Tag Archives: Barneys

It’s a hell of an Uptown

Daniel Barry for The New York Times

Daniel Barry for The New York Times

If it’s Tuesday, VPOTUS is in the hood. If it’s Thursday, it’s the studios.

For many celebs, star athletes, and heads of state, the East 60s Barney’s offers a safe haven where professional photographers and not-so professional paparrazzi types line the streets in hopes of snapping the perfect pic. For many, the Regency provides a home-away-from-home. That said, for 24 hours this week, Vice President Joe Biden’s security detail lined East 61st Street and much of Park Avenue.



Look’s like the balance of the week will be focused on film. And… Action.

Cameras and gawkers are standing by.

Gawker Tweet VPOTHUS


Yoga to the People

In my ongoing effort which began in August 2007 when I visited seven yoga studios in seven days which culminated in the all-too-appropriate crazy encounter with a carpool mom wearing a f@%* yoga t-shirt, after a two-month hiatus, I hit the mat again on Saturday at the Barnard student’s encouragement. She’d asked the 14-yr old and me to join her at noon on St. Mark’s Place for a yoga class.

In an effort to model healthy behavior, I tried to drag the 14-yr old to no avail but hauled myself downtown. With light snow falling on what was an exceptionally gray morning, I hopped the 6 train s to st marks place. Immediately upon exiting the subway station at Astor Place, memories of my past boiled up. I get a kick out of city travel to points known and not. On this day, I vaguely recognized my whereabouts. Mind you, this isn’t always the case.Alamo Sculpture, Astor Place Many times I look skyward trying to orient myself according to the location of the Empire State Building but without it in sight on the particular morning i spotted the hideous kinetic cube sculpture to my immediate east, the Cooper Union cooperunion.jpgFoundation Building and the all too familiar St. Mark’s Place just footsteps away.

The Yoga Studio is in a walkup. I followed nubile 20-somethings and trudged skyward along an old stairwell with a thick wooden and pin-wheel patterned iron work banister. There were three vertical studios. I entered one that was only beginning to fill up, strategically placed my mat in the front of the room close enough to see the instructor and directly in front of the near floor to ceiling windows that exposed us to the elements and surrounding brick building’s rooftops. Beautiful, fresh young faces and bodies from front of the room to the back, I was in heaven. Mind you, I brought the average age of the room up by no less than ten years but I told myself a. I’d be able to keep up with them and b. how lucky are these young, nubile bodies and minds to have yoga in their lives. I caught the wave in my late 20’s in Brentwood, CA. At the time, my east coast friends thought I’d drunk the southern ca koolaid. Little did they know.

After what was an hour of soulful, sans preaching stretches, I meandered out of the creaky old building, walked south on cooper which becomes the bowery across great jones. Downtown, this is my old haunt – I was 20 something, living in what was little italy now soho. There were crack vials in the too-cool for school tenement. Drinks at jones café (we called it great jones) across from a. warhol’s factory and though those institutions are still there, i passed an all-too contemporary great jones spa!
continuing south along West to broadway, I was tempted by crate and barrel on the nw corner of Houston.
Past sneaker stores galore – again the path of my past, college years spent visiting reminiscence, eventually reaching my destination, dean and deluca, the downtown version of eli’s.

I picked up salad fixin’s, choice of oils – 25-65$ range so that the budding chef can make dressing for the Park Avenue uncle would be joining us for dinner.

Loaded with 2 lge grocery bags, r train (yellow up to 5th ave) subway station with artists, young creatives toting portfolios, shopping bags with baguettes popping out, I headed uptown.

Exit at 60th (love that subway station with it’s zoo animal and gingko leaf mosaics) walk n on 5th, hooked a right on 61st past the Pierre where black limos, town cars, smokers and/or party go-ers usually line the street and sidewalks. Barney’s who’s windows currently state, love yourself, as I do having filled an hour with groovy yoga, no chanting, praying gratitude to instrtuctors .

Reach 61 and mad, more cars with drivers lining the street while their peeps shop. Couldn’t help but notice the garbage picker on the corner, light skinned male in multiple layers of clothing sifting through the day’s newspapers, combining one bottled beverage with another. The light changes, eyes forward, I carry my belongings home.

Where is the love?

Past is behind me. Not quite home, yet. Namaste.

hey downtown!

Hey Downtown. One of my favorite things about living in NYC is Central Park. Ok, it IS my favorite thing. It’s a crystal clear blue sky morning, temps in the mid-30’s and after taking the ten-year old to school on the Upper West Side (UWS) by taxi, I stopped for my usual decaf-grande soy latte on the corner of 72nd and broadway, headed west with a stop at Crumbs for a half-dozen Valentine’s Day cupcakes for the family and five beeee-u-feeeefull pink and whites (cookies) for my favorite police officer/Super and his fun police sargent wife. All this in anticipation of my cross-park walk.unknown-1.jpeg

I continued east on 72nd with a right turn on Central Park West. I always get a kick out of walking past the San Remo and the Dakota, reminiscing respectively about celeb residents Bono and rejected Madonna, “Ghost Busters,” and John Lennon , Yoko Ono, spooky Rosemary’s Baby and the Democratic party I attended in celebration of the Dem convention in NYC years ago.

All this to say, I love the park. As the ten-year old said while we held hands and rode in a yellow cab this morning (mohammed was our driver), “you can’t hear the cars” when you’re walking in the park. Yeah. that’s why it’s so great. The quiet, the nature, the Central Park South skyline, the solitude. Not long ago, the ten-year old and I bumped into an actor-son of one of our former LA neighbors. To say this city is small is an understatement. I’ll save that story for another post.

Today’s meander had me cherishing the sky, admiring Sir Norman Foster’s Hearst Tower and wondering why it is that CNN got the distinct privilege of attaching their graphic to the top of their tall building. It struck me that no other entities have their name plastered high above. Meanwhile, I stepped carefully and kept one eye on the ground because there are small piles of icy snow along pathways; a subtle reminder of the snowstorm that wasn’t night before last. While it started off with a bang, yesterday’s heavy rains dashed all dreams of a blizzard and/or snow day.

I passed a movie shoot along the rocks where the 10-year old and I watched Bill Nye, The Science Guy, last summer. Bill reported about our precious water supply coupled with consumption. Today’s stars were not known to me. A 20-30 something couple, he in a grey flannel coat, she wore a big brown mink coat. I thought her outer garment, with it’s symbol of wealth partnered with her perfectly coiffed blond main was an uneven match for his proletariat style. Soulful hardworking man meets soulful rich girl? It won’t work.

And speaking of movies, Definitely Maybe, which opens today received a wonderful review by A.O. Scott in today’s NYTimes. “Definitely, Maybe,” written and directed by Adam Brooks, is a nimble and winning little romance. As you know, the ten-year old, who missed a day of school last year “act” as an extra, ended up on the cutting room floor, but we had the distinct privilege of attending the premiere on Tuesday, snow-storm and all, and some of us went to the party at The Four Seasons to celebrate with cast, crew, production and friends. Much fun and despite not seeing the boy on screen, according to A.O. concludes “it navigates the choppy waters of modern courtship with commendable, understated honesty. Perhaps the best evidence of this is that this movie, unlike almost every other Hollywood tale of New York singles, was actually filmed in the city.”definitely-maybe.jpeg

The city where we live.

Exited the Park at 61st, just across from the Pierre Hotel. It always cracks me up as I pass the place, doormen, fancy people coming and going. Continuing East on 61st Street, I look in the windows of Barneys. Today is their “bag” day which means goodies are handed out with every purchase of $x.

I’m in the saddle now, settling down for another day of “concentrated” writing interrupted by peeks at email and facebook. I can’t seem to get a handle on the facebook thing given my weird “handle”: 70’s talk for my name. I tweaked it when the then 13-year old and I registered for an account in an effort to understand what all the excitement is about. Now that she’s 14, she still doesn’t want an account. Our mutual friend, yours and mine, encouraged me to join our “group” which I did… now I can’t get enough of the stuff.

So, a-writing I will go, coupled with aforementioned time-sinks, some basic “housekeeping” calls, downtown to order biz cards and then up to 116th for my beloved “news and journalism” class.

talk soon. xxoo