Not the New Edition song. The forecast!
The forecast calls for a full week of bad hair in NYC.
I can’t help but feel that the bad weather has been following me.
Hope you have a great week, whatever the weather.
Don’t miss his Sh*t Pat Kiernan Says video.
If you don’t live in the New York Metropolitan area, you’ve been missing out, but don’t fret: Pat’s new show Crowd Rules kicked off this week on CNBC.
OneChicklette: Your favorite qualities in a love interest
@patkiernan: Friendship, honesty, passion, persistence.
OneChicklette: Your chief characteristic (one word) Continue reading
Thankfully for all involved, she has a far more sophisticated view of this sort of thing.
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When my good friend asked me to write a guest blog post and suggested the Met Gala, I thought my post was going to consist of me banging my head against my desk because yet again people didn’t get what the Met Gala was all about, and wouldn’t get the daring fashion looks.
To my surprise, the masses including Twitter totally got what it was all about, but the people in attendance did not.
When I first heard that the theme for this year’s Met Gala was PUNK I was thrilled! When I was younger I thought of myself as punk: I listened to punk nonstop, I wore plaid, spikes, docs & chucks, had every hair color you could think of, hung out in a garage drumming for my band, and went to punk shows. To say I was pumped for the theme Anna Wintour announced for this year would be quite the understatement.
Reviewing the looks, though, I was beyond underwhelmed.
The possibilities with this year’s theme were endless Plaid, spikes, leather, Dr. Martens. Hell, I would even take duct tape.
But it appeared that 90% of attendees didn’t get the memo that PUNK was the theme. Even Anna Wintour herself didn’t embrace it. I understand that it’s risky to step away from pretty gowns, but that is what the Oscars are for. This is one event where you can wear things that are normally reserved for fashion editorials or on the runway. The Met Gala is the night to push fashion limits.
Many people looked good for all intents and purposes, but that is not what it’s all about.
Burberry were two of my favorites of the night. Both Cara Delevingne & Sienna Miller rocked it out in studded pieces. The looks are both feminine yet still have the punk edge.
I noticed the buildings pictured recently on my way home from work and thought “Not all walk-ups are created equal.”
I’m grateful for my elevator. Some of these walk-ups aren’t even cheaper.
I love cheese. Wouldn’t it be fun to know more about it? I think so.
In my opinion, the funkier the cheese, the better. I’m not sure there’s a cheese I wouldn’t try.
Here in the New York metropolitan area, there are cheese making classes. But I think I just want to eat it!
These are a few of the options I’m considering:
I had dinner at Lucali the other night. It’s a special little restaurant in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn.
Lucali serves pizza and calzones. That’s it. Take your pick.
Lucali is BYOB and cash only. Fortunately a member of our party brought a really enjoyable homemade red wine.
For dessert, we had calzones filled with sweet ricotta, drizzled with nutella and dotted with sea salt.
As promised yesterday, here is my Houseguest of Horror story.
I was 22 years old. Maybe 23, but probably 22. An acquaintance from back home in Pennsylvania got in touch to say that she and another friend were coming to NYC. Could they crash with me?
Sure, I assume I said. I was young, rash and not set in my ways as I am now.
I might also have wanted to show off my cool Gramercy Park apartment, a large studio with a separate sleeping loft that functioned as my bedroom. It even had a closet up there. The building has been renovated and turned into fancy condos now.
The acquaintance and her friend, a big burly dude, had me meet them at Peculier Pub. When I arrived, they were already drunk. Drunk enough that I started feeling nervous about them being my house guests.
We can fast forward to the important part of this story because the details are both fuzzy and unimportant. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I awakened to find the male guest peeing all over my bathroom floor in a drunken stupor.
I was horrified – OBVIOUSLY – but not intimidated for some reason. I kicked them out. I didn’t care that it was sometime around 5 am and where would they go. Nope. Out. I yelled my head off, angry and grossed out until they left.
Adding insult to injury, the female acquaintance told our mutual friend, and anyone else who would listen, how I kicked them out, somehow managing to spin the story in her favor. She never apologized either.
Thanks for bringing back this awful memory, Apartment Therapy.
I loved this beef brisket sandwich.
And this cocktail, the Malay michelada.
I was bummed when the restaurant suddenly closed, and stay closed for a long time.
But Fatty Cue is back. Yay!