Friday, August 26, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Late Friday night, a long line wrapped around the Mission Theater. People waiting hoped a space would open up inside, where the first episode of “Portlandia” was about to be shown to a packed house. Some people said they did not own televisions — or that they did not get IFC.
“It’s got to be a little elitist, you know,” said Tony Robinson, working as the doorman. “That’s part of the Portland thing, too.”
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!! Of COURSE a bunch of them don't have televisions. Totally brilliant.
There is so much to love about this show (especially as a Portland native), and so much to love in this article, especially the TV line. Oh, Portland. You are so cute.
Portland... where young people go to retire.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Eve and Rich Kessner left the West Village for Park Slope with their daughter, Avi, last March. But after six months, they found themselves looking for a new place to live. “It felt really suburban to me,” said Ms. Kessner. “Park Slope has puppets and guitar strumming for kids. In Williamsburg, it is like rock ‘n’ roll for kids.”
You're so special!!! You should live in a more special neighborhood! You should make sure your kids are cool like you! Go on with your bad selves, hipsters!
I don't know why I keep reading this shit in the NYT. It just gives me a major fucking headache.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I didn't even realize bad coffee was causing problems in Paris. Who knew? Glad the NTY is on it.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
It's Thursday, and you know what that means... The New York Times practically writes my post for me. (Thanks, Big T!)
I present to you this Las Vegas treasure in all its glue-gunned glory. You can't really hate this place or these people. PURE LOVE:
Mr. Hart, a singer and composer whose gospel musical, “Sisterella,” counted Michael Jackson among its producers, created all eight bedrooms: the four-poster swags made of bed sheets; the ruched silk ceilings; the gold-leafed armchairs, which he bought 30 years ago for $10 apiece and gold-leafed himself.
“All my family has a black belt in shopping, and we have radar when something is 70 percent off,” Mr. Hart said.
Understood. But why so much?
“I’m just from Texas,” Ms. Hart said. “I like it big.”
On arrival, though, it was clear that informal is something the Harts do not do. A round table had been set in the grand foyer with a printed menu, and red napkins were stuffed into black patent-leather stilettos on each plate. Tiny glass slippers had been hot-glued to the side of wineglasses from the local Dollar Tree store (a precarious gig for the reporter’s slipper, which fell off in her hand). More glass shoes had been glued to a six-foot silver-and-faux-candle candelabra.
Mr. Hart wrote a song called “Big Hair Gets You Closer to God." I just thought you should know.
More from the article:
Ms. Hart began renting out the house for weddings in the mid-’80s, though she also officiated at Las Vegas chapels. She’s had her share of celebrities but is proud to say she’s always been discreet.
But weddings can be grueling, and disgruntled modern brides, aided by the Internet, vicious. “Totally run-down, tacky fake flowers everywhere, roaches, brought-in food and located in a horrible part of town with no outside ambience,” groused one, under the name travilyaya, on tripadvisor.com, with the heading “Do NOT Do It There.”
That review hurt Ms. Hart horribly — it was “not remotely accurate,” she said. But since she is getting on and is sick of mopping all those floors, she recently put the Hartland Mansion up for sale, for $8.5 million.
Larry, who now runs an events company called Botanica Las Vegas with his partner, Michael Flach, lives in a town house in the suburbs, and Ms. Hart often stays at her condo at the Las Vegas Country Club. The 34-pound bedspread in her grand bedroom at the Hartland Mansion is too heavy for her, she said, and when she does stay there, she sleeps in a workroom littered with bills.
The only family member who still lives at Hartland full time is Garry, in a suite off limits to reporters and reportedly utterly free of pearls.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
For the nursery, which was painted before the baby was born, the choice was turquoise. "I figured the blue had enough green so it would work for either sex," Ms. Louie explained.
Another totally newsworthy home featured in the paper of record. HERE.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
From the New York Times:
Serious cold, Justen Ladda said, is when the sponge in the kitchen sink feels like wood or the toothpaste freezes or the refrigerator turns itself off, as it did one particularly frigid day last winter. Not that Mr. Ladda, a 56-year-old sculptor who has lived heat-free in his Lower East Side loft for three decades, is bothered by such extremes. “Winter comes and goes,” he’ll tell you blithely, adjusting his black wool scarf and watch cap. (Along with fingerless gloves, long underwear and felt slippers, they are part of Mr. Ladda’s at-home uniform when the mercury dips.)
Mr. Ladda, whose work is in the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art, decided long ago to live without central heating. Proper temperature control, you see, would require insulating his wooden ceiling, and ruining its fine acoustics. “I know this sounds really lame, but I listen to a lot of music and it just sounds better,” he said. Also, the rent on his unimproved live-work loft is only $300, well below many people’s winter utility bills.
Slide show HERE.
Could you? Would you?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
“The client usually begins by pointing out things that they like,” Mr. Mishaan said. “It almost seems like I owe you — and I don’t.”
Mr. Logozzo, furious, sat in stony silence, barely making eye contact.
Mr. Mishaan proceeded to give a detailed explanation for every change that had been made, and for why he had opted not to make others.
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
You must read THIS design drama.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Welcome to Mr. Hathaway’s “boutique three-quarter house,” as one friend described the facility that Mr. Hathaway, once a fixture of Manhattan’s social scene, has made of his home here. It’s a six-bed, men-only, “step down” retreat — that is, a residential treatment environment for those who have already completed a 28-day rehab program but, vulnerable to relapse, are encouraged to follow some sort of “stepped down” care.
Read it all HERE. Audio slideshow HERE.
Is good design good medicine? Can your home heal you?
I really recommend watching and listening to the audio slideshow. It’s such a good reminder that homes aren’t show houses, and that this isn’t just set design. It’s about having a space that makes your life better.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
From the article... (read it all HERE):
In the summer of 2007, they were living in a cramped studio in the West Village when they received notice that their landlord was planning to raise their rent from $2,000 to $2,500 a month. Around the same time, a much larger apartment directly above the one Mr. Capron’s brother was renting in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, became available — a two-bedroom 700-square-foot space for $1,900 a month.
They liked the size of the space and the location near Prospect Park, so they made a somewhat unconventional proposal: rather than asking the landlord to make repairs, they offered to do what they estimated would be about $19,000 worth of work themselves (a figure that included materials and labor costs), in return for a four-year lease with a $400 monthly discount, so they could recoup their investment over the life of the agreement.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
This is great. HERE.
“My father, before he died, told me, ‘I can’t stop these dreams — I keep seeing all the people I missed on the route,’ ” Mr. Backerman said.
...Mr. Beberman does not advertise, and his business is not listed in the telephone directory. The sight of his truck alone brings in more requests than he can handle, he said.
Still, the truck has its limitations. The rattling cases are so precariously perched that he will not risk driving over the Brooklyn Bridge to expand into Manhattan.
Mr. Beberman is choosy about whom he entrusts with his expensive bottles, many of which were hand-blown by Czech and Austrian makers before World War II. Each bottle holds 26 ounces. His customers must be serious about their seltzer and accept his rules. He refuses to carry cases up flights of stairs anymore. There are no half-case options. You order seltzer, you pay for 10 bottles. If you pay late, you do not get seltzer.