All posts in category East Village

Quack Says Duck

New York weather is radical like Sylvia Plath, Jackson Pollack & Joan Crawford at a dinner party. What could be the most beautiful day; eventually ends becoming a humidity induced rain shower, followed by a rainbow, but more rain. On one of those quintessentially humid (& seemingly rainy) New York afternoons, I waited for Tony outside the Plaza hotel.

The forecast called for rain showers. In my own grand tradition, I left my umbrella on the subway. As I waited for Tony to arrive from Queens, I was praying to the weather gods. Please weather Gods don’t rain on my parade. Naturally if Barbara Streisand landed from the heavens and started singing “Don’t rain on my parade,” I’d be ok with that. Tony showed up with a surprise.

“Here, it’s going to be raining.” He handed me an umbrella. Unlike the generic umbrella bought at the local bodega, this umbrella was bursting with character.

The handle had the face of a duck. I smiled and proclaimed, “Oh my it’s a ducky umbrella.” Though, the rain didn’t appear that day, we had a wonderful day at the MOMA (Museum of Modern Art). While admiring all the avant-garde gems at the New York legend, I was most excited about the umbrella. While an hour previously, I had fear torrential rain with my new cute umbrella, I longed for it.

Ducky (as I lovingly named my umbrella) & I wandered the streets of Manhattan together. He kept semi-dry and refreshed in the most intense of storms. One day, my life changed.

I took Ducky to my favorite deli in Midtown. It’s where I go before work to enjoy a bagel & coffee. The forecast called for severe thunderstorms, but the morning was bursting with sunshine. I took Ducky out anyways. Hours after leaving the deli, I forgot Ducky. “Oh no, my quack is missing.”

However, the weather was still sunny and gorgeous, till I left the office. As I got on the subway to meet a friend for coffee, it looked like rain was on its way. I thought, Ducky was gone for good, no need to check the deli. As I exited the 6 train at 23rd street, the skies over Manhattan were dark and haunting. While, I sat with Jenny over coffee, a major thunderstorm hit. No umbrella in sight.

While walking down a rain soaked Broadway, I stepped into a Duane Reade & bought a new umbrella. “$11 bucks for an umbrella?” that’s not right, I told the cashier. She didn’t really care & I bought a very boring umbrella to keep dry.

As I walked toward the West Village for supper, the umbrella wouldn’t open all the way, leaving me partially soaked. Walking past the perfectly adorned brownstone residences, I proclaimed “Ducky, I miss you.”

As time went on, I returned to my deli. There in a shelf close to the cashier was Ducky. He was safe & sound. I almost kissed his beak, until I wondered where that beak had been.

From then on, Ducky & I enjoyed our rainy days together. We loved walking from the East Village to the West Village with rain pouring & fashion by David Bowie playing on the iPod. What can I say? We’re always going to be New York boys.

Cherry Blossom Boy

“Oy, I am schvitzing!” said I, while walking home on a random Tuesday night. New York magically transformed itself from Antarctica sans the penguins into a sunny paradise with a Margarita or two (or three).

The heat penetrated through my buttoned up shirt. Oddly enough, there was a charm to the change in temperature. The gritty city was beaming like a ballerina on stage at Lincoln Center.

However, as the journey to my apartment commenced, it hit me. “Oh no, winter is over.” My cardigans and sweaters will go back in the closet (unlike their owner) and hibernate till late fall. Nothing quite compared to strolling the West Village & East Village in my fall/winter wardrobe. Tears flowed down my cynical cheeks.

I finally arrived in my apartment and stared out the window. The sky was simply cinematic and devoid of cotton balls. At that moment, I realized it was time to embrace change. Rather than turning on my window unit, I walked out of my apartment building and enjoyed the early evening.

I took my nightly crosstown walk to the West Village. Although the sidewalks had awoken from winter’s slumber. I still missed the cold dearly. Then I ventured into Washington Square Park madness, which captured my attention.

There were Skateboarders, street musicians & banjos vs. drums competing for the undying attention of my eardrum. Sword fights with glow sticks turned the park into a rave meets Star Wars film set.

I sat on a park bench and celebrated the dose of massive stimuli. If heat brought about all this fun, then I would fancy more spring weather. As I wandered more, the city truly morphed itself into a giant block party.

The next day, I woke up to more enchanting blue skies. I excitedly stepped out in a light sweater, only to ran back upstairs and put a pea coat on. Spring only came for a day and went back into hibernation. Winter winds would dominate the weather trends in New York for weeks to come.

A few weeks later, spring arrived again and I embraced the comeback. Cherry blossoms colored the sidewalk with impressionist inspiration. Cafe tables spilled into the sidewalks invoking a bustling cafe culture from the East Village to Hell’s Kitchen & beyond. I went back to weekend morning walks along the Hudson.

2 Comments

by alasnyc on April 28, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in daydreaming, East Village, fashion, life experiences, New York City, offbeat, Uncategorized, walking

Posted by alasnyc on April 28, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/04/28/cherry-blossom-boy/

Alphabet Soup

In super market aisles across America-land, lives a can full of words. Alphabet soup is the dream that after school specials are made of. Not only, is it a tomato broth meet pasta marriage, but a very educational way to eat and learn.

The most thrilling part about the literary soup is find interesting letters to play with. Growing up it was always a delight to spell out words with my soup. Sometimes, I would find amazing acronyms and adjectives to play with. Other times, I thoroughly enjoyed discovering unexpected nouns.

Living in New York is similar to diving into a sea of alphabet soup. There’s always an unexpected and very joyous adventure. The sweet sounds of piano playing in the heart of Washington Square Park, serenading the jaded senses.

Strolling into a Lower East Side art gallery for free booze, only to realize my buddies just happened to be there. Then there are always the quirkier moments, i.e . naked painted people as an art exhibit all to themselves.

However, sometimes we become someone’s inspiration. Audria and I had a day of brunching and working on creative projects. After reaching our creative goals and doing a little happy dance, we decided to reward ourselves with a walk to Tompskins Square Park in Alphabet City.

While enjoying the lovely blue skies, which over naked trees & gentrified graffiti, we found Zen on a bench. While we talked, a very bohemian photographer approached Audria. ” Excuse me, could I photograph your shoes?” he asked. Audria wore a pair of distinctive leopard print ballet slippers. She gladly obliged.

Soon, we were asked both asked to be photographed. He took candid pictures of us conversing on a park bench. ” I hope I don’t come off as creepy,” he asked, looking a bit embarrassed. Being an extrovert, I told him ” no, go ahead take more pictures.” So he did. Soon Audria, her shoes and I went from muse to friends with the photographer.

We had so much fun, talking, that an older gentleman sitting next us, joined in on the conversation. He gave us a whole history of the neighborhood from which buildings were burnt down thirty years to freighting stories of a decaying New York.

As our conversation became endless, it hit me. From sitting in a park bench, we made two new fascinating friends. It all happened in a very unexpected and New York kind of way.

Scruffy

Late winter in the East Village brought out more love birds, than there are tulips blooming on a spring day. There were the scruffy tattooed bearded men rushing home for a cuddle and probably more. While somewhere on Second Avenue, the perfectly manicured theatre major couple picked out cupcakes at the independent coffee house. Then, there are the slew of older men oozing creativity and romance.

As for me, I was on a date too, with the city that is. While I had lunch with a friend at one of the many pop music playing, colorful gay restaurants in Chelsea, I made a major announcement. ” I just want to stay single,” my restaurant buddy looked at me in shock.

“I am not ready for a relationship, besides I live in the city, it’s a singleton’s paradise,” I uttered those words. With one swift bite of my burger, I finished dinner and walked into a utopia of men.

When it comes to the male population, New York really stimulates the senses. Every minute of every day, a new possible husband walks by. While, walking toward my apartment, I had to pee. There was a relief half way between my apartment & Fourteenth Street. The scruffy boy’s gay bar is where Sylvia Plath reading, Talking Heads listening, independent film loving gay boys with plenty of facial hair, a couple tattoos and hip fashion sense hang out.

Since, I had to pee and love beer, it was the perfect layover on the way to my modest apartment. As I ordered the first of my beers, I laid eyes on a scruffy world wonder.

He was also drinking beer and looking quite marvelous under the dim light. It had been a while, since I hit on a guy at the bar. Even though, I said I wanted to stay single, something said go out and mingle.

So I walked over to him and made conversation. Mr. Scruffy bear was visiting from Boston and as the conversation progressed, the unthinkable happened.

Yes, the conversation hit the dreaded wall of silence. It’s that awkward moment, when you realize “Shit this conversation isn’t going anywhere.” I drank my beer at high speeds. However, he decided to go back to his hotel room and I needed to go to the grocery store. Then it hit me; I talked to him and won’t have regrets later.

4 Comments

by alasnyc on March 21, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in East Village, gay, life experiences, New York City, offbeat, walking

Posted by alasnyc on March 21, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/03/21/scruffy/

Homo-Neurotic

The usually upbeat sky looked bleak and depressed. As tears fell from the above, I was drinking too much Dunkin Donuts coffee. As a fan of shit weather (i.e. snow, rain, grey skies), that particular day just felt gloomy

So, I called my dad in California. He didn’t answer. I called again and he still didn’t answer. Even though we have a continent in between us, our phone calls always make him seem like he’s just around the corner.

In order to alleviate my nerves, I went for a walk in the East Village (O.K., I do that everyday). Rain poured down from the sky as the Bowery was emptier than usual. My dad still didn’t pick up the phone. I grew more nervous, since I couldn’t fly to California to check up and feared something had happened.

Instead of playing in the sand box of neurotic thinking, I knew the one way to solve my problem was through art. So, I headed to one of my favorite art museums. Lucky for me, there was an exhibit on obscene art from New York in 1993. As I wondered into a world where breasts, graffiti, dildos, living rooms sets and arty videos equated art, I slowly felt better, but nerves persisted.

Then the unthinkable happen. Boom, shit, fuck, shit. I ran straight into a glass wall. The whole museum went silent. My first thought was “shit, I broke my nose.” As everyone looked at me with mouths open in shock. I felt mortified. The following words came from my mouth “I am a genius.” I laughed then everyone laughed with me.

The museum curator walked up to me. “Excuse me sir, I have to take down your information,” he said. “Why?” I asked. “We have to take down the info of anyone who walks into that glass wall,” he replied, while taking out a notepad. “Could I get free tickets to your gorgeous, but edgy museum as compensation?” I asked with a smile. ” No, sir” he replied. “Oh,” l said, looking quite disappointed, I proceeded with giving him my information.

My dad finally called. “Where have you been? I was worried sick and I almost broke my nose,” utilizing guilt and a worried tone made him apologetic. So, I was worried for nothing. Therefore, I learned to say no to the neurotic voices in my head, since it only creates fear. When they do make a comeback, I will delve into art instead.

1 Comment

by alasnyc on February 24, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in daydreaming, East Village, life experiences, New York City, offbeat, walking

Posted by alasnyc on February 24, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/02/24/homo-neurotic/

Underground Show

Music is the lifeblood for my right-sided brain. David Bowie, Blondie, Velvet Underground, Elvis Costello, the Ramones and Madonna supply stimulation while I work on creative endeavors.

New York rock bands from the early 60′s and the 70′s capture my interest. I was always sad that I never had the chance to visit CBGB’s, while it was still a piece of Downtown Manhattan’s quirky collage. However, the bands that emerged from the legendary venue live in my music collection.

While CBGB’s has been replaced with a pricey, John Varvatos shop, life south of 14th street still has a great music scene. For the longest time, I spent all my time downtown and didn’t walk into any music venues. One faithful Saturday night that changed.

Gino phoned me and asked, “Do you wanna see a show in the Lower East Side tonight?” I replied “I’m already in my pajamas.” With a little laughter, he said ” there are going to be half well off drinks.” I walked to my closet to pick out an outfit. “I’ll see you in 30 minutes.”

I took the subway to the Lower East Side and waited for Gino outside the Cake Shop (a coffee shop with an underground concert space). Waiting outside the venue was a parade of hip people. Black rim glasses, quirky style and a bit of irony were the fabric tied to the scene that night. I looked down at the horse at the left hand side of my shirt. “Oh, I’m definitely bringing preppy back.”

Gino met me and we walked downstairs to the show. It was packed, thanks to the drink specials, but I actually was excited to see the band. I hadn’t gone too many concerts.

After, Gino picked us up drinks, the band played. They had a distinctive New York rock band sound. It was Julian Casablanca meets Vampire Weekend. Thanks to my half off drink, I found myself jamming, even with my little horsey, distinguishing me as the lone prep.

I might have missed CBGB, but wow, this was truly fun entertainment. After the show, I felt excited. Not only did I have a fun time, but also did something out of the ordinary. I haven’t gone to many concerts since, but would be open for more fun.

Today, I have a concert playing in my head almost hourly. My favorite music listening experience revolves around ordering a chai latte, blasting Bjork on my iPOD and freely strolling the Lower East Side. It’s my form of creative therapy. Cheers to more loud music and booze.

3 Comments

by alasnyc on November 7, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Bjork, Blondie, CBGB, David Bowie, East Village, fashion, life experiences, Lower East Side, Music, New York City, offbeat, The Ramones, Uncategorized, Velvet Underground, walking

Posted by alasnyc on November 7, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/11/07/underground-show/

Astor Place

“I’m frizzed out,” says my hair in the summer. New York summers always meant one thing, hair drama. Therefore, when I needed to snip my luscious curls I headed to Astor Place.

It’s symbolized by a big black cube, which separates the East Village from Greenwich Village. It welcomes everyone as they step off the 6 train. There’s the normal mix of corporate businesses, NYU and independent establishments.

For me, it was the site of many wonderful haircuts. The Astor Place barbershop is the underground route for a snip and shampoo. It feels like the old East Village, grungy, alternative and filled with character. For about 20 bucks, a very experienced barber (who’s of course, seen it all) gives you a proper haircut.

It was my favorite hair salon in the city. Moving to California meant, no more cool Downtown barbershops. Instead, I did the unthinkable going to a discounted hair salon. One sunny afternoon, I had the wonderful luck of having a hairdresser who just came back from happy hour.

At first, I thought the haircut looked swell. A day later, I was prepping for work, when I noticed all my sides were uneven. “Oh no, I look silly.” Worst of all, I was off to Santa Barbara’s French Festival for the weekend with Nicole. I tried not to let a bad haircut damper my spirits. However, I kept obsessing over it on the drive up to the coast.

” You look fine, stop obsessing,” said Nicole. Self-consciousness took over. We arrived at the French Festival. For the Franco-phile (someone in love with all things France), it was macaroon wishes and cafe au lait dreams. Traditional French music played, champagne flowed freely, poodles paraded and baguettes were objects of desire.

I couldn’t stop thinking about my hair. We then passed a beret stand. Nicole insisted I get a beret. It then hit me; the beret would cover up my silly haircut. I let me inner Frenchman run free and wore a beret throughout our weekend trip to Santa Barbara. Surprisingly, it fit me well.

When I returned home, I went to the fancy people hair salon. I removed the beret, my hairdresser looked at the awful haircut and gasped. ” I’ll fix it, but it’s gonna take a while to look normal again.” She did a swell job making me look somewhat fabulous.

Eventually my hair went back to normal. From then on, I always reminded my hairdressers to make sure the sides are even. I also find out if they just came back from happy hour. I’m moving back to New York soon, which means more fun times at the Astor Place barbershop.

2 Comments

by alasnyc on November 6, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in California, East Village, life experiences, New York City

Posted by alasnyc on November 6, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/11/06/astor-place/

Catwalks of New York

Strutting down Broadway toward Madison Square Park, I walk in the shady side of the street, since it’s not plagued with heat. In early autumn, the city is still cooling down from summer’s intense perpetual heat and humidity. Regardless of the unpredictable weather, I wear my all black cardigan combo. During my whole trip to Madison Square Park, I survived without schvitizing (sweating). The true test of wearing an overly warm outfit is not breaking a sweat after my peaceful park bench retreat ends.

I have to walk from 23rd and Park to Chinatown for lunch. I continue on with my strategy, although the sun comes to greet me unexpectedly. As I speed through the Bowery, I schvitz a bit. However, I find a stoop in Chinatown to cool off. By the time, Judy meets me I’m minty fresh and ready for a delicious early lunch.

I’ll admit to sacrificing comfort for style. When it comes to fashion, I’m obsessed. I don’t follow up on trends, but adore combining outfits. My favorite time of the day is (believe it or not) the morning. I wake up after one of my many dreams of marrying a European prince and joyfully design my outfit for the day.

Ties and cardigans are my favorite staple. I love combining bold hues such as a black cardigan and trousers with a grey tie. It works well for three seasons of the year. For summer, I typically just do the collard shirt with jeans or khakis look.

Although, I probably was born wearing a shirt and tie (even though my parents tell me otherwise) there are times I do break the rules. One winter it was so cold in New York, I had my ugly laid back green winter coat shipped from California.

I felt like an oversize green bean in that coat. It was quite warm, but lacked the classic style of a pea coat or trench coat. One night, I went to a party at a Lower East Side hotel with Nicole and Krista. When we walked out of the party, a full on blizzard welcomed us.

We made our way toward First Avenue with snowflakes flying at high velocity. Even though, I wasn’t stylish with my green coat and old sneakers, it was a cozy walk in the middle of New York’s infamous bad weather. “Wow, now I know why people dress comfortably.” My cozy fashion stage didn’t last. I traded in my green coat and old sneakers for loafers and blazers.

David Bowie sang the “fashion” song. Not gonna lie, I’ve walked up Spring Street listening to that song while mentally transforming the sidewalk into the runway at New York fashion week. The city is a giant catwalk, where fashion trends are born.

The catwalk isn’t just fashionable Nolita or the trendy East Village. Styles are born at vintage shops in Brooklyn, along Harlem stoops and even on the 6 train. New York will always be the living breathing fashion magazine brought to life.

2 Comments

by alasnyc on October 31, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in East Village, fashion, life experiences, Lower East Side, New York City, walking

Posted by alasnyc on October 31, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/catwalks-of-new-york/

Naked In The Subway

I’ve had many awkward moments on the New York City subway. There are the usual heated political discussions at 3 am. My growling stomach providing ear candy for those who are not glued to ear phones. While drunken people swinging from pole to pole entertain the masses. Then of course, there are the panhandlers who claim “if you give a dollar today, you won’t go to hell tomorrow.”

The subway is home to a cast of characters, which inspires and keeps creative minds jaded. Not blinking an eye to the unusual is a trademark of the New York experience. One faithful evening, something changed. I was standing at the platform at 59th and Lex waiting for an Uptown train to Queens. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man standing in his underwear.

“Only in New York” I thought to myself. Then another man appeared. ” Well hello gorgeous in the dazzling plaid boxers.” People in the dead of winter wearing nothing but a coat and no pants surrounded me. I didn’t think much of it. They all took a downtown train and I didn’t see any more people posing in their undies in busy 59th and Lex.

A year later, I was sitting in outside a coffee house in the East Village with my buddy Kyle. He looked excited. “I’m taking my pants off.” I nearly dropped my very full cappuccino all over a newly dry cleaned winter coat. ” It’s no the pants on the subway ride, where everyone shows up dressed in their undies.” He looked thrilled to partake in knickers (had to use the British version of undies here) madness.

“Oh, that’s why everyone was pant less last year, it’s a flash mob thing” I proclaimed. As expected, I supported his decision to not wear pants in New York’s bitter cold. Personally, I love the idea of rolling around in my underwear on a nice blanket of snow. Unfortunately, I did not want to join the no pants subway ride.

Fast-forward, it was another Sunday night supper downtown. I walked on 14th street toward Union Square, when another interesting occurrence blinded my eyes. Wow, I was the only one on 14th street wearing trousers. It was a whole mob of bare legs with long stocks. Underwear representing boxers, briefs, and panties filled the usually trouser friendly sidewalks.

Union Square morphed into a sea of knickers. I felt slightly self-conscious wearing trousers for once. I wouldn’t have any fun undies to wear anyways.

The “no pants on the subway” keeps the city humorous and outrageous. When one feels like they’ve seen it all in the city, there is always that reminder, more interesting sights are coming soon.

4 Comments

by alasnyc on October 28, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in East Village, life experiences, New York City, offbeat, Uncategorized

Posted by alasnyc on October 28, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/10/28/naked-in-the-subway/

Bohemian Life

Bob Dylan sang those legendary lyrics “how does it feel? To be on your own like a rolling stone.” When I first heard those lyrics as a teenager it spoke to me. I knew that I would not live a traditional life. Therefore the idea of being a starving artist in New York City was romanticized, since it represented my interpretation of the Dylan classic.

Being the arty type meant going against the archetype set up by generations of parents who groom their children to wear a suit and carry a calculator like it’s the Holy Grail. Films and books, I read about made being poor in New York look so damn good.

The clichés were correct. My room was so tiny; I would extend my arms and could easily touch both walls. I didn’t have closet space and the radiator couldn’t function 99.9% of the winter. Like most New Yorkers, I had a severe case of claustrophobia.

In the city, we are surrounded by canyon like buildings, people in every corner and a general lack of space. Instead of moving somewhere boring where strip malls, supermarkets and baby strollers run wild like dolled up brunettes at Bergdorf Goodman’s, we learn to love claustrophobia.

Lack of closet space, no worries; just put your sweater collection in the kitchen cupboards. Small bedroom space means it’s a wonderful day to hang out in Tompkins Square Park. While staying warm is easy with an abundance of charming bookshops like the Strand.

While gleeful attitudes toward claustrophobia are inevitable, sometimes the flowery perspective is put to the test. One winter’s night, Nicole, Krista and I were en route to the Guggenheim Museum for a party. Bands, art and booze were the allure of the grand feast.

We arrived and the whole place was hopping. There were all kinds of people representing every ethnicity and subculture of New York. It was a fashionable crowd. At first, the party seemed like a delight. Then the crowds and music levels increased as the museum’s walls narrowed. Claustrophobia was out to get us.

Therefore, we took a couple swigs of wine and left the party early. We hailed a cab and took a journey to the Lower East Side. Everything from Park Avenue to the view of Stuy Town from FDR drive shined with charm. After a lovely dinner at a restaurant on Essex street, I was reminded why I can tolerate claustrophobia. Wonderful friends and delicious food make living the city an absolutely amazing experience even with its flaws.

I had my struggling New Yorker era. My life mirrored the lyrics of the Bob Dylan song “on my own like a rolling stone.” However, nothing beats living in New York. There’s no other place, which inspires me more. Keep the space and sprawl found in the rest of America, I’d take Manhattan please.

Coffee And Cardigans

All posts in category East Village

Quack Says Duck

Cherry Blossom Boy

Alphabet Soup

Scruffy

Homo-Neurotic

Underground Show

Astor Place

Catwalks of New York

Naked In The Subway

Bohemian Life

Recent Posts

Archives

Categories

Meta

Follow “Coffee And Cardigans”