Book Culture: Where to Find It in NYC

I’m routinely asked how I like living in New York City. If it’s by a New Yorker, this is usually phrased as “Don’t you love it here? I mean, I love it. I could never live anywhere else. Could you imagine? God!” or something to that effect. I think this billboard sums up this attitude best:

classic

And while I have loved parts of the city, especially the (often) perfect months of May and October, those parts haven’t added up to enough to allow me to respond with a resounding “Yeah, I love it. It’s amazing.”

My commute crosstown to work each morning  is enough to make any sane non-New Yorker break out in a machine-gun-toting killing spree. Especially in the winter, when it’s 20 degrees out (okay, quiet already, you Midwesterners, I know it could be colder but you have to remember I grew up in Southern California and my peoples are a tropical peoples), and the wind makes that feel like 12 degrees, and you’ve taken great care in dressing so as to not allow one chink in your cold-fighting layers only to have something ride up or ride down, usually where you just can’t reach, and winter’s icy fingers jab you right in the back or hairline or across your presumably boot-bundled toes.

Sorry, I digress. But one of the main things that always, always delights me about New York is the plethora of art/culture offerings, especially for someone like me who is obsessed with the written word. There are book readings, discussions, panels, festivals, award ceremonies, performances – all highlighting that great and magical thing.

Field Trip: Wave Hill, Bronx NY. . . with Bees

Last weekend, CityBoy dragged me out of the City for one last, pre-winter hurrah. As you probably know, Jho and cold weather do not mix. I am a very unhappy camper. CityBoy jokes that it’s always too hot or too cold in New York for me. Which is almost the truth. There are about four weeks each year that I enjoy. Two weeks of spring/heading into summer and two weeks of fall. Otherwise, it is an abominable mess out here.

But back on topic, being the impressive planner that he is, CityBoy realized that last weekend was going to probably be one of the last nice weekends we’ll have for a long while (how depressing is that?), and he decided that he really wanted to get outside of the city for some Nature, with a capital N.

the Pergola Overlook

Which is how we ended up trekking out to Wave Hill, a gorgeous public garden and center set atop the cliffside in way upper Bronx. If you’re familiar with the area and/or have taken a MetroNorth or Amtrak train heading north from New York, you’ll remember seeing these amazing red cliffs from the train as you’ve speed along the Hudson. That’s where Wave Hill is. 

…And Some Wedding Thoughts…

Very early on, maybe a week or two into our engagement, CityBoy and I decided that we didn’t want a long engagement. We were approaching four years together, and it was time for this show to hit the road. (I’m not really sure what this means, but you know what I’m saying, right?) I couldn’t imagine spending a whole year (or more) trying to plan the “perfect wedding.”

As most of my friends know, I’m pretty relaxed about most things. I didn’t have a wedding hope chest, or any real notion of what kind of flowers/dress/cake/etc. I wanted. I’ve watched Say Yes to the Dress, but more as an exercise in schadenfreude (a la “Good lord, why would you spend $20,000 that you don’t have on some hoochie dress that shows your bare midriff on your wedding day? You are an idiot and I’m glad to not be your husband.”).

But I did know what I didn’t want.

First, an Announcement…

So something extraordinary happened a few months ago, in April, to be precise.

CityBoy asked me to marry him.

Out of the blue. On a cold, rainy evening. Surrounded by candles and flowers and Filipino eggrolls. (I told you he was a good man.)

this is a proposal dinner, people!

After I stopped laughing (It was the nerves, I tell you! The nerves!), I said, “yes.”

And then there was a ring. And a book, since it’s CityBoy.

isn't it pretty?

Here we are, as illustrated by my niece Sophia.

it's scary how well this captures us

I’m one lucky lady.

I’m Alive…and Have Been to Europe!

[First off, my sincere apologies! A draft of this post has been sitting around in cyberspace since June 12th. June 12th! "Joder!" as the Madrilenos like to say. Some important things have changed in my life - more on that later - but for now, I give you this old, but still pertinent, blog post.]

Yes, faithful readers (if there are any of you still out there). Jho In The City lives. And she’s experienced Europe firsthand (Madrid, Spain to be precise).

Back in May, I visited one of my favorite people in the world, Ms. D, in her happy new home of Embajadores, Madrid for a blissful week of overeating, overdrinking and oversleeping. I wish I could go back right now and do it all over again.

I’m super backed up on things to tell you about, so I’m going to be snappy here.

First, a few things I learned in Madrid:

- Lisping is sexy. Especially when done by very beautiful Madrid boys. Hello, boys.

- Madrileños have a special relationship to ham, or jámon as they call it. I don’t know what pact with God they’ve made, but it was a good deal. If you go to Spain, eat the jámon, as much of it as you and your salt-craving palate can stomach. Then wash it all down with a local beer. Deeeee-licious.

Bellying up to the bar at Museo del Jamon

Jamon-flavored Ruffles?? I think I've found my homeland!

- Tapas cannot be fully appreciated outside of Spain. These people have got afternoon drinking down to a decadent science. Order a cold, frothy cerveza at any sidewalk cafe and they will give you free nibbles. Sometimes lots of free nibbles.

- Did I mention the free nibbles? Baskets of homemade potato chips, olives, chunks of ham or salami, bread with olive oil. It goes on and on and on. These are good people, my friends. Good, good people.

It should go without saying that we saw some beautiful things in lovely museums – the Goya room at Museo del Prado is a visual stunner I will carry with me forever – and laughed at many ridiculous things on both Spanish TV and YouTube (I now have even less reason to trust ducks).

But most of all, I’ll miss the impossibly long talks with my friend. There are people in this world who just get you, you know. They’re like your sisters but better, because they didn’t try to steal your clothes when you were young or get you in trouble for picking on them. Time with these people, these fabulous go-to-the-end-of-the-world, help-you-bury-a-body people, is so precious, you have to just forgo sleep and reasonableness and saving your voice in the name of soaking up all that good time, all those amazing stories, all that laughter, and bottling them up for the next time.

God help us, let there always be a next time.

Hasta luego,

Jho

Thankful for…Snow Days

snowy rooftop view from our apartment

We officially received 19 inches of snow overnight, and the city this morning was hushed and almost peaceful. City buses were suspended after midnight, and the usual roar of traffic on First Avenue (which you can just see at the top right corner of this photo) was muffled to the very occasional car or taxi.

It is absolutely beautiful out, or so I’ve been told and shown by sites like gothamist.com. I do plan to go outside at some point today (thank god I’m off). Or at least I think I’d like to go outside.

But the beauty of a day like today is that you can feel totally guilt-free for hunkering down with a good book and a bag of potato chips. And there’s leftover Chinese food for lunch!