform regularly.

Of the new material from the upcoming release Veckatimest, “Foreground” was far and away my favorite, and the Brooklyn Phil did well by it too.

Then Grizzly Bear did something that I wouldn’t suspect given the tone of the evening; they closed the show with The Crystal’s foreboding “He Hit Me.”  I don’t think Edward Droste has found a better pairing for his vocals than this diminutive ditty.  It just works.  I was thrilled.

The boys were looking sharp: Daniel in shiny new shoes visible from row “S,” Christopher Bear in saddle shoes (!) and a handmade black silk bow tie by Julia Ziegler-Haynes, Edward sleek in black jeans and a crisp shirt, and Chris Taylor sporting a new shorter haircut.  They’re ready for the big time!

Related links of interest:

• Edward Droste’s Twitter with complete set list
• A bootlegged video of the entire show
• The New York Times wrote a favorable review
• Brooklyn Vegan: mediocre/non-existent writing, lots of nice pics (can you tell BV doesn’t soothe me?!)
• Kudos for the boys from Entertainment Weekly
• A fabulous review for Grizzly Bear that is also generally on point in its description of the evening overall at the Village Voice’s Sound of the City blog

I Love This Website

Have you discovered the amazingness that is MrsO yet?  

My favorite recent post (and Mrs. O outfit) is “Mystery Coat Revealed.”

The fierceness that is Michelle Obama is wearing a Sonia Rykiel (LOVE her) wool wing coat.  Thanks to the sleuths at MrsO for unearthing the origins of that amazing outfit.  

NYC Part 1

After throwing on some curls and pearls we headed over the Brooklyn Bridge down to the Financial district to the Forever Young Party.  It was the perfect New York night.  Not too cold and the Empire State was in my favorite decor: all white lights.  So classic.  The city got dressed for the Jans that night.  

We stopped at a Citibank on Broadway for some cash and in perfect NYC style I got hit on by a bum.  Men in New York.  Honestly.  Even the bums think they can get the hot chick.  

When we arrived at China Chalet it wasn’t yet 10.  My people had already been in place, decorating and setting up for the fete.  It was a beautiful reunion.  We all had time to hang out and get drinks in the relative quiet before the storm.  I got to meet the sassy and sexy proprietess of Beach House, the fabulous Miss Vicky B.  She soothes to insane levels and WAS FUCKING WEARING SADDLE SHOES.  HELLO!  It was love at first sight.

Things got rolling quickly though.  Before I knew it guests were pouring in.  I saw my Marlborough girls, Soph, Ash, Remy, Camille, Michelle, Lauren, Christina.  Damn.  They were looking great.  I swear the most grounded people I know in NYC are those who transplanted there from LA. 

One of the Jan’s mom was there, and the other Jan’s bro was on site.  It was a total family affair.  There was the fabulous Gelardi clan in all its glory, and looking sharp.  

There was a photo booth, photographers, and props.  Here are our hosts and the honorees of the evening; on the left, Jan Philippe and P, on the right Jan Edward in the glasses and tie:

Double

There were so many people there I saw people I haven’t seen in three, four, five years.  Wade, Justin, Ken, Noah, Kate.  Damn.  Amazing that I’ve gotten to the age where I can say that I saw people I haven’t seen in five years.  

The space was huge.  There was a huge bar/lounge area, a dining room with banquettes, a long hallway with mini booths along the side, and a big dance floor in the back with a second bar.

My best man Devotion was there with Kiss Me I’m Polish and I set up fort at one end of the main bar in the front.  We laughed and drank beers that we had to order four and five at a time since the bartenders were so damn old and slow, doublefisting at a double birthday party was the only way to go.

Double

Trouble

The music was the best I’ve ever heard in NYC–honestly.   Courtesy of DJs Tim Sweeney (DFA) & Scott Anderson.  I didn’t dance as much as I usually would because I was too busy screaming and yelling catching up in the front bar but I did hit it for a little and all I remember was dancing to Tony Toni Tone “Let’s Get Down” and never loving anything more.  

There were so many beautiful people there.  It was as if the world was glittery and shining that night and someone had sprinkled fairy dust over the whole evening. There was even a second girl wearing saddle shoes–Red ones!!!  The only thing that brought anyone back (or further from) Earth was the ghostly image of Michael Stipe(!) waiting outside the double glass doors for a late entrance when the club was at capacity.  

I was running around telling everyone how good they looked.  Handing out compliments like it was my job.  Sorry Bay, NYC makes you look ugly!  You need to sharpen up and learn how to dress!  People in NYC are tight!  Even the uglies are looking good over there. 

We closed the place down around 4 or so and a big group of us headed down Wall Street to a deli to grab a bite.  We got egg and cheese sandwiches and slices and nothing ever tasted so good.  A good, generic NYC deli.  Dime a dozen in the city, impossible to get anywhere else.  The big cases of prepared food, neon lights, guys in blue and white aprons, and unbelievably flawless slices and bagels.  [You don’t understand the issue I had Tuesday morning in Rockridge when I was craving a bagel.  OY VE!  Problem.  The craving was so intense.  My husband went and got me Noah’s.  I protested, but ultimately gave in.  He didn’t want to drive all the way to Manhattan Bagels on 4th Street, which I haven’t tried but is supposed to be great.  When he brought it to me and asked me how it was I didn’t even have the heart to tell him how incredibly bland that thing was.]

We moved the after hours party to Brooklyn where I ended my night–just tearing myself away knowing I really didn’t want to see sunrise all that much–dancing to Biggie rap “Juicy.”  Very symbolic as I had left the West Coast years before, abandoned the riotous streets of L.A. and its segregation and its fearless leader Pac for the in-your-face East Coast where I converted wholeheartedly to Biggie:

I live out there, so don’t go there, but that don’t mean a — can’t rest in the West, see some nice breasts in the West, smoke some nice cess in the West, y’all — is a mess thinking I’m gon stop givin LA props, all I got is beef with those who violate me, I shall annihilate thee…

Hot Hosts

Approximate time: 11PM

My Hot Hosts in NYC enjoy some libation at the Forever Young party at China Chalet.

Earlier that evening I was greeted by B and B at their Navy Yard loft by my own room (denoted with a name placard on my door), fresh linens, Cora the English bulldog, and a beautiful spread of tapas.  We had a fabulous dinner: tortilla, lasagna, scallops, ay!  We drank the Txacoli, it was amazing.  We rolled up her hair, threw on some pearls and sequins and we were off!

Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios

Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios: One of my favorite films. Like many other Almodovar films, I could watch it over and over again, on loop.

It features gazpacho (“the secret secret’s in mixing it right”)! Brilliant!

And the incredible line: “Look how the Arab world treated me.  I sure didn’t deserve that.” 

Also: fucking incredible fashion–those stockings!  those shoes!  that hair!  the earrings!  Let’s all move to Madrid and have a nervous breakdown.

Back to School, this time with Flair

Know about this.  

First Fashion Post

I love fashion, but it is really a stretch for me to blog about it.  I’ve thought about it, thought about my 2 new pairs of Fendi shoes (they just fit my feet well, which is not to say that I didn’t buy them for fashion’s sake, but that the day I can fit my odd-shaped feet into a pair of Louboutins or Marc Jacobs is the day pigs fly), my recent acquisition of a vintage Carolina Herrera gown, and my addiction to YSL/Chanel style (in some cases authentic YSL) tailored button-downs with flow-y, mutton-y sleeves cinched at the elbow.  But not until tonight have I felt just right about writing about any of it…until now.

As we were finishing off Bittersweet Chocolate cake, Vin Santo with Almond and Fennel seed Biscotti for dipping, and the Caramel Ice Cream with Vanilla Salt, at approximately 10:15PM when two French men were seated at the table next to us [this is the equivalent of having a well dressed couple get seated at a 2-top next to you at 12:30 after a long night at the Met, while you have been drinking at a 6-8-top with your friends since 9:30 at a restaurant downtown on the LES, and it’s a stodgy enough place that it’s emptying out by that hour, so it’s kind of awkward when they are seriously considering the wine list and your friends start screaming out jokes involving genitalia].

One of them pulled at the sleeve of R’s jacket as he was getting up from the table and said: 

“I have somezing to say to you!”

[Pause]

“I LOVE zees jaquette!”

You Learn a Lot About Your Mother When She Comes to Stay

I was out to dinner with my mother and R. and C. tonight.  (I JUST FINISHED MY FIRST DAY AT ——!).  For those of you not in the know,———- is a college for females, and offers coeducational graduate programs.  I remarked on how thrilling/unusual/amazing it was to walk around a campus of all females (not to mention all young, attractive, well-dressed females) and of course the first thing everyone wanted to know was about Lesbians (which is the first thing most people under 35 ask me about when I say I go to ——).

So we were sort of casually discussing that when my mother (who had gone to my neighborhood Trader Joe’s to shop for a dinner she decided not to make due to the heat) said, “Oh yes, well I was ogled about 3 times at TJ’s this afternoon!”

[!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!silence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!wha?????????????saythatagain???????????????????]

“Oh yes, I was.”

Not knowing exactly how to respond to this, my brother and I stared with our jaws on the floor at my 63-years-young non-plastic-surgery-practicing beautiful mother in silence, and she said:

“Maybe it was my shirt?”

To which I replied that it was the Straight-est shirt I’d ever seen!  R. chimed in: “Oh yeah mom, you definitely look like someone who either LIVES in Hancock Park (Los Angeles) or who USED TO LIVE in Hancock Park!”

Judge for yourself:

My First Scooter Ride

Tonight I enjoyed a new mode of transportation home from dinner.  I came very close to renting a scooter in Florence when I was 20, but I was too scared due to my lack of knowledge of the Italian language, combined with my confusion (which exists to this day) about how scooters don’t just knock you off all the time (you don’t have to balance like a bicycle? you do?).  Also it’s not part of my *culture* to ride motor-driven vehicles with only two wheels.  But R., to my vague disapproval, purchased one recently, and when given the opportunity, I just couldn’t resist.

Here’s me preparing to ride: Here’s a shot of us firing up to go:And here is us as a streak of motion: SO MUCH FUN!  But not so much fun that I need to do it, any time soon, or in order to get from point A to B.  Plus the length of my dress made for much nervousness when I started to thing about the square-inch-age of bare skin exposed to pavement moving fast beneath me.