She Bangs? Or Botoxes.

This article cracked me up. It's about how, instead of getting Botox on their forehead wrinkles, women are cutting bangs to hide them. They call them "Bo-bangs." I guess, if you can pull off bangs, it's a fairly cheap alternative to plastic surgery. As long as you don't go for the bizarro "I just did this myself, and, oh yeah, I'm 5 years old" super-cropped look. I have been against this look since childhood, when I gave myself an ill-executed haircut. It was not well received by my parents, and resulted in the destruction of my Hello Kitty safety scissors.

Anyway, the article reminded me of Valley of the Dolls when Jennifer attaches a "frownie" to her forehead to prevent her from furrowing her brow and creating wrinkles. So I looked up these Frownies, and found that they are very much still available. Despite being around for 114 years, they have had some very good press recently, including the coveted plug in O Magazine. A box of 144 Frownie patches is only $19.95, so I think I'm going to try them out. I'll let you know how it goes.

This also reminded me of a friend, who said that for her 13th birthday, all she wanted was bangs, and a chinchilla. Sadly, she was denied both at the time, but is now making up for lost bangs-time with her current hairstyle, and maybe some therapy.

The Maligned Secrets of the DABA Sisterhood

The last couple of days have found the NYC news and blog worlds abuzz about these girls, girlfriends of men in finance who are dealing with the fallout of a tumbling Wall Street. Their blog is meant to provide support to the women whose significant others are stressed about the security of their finance-industry jobs.

Oh yeah, it sounds all warm and fuzzy and "let's stand together and comfort each other in this hard time." Yet it quickly becomes apparent when reading their posts that these women are not feeling the economic pinch in the same way as other Americans. While millions are trying to figure out how to pay their rent or feed their kids, these soulless wenches are bemoaning the decreased frequency of spa facials and $400 dinners. They complain about being stuck with men who they think are pathetic shells of what they once were. I swear, as you read the blog, your stomach turning further with every line, you can actually hear their high-pitched whining clawing its way out of the computer. I believe the highlight of the site is when multiple women, some married, exclaim, "this is not what I signed on for!" Um, no, you signed on "for better or for worse." Did you ask your husband if he signed on for a gold digger who would find him repulsive without his billion-dollar bonus?

I would suggest that someone should take these girls to Darfur or a Mumbai slum for a weekend getaway to give them a little perspective, but that would imply that they actually had a conscience or a shred of self-awareness, and would be able to comprehend why they should perhaps keep their sob stories to themselves. That being said, blog on ladies, and stay strong in these trying times!

Pour Some Out: Domino Mag. Boo.

Today sucks for so many reasons, besides wading through cold sludge to get to work.

I won't get into the work issues. There isn't enough room on the internet.

The news came at me from dozens of sources today that, after months of rumors, my beloved Domino magazine is closing, effectively ruining my day and I'm sure a few days to come. I'm still mourning the loss of House & Garden, so this was too much to take. Domino was the one design magazine that, every now and then, included something that I could afford, and interiors I could actually see myself in. I couldn't wait to get to the mailbox to devour the yummy eye candy on its pages. I know this sounds crazy to non-design-obsessed people, but I'm sure my designer pals will sympathize. I'm proposing that we all cut out of work early to go sit shiva at a bar somewhere. Are you allowed to drink while sitting shiva?

If it weren't so cold I would storm over to Conde Nast and give them a piece of my mind. This reminds me of when they cancelled The Muppet Show, and I was very upset, and my dad said he would write them a letter for me. It never really worked out. Thank god for DVDs.

Posh Squat

Right now, in a part of London akin to New York's Park Avenue, about forty squatters, mostly artists and students, have moved into two abandoned mansions, each worth about 15 million pounds. They say that it's all very civilized, and not at all a crack house. The funny thing is that they are totally within the law unless they start trashing the place.

While the locals seem to have mixed feelings about the squatters (this article makes no bones about their disapproval), I'm sure that if this happened in New York, the neighbors would head over to Gracious Home to buy jewel-encrusted pitchforks and mahogany torches before heading over to drive them out.

It reminds me of punk houses, although I don't think any of those were ever located in multi-million dollar mansions.

Surreal Sights

Seeing a plane floating in the Hudson river seems completely surreal, nevermind the helicopters flying above my apartment until the 11:00 news ends, making me feel like Henry Hill.

It also reminds me that I forgot to finish my post about this photography competition. The picture of the grounded ferry boat in Lancashire, England reminds me of a New York story that most people today don't know about. The SS Normandie was an opulent French ocean liner which US authorities seized in New York harbor and renamed USS Lafayette, with hopes of converting it for use in World War II. However, a welder's torch started a huge fire, causing the ship to turn on its side where it stayed for over a year. Can you imagine a huge ship just sitting sideways right off the West Side Highway for a year? Unreal. eFootage.com has great video of the Normandie, before, during, and after the fire.

However, on a recent walking tour of the East Village, our tour guide told a slightly different story of how the Normandie ended up on it's side. He said that notorious mobster Meyer Lansky had tried to negotiate with the government to get his pal Lucky Luciano released from prison. He offered to have the mob protect the harbor during the war in exchange for Lucky's freedom. When the government refused, the Normandie suddenly and mysteriously had a giant fire, scaring the government into accepting Lansky's offer. A quick internet search yielded some information to connect the two events, but apparently the government still disputes working with the mob. Either way, I think the mob story is much more fun than an errant spark starting it all.

And I highly recommend taking the East Village History Project's walking tours. The tours are free, but they recommend tipping your tour guide, which you will definitely want to do. We took the "Gangsters, Murderers & Weirdos" tour, one of their most popular. It's a cheap, entertaining way to learn more about New York and the history that is sitting right under your nose.

No Words for His Words

This story from the Niagra Gazette (via Fark.com) is insane and hysterical. This is my favorite part:

"When they asked if he was alone in the car, he allegedly said, “No, I had a group of midgets with me who ran away when you got here. Yeah, I was (expletive) alone, dude. Do you see anyone else?”"

Even super sloshed, I think I would have the mental restraint not to say something like that to a cop. And if I were the cop, I definitely could not keep a straight face through that exchange. In all fairness, I'm sure most people, drunk or not, feel like "sassing" cops when they ask you, "Do you know why I pulled you over miss?" Blah blah, I get it, just write the ticket.

It's gotta be the shoes

Hollister Hovey has great taste, and a great blog, and a fabulous name. Her post yesterday told how, before a trip to Paris she took great pains to find the right shoes as so not to stand out as the obvious American tourist. At the outset this may sound ridiculous, but anyone who has been forced as I have to wade through throngs of tourists in certain areas of New York City can attest that it's all about the shoes. Other than the stopping mid-sidewalk and staring bewildered at the sky whilst clogging up foot traffic and angering the locals who actually have somewhere to go, shoes are the telltale mark of a tourist. Generally they wear bright white sneakers, although the equally horrific Crocs have been ubiquitous in recent years. I'm not claiming that New York is quite as fashionable as Paris, but it is certainly a close second, and most New Yorkers wouldn't be caught dead in bright white sneakers or Crocs, Mario Batali excluded. And don't even get me started on their Uggs. While this sounds terribly snobby, this ABC News special shows hysterically how awful tourists can seem, and how people react to them. Although the people in the special were actors, they didn't seem too far off from people I've seen in New York. And as far as tourist bashing goes, this guy (hysterically) takes the cake.

For anyone who still thinks that both Hollister and I are crazy, this how-to will help you see the light. Knowing is half the battle.

One final note. The second easiest way to spot a tourist is the mandatory "I heart New York" t-shirt. I swear they must issue them at the airport gate and tell all visitors that they must immediately put them on, and may not remove them until they are safely on their way back home.