Liquor Icons

I've always been partial to the Miller High Life broad, but this article gives a play-by-play on 10 recognizable figures from the front of your favorite beverage.

Chickens Coming Home to Roost

Great article in today's Times about the growing popularity of raising chickens in the backyard.

If I had any sense, I would have written this trend piece back in May when I started claiming I was going to soon have some chickens of my own.

I still want my own chickens. Even though I hate birds.

Sweetness

..is your man friend going upstate for a couple days, and bringing you back the last tomatoes, green beans, zucchini and lavender from his sister's garden.

Better than jewelry. And more thoughtful.

Mr Met: Fraud!

Mr. Met was voted into the "Mascot Hall of Fame" this week. First of all, who knew there was a Mascot Hall of Fame? And secondly, Mr. Met is a straight up rip-off of Mr. Red, who was the first baseball-head mascot circa 1955. Shameful.

*thanks to my brother Mike for setting Wikipedia straight on this matter. (see paragraph 2)

Six Years On

Most New Yorkers don't talk about the after effects of 9/11 much anymore, but this time of year inevitably brings back crystallized moments from that day. I didn't talk about it much then either, avoiding situations outside of NYC when people would want to share with me "their 9/11 story". I wasn't interested in other experiences, for I saw my adopted hometown break apart from my kitchen window. The. End. It wasn't and isn't an easy thing to process and accept.

I get a small pit in my stomach when I wake up to a clear, sunny, early September day with the bluest sky imaginable. Or when I drive down the BQE under Brooklyn Heights, directly across from where the Towers rose the largest to my eyes, something is just missing. And each autumn, when I see those giant beams of light projecting endlessly into the sky from a nighttime vantage on the East River, I get anxious before pausing for a moment--being forced into remembering--tear up a tiny bit, and usually follow it with a wan smile about what once was.

Missing in Action

I am boring and boring myself lately: work's been kicking my ass up and down for the past three weeks, consuming most energy and thoughts, and it flat out ruined my last weeks of summer, including one I was supposed to have off. Add my car getting hit by a friend's husband and causing over $2Gs worth of damage, and you have a recipe for being preoccupied.

With the most coverage we've ever gotten due to cover boy Brad Pitt on V49 and some totally gay shots of Tom Brady on V Man, everyone's excited and a little tightly wound. What would typically be minor production mistakes have been blown up into events of major proportion, culminating last week with me telling the two photographers of Vis 52/Louis Vuitton ad campaigns/shitloads of other big fashion clients that the files they provided us were of terrible quality.

This does not make already high-strung and flaky photographers happy. Especially when we aren't fixing the problem before going on sale.

I slept about 11 hours last night and missed out on our big whoo-ha fashion week party down at The Bowery Hotel, but am nearly seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

(As a side note, how douche-y is it for a special friend of mine to try and weasel his way into the party right after I said I couldn't hang out with him last night?)