july 4

One more reason to love Roberta's, seriously. As if their awesome pizzas weren't enough.

tiki promo f ck from Falco Productions on Vimeo.

I'm off to a July 4th bbq party with some work peeps. Eating and drinking with people who do it for a living. Happy 4th to all!

Goooooaaaallll

I've been watching every game of the World Cup for the last week. USA just scored, so to celebrate here's a beautiful diagram from the NY Times.

This year's ball is supposed to be more aerodynamic and "wobble resistant". I, personally, would trade this year's ball for the 1970 Mexico ball, no doubt.

Holy Rollers

I first heard of the film "Holy Rollers" about a month ago, when it debuted as a part of this season's Rooftop Film Series. I was immediately intrigued. Living in South Williamsburg, I've long since marveled at my community, where a strange co-existence of die-hard borinquens, stereotypical "hipsters", and Orthodox Jews collide. On sweltering summer sundays, it's not atypical to step out of my house and see little brown boys playing in the street under a spewing fire hydrant, 20-somethings in jean shorts and tiny tank tops whizzing by on their bikes, all while a gaggle of men dressed head to toe in black walk by on their way from Service. By far I am the most spellbound by the men in black, and the secret lives I imagine them hiding from me.

It's the same voyeuristic tendencies of mine that make waiting at the platform of JMZ train's Marcy stop in my neighborhood (specifically, around 10 in the mornings on weekdays) a fulfilling dose of anthropological self-education. Opting against my usual subway reads, I find it to be prime time to conduct my personal analyses of what it means to be a Hasidic Jewish woman. Almost always in duos, I note their identical brown hair-dos cropped to their shoulders, wearing neutral palettes of blacks, browns, and whites, faint traces of makeup and shiny lip gloss that are the only indications they are indeed from the 21st century. They are never without a brood of children, and always pushing one stroller, all while they speak to each other with hushed voices in their heavy accents that impart a large Hebrew and simultaneously Brooklyn influence. I yearn to hear everything they are saying, but they've seemed to have mastered the art of speaking in hushed voices.

This insulation, the things that I can't hear, is what keeps me amazed. Especially amidst today's ever-permeating world of information technology and mass consumption and flamboyantly displayed identities. I can barely resist a taco when I'm walking past the taco truck, how are these women and men resistant to modern American culture?!

Holy Rollers, to me, is a movie which is able to address these mysteries, the very same ones I see cloaked underneath a sea of browns and blacks. Taking a slice of the rich Jewish culture (or, is it religion? how can culture and religion be so intertwined as it is?) found in Brooklyn and like any good film, creating a twisted story of what lies beneath the surface of an otherwise modest appearance. Judging from the trailer and its synopses, Holy Rollers reveals the impurities and imperfections and corruptions that we know lie in the heart of every community, every culture, every religion. You know, the stuff we can actually relate to.



I wonder how many people this offends. And how many people it educates.

A Little Slice of Paradise

Doing my usual round of facebook stalking this afternoon, I came across a few pictures that an old co-worker posted of her backyard. It's not the perfectly manicured backyard oasis' we see in Home & Garden, but for some reason it's so perfect in a little Brooklyn backyard.

(if only people knew I stole from their facebook albums and blogged about them.)

I wish I were so lucky!

Color Collective

I love this blog! It's so simple, but so visually appealing. It makes me wish I were a design rockstar. Here are a few of my favorites:

Thinking of colors a lot lately, since the room I'm about to move into looks, at the moment, like it belongs in the low-security ward of a mental institution. A fresh coat of paint should do the job just fine. I'm thinking along the lines of maybe a dusty grey, shades of green, taupes, and maybe...just maybe....a bright pop of orange or fuschia??

On a separate note, when I googled for the exact address of this blog, I googled "Coller collective" and couldn't figure out why it didn't pop up right away. Sheesh! I swear, my brain is turning into mush.

Change, part II

speaking of changes, I cut my hair today.

The story of Jessie's hair is now like this: long, short, really long, short, long, really short! short, medium length, short!!

I found High Horse Salon just walking down the street. I am pretty sure I walked by for two months without ever noticing it, and finally, about a month ago, saw the new little sandwichboard which drew me in. From then on, each time I walked by (it's on my way to the L train) I wanted to peek my head in, but just kept walking. But with last week's dreadfully hot and humid weather, coupled by the urging of the Boy to chop it all off, I decided it was time to cut the hair again. When I first moved around here I went to Woodley and Bunny, but have been tossed around from stylist to stylist there and never really loved any of them. Plus, they gave me good enough haircuts, but for more than it was worth. I decided that I'd finally check my neighbors at High Horse out...With only two chairs and (I presume) two stylists, and charging a cash-only amount of $60 a cut, clean, vintage-feeling, and airy, it was perfect for me. My hair is so easy to cut, what could possibly go wrong, I figured.

I know that this is when stories typically take a turn for the worse, and I am glad to report that they did not. I am excited my foolishness to spring on a new salon, without knowing too much about it, paid off. It makes the thrill of the new cut even better! I loved Kristie, who cut my hair. She gave me exactly what I wanted, without me even knowing it. I could see my face change as my hair was snipped off, and my smile grew wider and wider as my hair grew (metaphorically speaking) shorter and shorter. I felt so silly, beaming in the chair like that, but you know- that's exactly why I grow out my hair only to cut it again.

Because it's really the best feeling in the world.

Lessons in Domestic Science

I have been visiting DC every couple of weeks now since that's where the Boy lives, that is perhaps in part why the radio silence has persisted on this blog. I've since made DC almost a second home, where I build the same sort of routines that I cherish here in Brooklyn. Boy lives in Dupont Circle, where there's certainly no lack of things to do and a New Yorkishly accessibility to get things done. While most stores in dc close by the depressing hour of 1-pm, the 24-hour CVS pharmacy keeps the circle pumping with nightlife. Unfortunately, I'm only partially kidding.

But getting on, One thing that I almost always do when I am in DC is stop into Second Story Books. Located on the increasingly-posh strip of P Street that cuts across the circle, it's the Beacon's Closet of Bookstore. No, wait, it's slightly classier than Beacon's Closet, it's like... the Edith Machinist of Bookstores. With quite an eccentric group of personalities that work behind the desk- One day, it's a heaving 500 pound man with his butt glued to the rolling office chair, the next a elfish 20-something girl wearing a onesie, and once again, a studious rail-thin and stretched out carbon copy of Dwayne Wayne (from A Different World!). It's seriously bizarre, but somehow fitting in the bookstore. The bookstore carries the rarest of hard-to-find gems, copies of Goodnight, Moon seemingly teleported from their original publication date. Divided into sections (History: World War I. Cultural: Armenia. Cultural: Pre-colonail British), the bookstore is mostly a collection of non-fiction works, a place where you can get lost in any land, any culture, any story that's every been written.

I go for their lone food shelf. well, one-and-a-half shelves, technically. One full of cookbooks, the other half of food and cultural writings. I hit that, and have managed to find such jewels as Frank Bruni's recent memoir Born Round (didn't like it, more on that later I suppose), Harold McGee's essential On Food and Cooking, the James Beard on Pasta (check out those illustrations, for reals) book- not as seminole as Beard on Bread, but I'm on the lookout!) - and most recently, Ruth Reichl's Comfort Me With Apples. But my FAVORITE find has been this, Twenty Lessons in Domestic Science, originally published in 1916by Marian Cole Fisher.

A lady in a petticoat, punching on a typewriter with her glasses falling to her nose to pen this "lesson book" is exactly the image that is conjured when I flip through its contents. To get a full scope of its contents you need not turn further than the table of contents, where, rather than chapters, the book is divided into "Lessons". Lesson II is entirely devoted to "LEAVENING AGENTS", among them (in order listed) - Baking Powder, Acid Phosphate, Cost of Baking Powder, How to Measure, Leavening Agents....(and more!). Mostly an almanac of cooking rather than a recipe book, this small, 108-page hardcover pretty thoroughly = covers every food group, why we should eat, what we should eat, and where we should get our raw materials from. It's, I imagine, everything the traditional housewife should have known. The book also references the Department of Agriculture in Washington, D.C. more than once through the course of the book- leading me to imagine what sort of campaigns our government was trying to enact in the 40s, and the 50s, perhaps when this book may have been its most popular.

I don't think I'll be taking this book too seriously, but it does provide such an interesting peek into the history of our culture. Plus, the diagrams are pretty f'ing amazing.

Change.

I'm a huge believer that every 3-6 months, everyone experiences a good amount of change. It's like our version of shedding skin. But it certainly ebbs an flows, lots of things happen at once and the they draw back into hiding for another several months.

For me, it's my time of change, I can feel it in my bones! So friends and family, I'm moving. Just a little further into Brooklyn is all, but in New York especially, any move is a monumental one. It's like, how can I pack up all my things which are jammed into this little space, and figure out how to get them into that other little space less than a mile away? It doesn't sound hard, but if you lived here you'd definitely understand where the head scratching commences.

It's a bittersweet deal for me, since my current roommates have been nothing but butter and baconfat to me. (In my world, that's close to godliness). I've spent more time here than any place since I've moved out of my parents house to go to college, so I know that I'll leave with a slightly heavy heart. Then again, I'll be living in the perfectly befitting (for me) area of Carroll Gardens, surrounded by friends and brownstones and the Frankie's empire and ice cream parlors. So, I don't think I'll be sad for too long.

Quote Bags

And now, I bring to you yet another completely superflous post.

How great are these bags, from a small, Bankok-based couple making individually-crafted totes. Perfect for summer! I am itching to get my hands on one.

Check out their past designs, inspirations, processes, all on their blogger website, here.

And while we're on the subject of handmade etsy finds, if you're in a rather spunky mood check out these Etsy FAILS, on regretsy.com!

Anita Tijoux

Check her out.

Because she's beautiful, kicks ass, and is the epitome of the rapping chilean rockstaress that I wish I could be.