About that time I become fluent in Swedish.

I would have never thought when I started making the normal rounds of "Hey who wants to help me move", that Jesus would be game. That's right folks Jesus was here today for the first round of Apartment cleaning/moving/IKEA fun.

Let me explain.

I've been hanging out at our new place for most of the day in order to make sure I was here for the IKEA delivery people. Yeah it was 89 bucks to deliver what could easily fit into the back of my borrowed car, but who really wants to carry all that crap up two flights of stairs. Not me. Anyway, so after everything arrived safe and sound I really wanted to start setting up stuff and the most logical piece of furniture was obviously the sofa bed. So here I am sitting on the new sofa bed and guess who rang the door bell. Jesus! Well, not actually him, but one of his people trying to sell a doomsday newspaper called the Final Call. I assume they were proselytizers and not girl scouts, but that's only because they were middle aged men in suits, but maybe Girl Scouts of America is trying to reach a new demographic and I just refused the opportunity of girl scout cookies.

I'll no doubt have more to say about the new apartment. We're having folks over on Friday night to help paint and get toasted on Kosher Wine (don't judge, it's cheap and tastes like grape juice, what's not to love?!) so I will try to document the fun with photography!

Until then, take care.

An end to an Adventure

I'm thrilled to be able to announce the end of an adventure for this Brooklynite. Ladies and Gentlemen, I found the place to live, not just a place, but the place to live.

Although we did much journeying through most of Brooklyn, using criaglist et al. as our unwitting travel guides, my roommate and I, after wandering through Clinton Hill on the Saturday before Easter, decided that we really enjoyed living here and wanted to stay. The periphery is a nice combination of yuppie, hipster and ghetto, most importantly though, it's cheap and close to the subway, which means Manhattan is easily reached.

After what turned out to be a draining week filled with fake adverts and shady landlords, my roommate, with her blessed OCD found an advert that was posted 40 minutes before she logged on. To be honest, it sounded too good to be true, 1,200 for a two bedroom apartment, 3rd floor (2nd floor for you English) walk-up, with HUGE rooms, an eat-in kitchen, full living room and a bathroom, with a sink! (I neglected to mention the charming apartment we found in south, south park slope that I kid you not, had no sink in the bathroom). Either way, I scheduled an appointment right after work and discovered that it was actually legit, and gorgeous. We're talking Pre-war, solid construction, best of all, Rent Controlled. The Holy Grail of Apartments. I obviously jumped at the chance and had my roommate come right after work.

We put a deposit on it today and sunday I sign the lease. These types of apartments don't come on the market everyday, usually people move in and then the only way they leave is on a stretcher. To make the deal even sweeter, because I'm a poor student we qualify to enroll in the low-income housing program which was started by former mayor Guiliani in order to re-claim tenant occupied, but owner abandoned buildings, while also keeping low-income housing, so I'm only paying 1,015. I'm so thrilled.

I ventured from Brooklyn, but it was for Jesus, honest.

I write this having just returned from attending "the great Easter Vigil" at St. Thomas in midtown. Yes, I will take the hisses and boos from you dyed in the wool Brooklynites (if there are even any among you) who denounce such a besmirchment of my Brooklyn blog with tales of a foray into the whore to those whom will pony up the cash to buy her. But anyway. Yes folks we're gonna talk about god, go get your drink now, I'll wait.

My relationship with god (forgive me from quite literally yet unintentionally yoinking the phrase from some hick town preacher's pulpit and plopping it here, but I lack a better phrase) is a bit like a friend whom you call when you realize you've run out of plans and don't want to spend a night in, baking Easter eggs cookies (mightve happened just sayin'). Now granted if were to take the angry, I shall smite you heathen! approach of God, I should fully expect and deserve to have a ceiling that leaks, a roommate that squeaks and well you get the point, but I don't, I prefer to think of my luck as crap and my God as some similarly minded friend who calls me when he/she/it is bored, but otherwise leaves me to my devices (again, which might lead to baking, icing and packaging 3 dozen Easter cookies).

So that's that, it was an Anglican service which is mostly because I was tagging along with a friend, far more godly than I (hard to convince someone else to come to another sect's church, if you haven't actually been to services in 10 years). It was though quite nice and the choir and building was quite definitely worth the effort. Would I start attending again out of some god fearing/appreciation/respect/buddy-buddy feeling? Probably not, but I wouldn't mind going to another Anglican service if not for the choir then for the forced 2 1/2 hour contemplation time. It was quite nice to find some silence in a city (even in Brooklyn and don't you hipster naysayers claim otherwise) where peace is so rare.

We're leaving you, because we don't love you.

Last night was the talk. Now for anyone else, the "Hey we're moving out" talk would be casual, or at least not be nerve wrecking enough that anyone stumbling into my room last night would not find a small Asian girl and myself knocking back shots of polish vodka from the bottle to give us liquid courage. Instead exactly what you think happened happened. Both of us were literally shaking with nerves. It's a bit like how Margaret Cho explains long term, live-in break ups. It's very much like a game of trying to join an already started game of double dutch, at least for our other roommate apparently. It went from Oh, is that your margarine to OMFG WE HATE LIVING HERE AND WANT TO LEAVE, NOT SEPARATELY OF COURSE, BUT TOGETHER, BECAUSE WE LIKE EACH OTHER.

To be brief the phrase, "it's us, not you came up". She cried, said she really liked us, and we said "Oh well Brooklyn is a small place, I'm sure we'll see each other all the time". We were a hair away from giving the roommate version of break up sex. I assume of course such things exist. Either way it was awkward and we felt like we had actually broken up with her and then started making out in front of her, while she cried and self-harmed. It was not fun.

Of course, I would happily continue to bear this cross, if not for the fact that I just found my room advertised on craigslist for $50 less. Yep. Sorry, don't really feel like carrying the cross today Jesus, you're on your own.

So the apartment hunt is on. In New York I've discovered it's a bit of a marathon to the finish, (the finish of course does not involve a ribbon and water bottles, but instead homelessness) and so we're off!
Wish me luck on apartment hunting part deux. This time *should* be less awful than the first.

Oh, Hello Spring.

Brooklyn is absolutely gorgeous.
On walking to my cafe today (yes I did say my cafe. That's not to imply I own, control or in anyway have proper right to refer to it as my cafe, but it's as much mine as something can be and not actually peeing on it.) Anyway, while walking to my cafe I realized two things, first that it had been AGES since I updated my Blog. I'm afraid I don't have a good excuse for not updating sooner (unless of course you count having to go to IKEA, Recover from a Korean brought on hangover and new apartment hunting as worthy reasons). The second thing that I realized is that there's really no proper way to convey to you the weather right now.
There's a nice breeze out today that exists only in thought, not in actual form and it's just warm enough that if you walk in the shade you're delightfully lukewarm. Lukewarm as you should know, if you're to continue reading this is my favorite temperature. As a child, before discovering the concept of thermodynamic, I used to spend a good deal of time adjusting the taps in the bathroom to achieve that perfect water temperature and then line up cups to contain this wonderful water that felt like nothing, to save it for another day. Really though, I've done a crap job at describing to you how wonderful the temperature is outside, just take my word for it that if you're not here sitting next to me, you're missing out.

This gets me on another topic that I've been meaning to mention. The weather in Brooklyn>The weather in Manhattan. Whenever I leave my apartment I'm usually comfortable. However, no matter how prepared I am, the moment I step out of the subway and onto the street, whether to go to Hunter or just for my occasional forays into the concrete jungle, the weather is suddenly ramped up on steroids. Blistery cold, Horribly windy, Jungle hot. It never makes any sense. Manhattan clearly is a menopausal woman in desperate need of some plant estrogen.

Now obviously at this point you're begging me to stop rambling about menopause and the weather and how much of a dim, yet adorable child I was and get to the topic that you're all desperate to know more about: the news that I'm moving, again.

I'm afraid to say, even with access to a potentially wonderful backyard garden (stress the potential part), my cafe literally being 2 blocks down the street, the same cafe right near my laundromat, which means I can partake in Sangria Sundays while doing a load of wash, and even the wonderful smell of fried chicken wafting through the air, I am indeed still planning on moving.

You see my dear readers. I (and another girl, Claire), sublet from someone, when we originally came to visit and see the place we both were told that while this someone's boyfriend frequently was over, he had his own place in Flatbush, and was decidedly NOT a resident of the apartment. Quel Surprise, a month and a half later he hasn't slept at "his" place a single night. More so, we're now paying Manhattan Prices, for Manhattan-sized Space (the space divided by 4, not three) and basically going along for the traumatic ride of feeling like we're awkward groupies to a honeymoon. I, of course won't mention the fact that they're rediculously loud, I hear them every, single night, my ceiling and wall leaks like a bubbling waterfall in the rain and that I have to share a bathroom and shower with two people who regularly like to have group showers together, no I won't mention any of that, that would be petty.
Having come to one of those grand moments of OMG YOU TOO?! with Claire we have both decided to give notice on the 1st of April that we're moving out and we're currently searching for a 2 Bedroom place. So far our quest has produced some gorgeous albeit impractical results. Picture Pre-war apartment with bedrooms the size of a small house, for $1325. However the second bedroom had awkward glass doors, which made it more of a study off of the living room and less of an actual bedroom. Alas, there'll be more.

Suffice to say if you have two arms and legs and live within walking distance of a car, subway station or my old or future apartment, don't plan anything for the end of April, there's going to be beer and pizza and wonderfully light furniture to carry. I'm a big fan of blow up furniture, and so everything I own is light, ridiculously light and not heavy at all. I promise. You should probably bring a car if you have one, no reason in particular, just because I like cars, big spacious cars, with fold down backseats and strong people inside them, they're my favorite.

Brooklyn Museum

Well dear readers, hopefully you haven't abandoned me yet, Last weekend was filled with a visit to Jersey and the plague like illness that I contracted while there. Rest assured I am slowly mending, which is why I'm happy to say I present you with another adventure!

I went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art!

Easily got to by taking the 2 or 3 lines south until you get to the Eastern Parkway stop and Voila!


The Brooklyn Museum is the second largest in the City and arguably one of the largest in the United States; it was opened just prior to the consolidation of the Boroughs into New York City.
It has a pretty eclectic collection and sorts things similar to the way the larger Metropolitan Museum in Manhattan divides it's art, albeit with a slightly smaller collection. To its credit though the Museum embraces a more personal, human approach to art and although it has within it's collection Cezannes, Picassos and Monets, it also has a rather nice chunk of religious/iconic work, African, Asian and Islamic, personal artifacts of various other cultures. Some of my favorites, include:


Albert Bierstadt's "A Storm over in The Rocky Mountains", located within the America Identities, A New Look, American Landscapes exhibit, which looks at the changing concepts and norms of American art.

Another interesting one was by Louis Rémy Mignot "Niagara". I enjoyed most the thoughts of one child who visited the museum:


Pretty articulate for a 7th grader, even if from a school devoted to a Museum! See what you think of it:


Apologies for the weird angle, there was an awkward chair seating area in front of the painting and I wasn't sure if it was a 'Sit and Enjoy the Art!' or a 'This is a display of art that happens to be chairs'. Either way I didn't want to be the one who accidentally traipsed across the 15th century Ming Dynasty, hand-woven carpet made of unicorn hair.

Now for those kids at heart LOOK AT THIS! I was so amazed by it, and although supposed to be about how the West has essentially lumped Native American cultures into one category and illustrated this feeling by the whole plastic mold bit. BUT if for a moment we ignore the smallpox blankets for a bit and be amazed at this for the very fact that it's a GIANT PLASTIC (native american) INDIAN!:


Thank you Yoram Wolberger for creating "Red Indian#4 (Spearman)" and while making a social, political and cultural statement also making a life size toy!

And lastly this is just fun to look at. I forgot to look at the name so I have no idea who this is by or the title, but it is AWESOME.

What's also unique about the Museum is they have a large group of actual rooms (and an entire house!) of hisorical homes both from Brooklyn and other colonial states. Here's the Schneck House: It's the original Schenck House which was the family house of one of the settlers of the Dutch Colony of I think present day Flatbush. The Museum also has rooms from colonial South Carolina, Connecticut, 1920's New York. It was very cool to walk through and see how folks lived. (They were so short!)

Last but not least, what is unique (at least I think) about the Brooklyn Museum is they have a publicly accessible Collection Storage area. A humidity and temperature regulated space, it contains a large portion of the Museum's collection which it can't display due to space constraint. Nearly every Museum actually usually has more art stored behind the scenes then it actually displays to the public, it simply doesn't have enough wall space. The Brooklyn Museum, I think takes this in stride and allows both the protection and storage of it's collection but also the public a glimpse at as much of their art as possible. I managed to snap a picture for you to see what it was like:


If I haven't been able to convince you yet to visit the Brooklyn Museum perhaps this picture will tip the scale:


Yes, That is Three kinds of Beer and two kinds of wine, in the museum cafe. If you don't love this Museum by now, then clearly we cannot be friends. I did take a few more pictures of the nearby main Brooklyn Public Library and Grand Army plaza, which you're welcome to check out in my Flickr feed, I might include them in a general post about Prospect Park, but this entry would be HUGE if I included them too!

Hope you enjoyed my adventure to the Brooklyn Museum!

Kosciuszko Bridge

This will just be a quick "adventure" entry. Regrettably I was over served last night and so I am dealing with an epic hangover and a gashed and bleedy leg.

Let me explain.

Last night started off as any other night, had made plans to go to MOMA to see the Tim Burton exhibit with a friend and then it was decided that we should visit the fine drinking establishments of Brooklyn. How could we go wrong.

We started our evening off at my lovely neighborhood pizza place, whose charm is slowly being eaten away by it's complete lack of service. Although it has absolutely amazing pizza, it's windows announce what you're in for, in Niçois, the French dialect of Nice, is written "I don't give a shit, I'm from Nice." Midway through our dinner the waiter walked out for what I thought was a cigarette, except he never came back. Today I found out that my flatmate saw him in the local bar down the block, having a drink, about the same time we were having Pizza. Of course, I'll still go back, because it's amazing pizza, but I'll just lower my expectations.

Anyway, we then hopped on the G and took it to Metropolitan and Lorimer and visited the aptly named Metropolitan bar/lounge/place. It was pretty nice, Brooklyn Hipster central, I was in heaven really. We stayed there for a bit and then reaching the point of drinking exhaustion and getting sleep, we decided to head back to the Heights. This is where the adventures comes in.

The G was shut down for the night, we had to take a cab. The reader should note that trying to find a yellow cab in the outer Boroughs, regardless of the night is not an easy task, the reader should also note that trying to find a cab and then telling the driver how to get home, also not an easy task, when you've forgotten which borough you're in. I thought I was in Queens, and after the driver had some confusion about where I actually lived, I announced that we had to take the bridge whose name I can't pronounce, because we're in Queens and have to get to Brooklyn, did he realize just how lost I really was. We luckily made it home, after a nice conversation with the Israeli cab driver, who I thought was French and the only war wound I'm left with is a wicked gash on my leg from my bed. Apparently at 24 I need corner guards.

So that dear reader is why you'll have to get by without lovely flashy pictures and instead take pity on this poor soul who went into the ring with Brooklyn last night and lost.