I get on and off of the L train everyday and make the half mile trek down Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn. Since moving to New York, with all its freaks and noises and things that could provoke anxiety in a small town Massachusetts girl, this walk has become the most nerve wracking part of my day.

Bedford Avenue, or the hipster catwalk, is the main drag down oh so trendy Williamsburg. I try to stare straight ahead and smoke a cigarette as soon as I get off of the train, but inevitably some hipster catches my eye and throws me a dirty look. I can’t help but stare back because I wonder how long it took him to squeeze into those pants. Read More »

At least Britney Spears is an inspiration to someone.

TMZ has posted a video of artist Ryan Crotty’s alarming “installation” which was based off of the life of everyone’s favorite trainwreck.

Basically a baby doll being force-fed a Pepsi with it’s hand shoved into a bag of Cheetos, Crotty’s art was paraded down the streets of Los Angeles and –thank God– it was all captured by TMZ.

I want to hate on this “artist” so badly, you guys. You have no idea. With his dated “trendy” neckerchief and stupid oversized glasses, he looks no different than any East Village hipster (what’s the LA equivalent? Anyone?).

You know he’s a Perez-reading, VH1-watching, beer guzzling (probably only Pabst, though) dude…except he’s a “creative”-type.

You know what I mean. He shops at H&M and answers to no one!

Ugh. Spare me. This is art? This is what inspires the masses? This is the best we can do?

Either way, can we all agree that with this mockery of art, Britney has officially jumped the shark? Okay, so she’s a bad mother. Kevin Federline is suing her. She’s a crack-pot with bad taste in…everything. Read More »

I used to wear my iPod everywhere.

Walking to school, iPod. Sitting on the subway, iPod. Waiting for class to start, iPod. Grocery shopping, iPod. I never went anywhere without music.

There’s lots of reasons I chose music over realty, strange men telling me I should be their girlfriend at 8:30 AM certainly being one of them, but the easiest answer is that I didn’t really think there was much the world could offer me while I was alone. Walking by yourself can be a semi-lonely activity, especially if you’ve got a long way to go and don’t see many friendly faces on your way there.

So, I was plugged in. Walking quickly and keeping my face blank (looking too friendly in the city is sometimes an open invitation for crazy people to ask you to pet their plastic snake), I spent my days forging ahead and allowing The Police to soundtrack my life.

Until I overheard a conversation that changed everything. Read More »

So, I did it. I bit the bullet and posted a Missed Connection.

I couldn’t help myself. I had seen a cute boy on the subway. Adorable, actually. This kid was everything I had been hoping New York would have tucked away in one of its dirty, graffiti covered apartments. Everything I had dreamed I’d softly bump into one of these sultry nights on 2nd Avenue.

He wasn’t a skinny, nauseatingly dressed Hipster. He wasn’t a gelled Wallstreeter secretly hiding a yellowed wife-beater under a polished polo. He wasn’t a moody artist wearing eyeliner and hunching over a notebook covered in scrawling of his pain. He was adorably normal. Sweetly natural. Still un-New York-ified. Just like me.

I saw him on the R train heading uptown. The moment I sat down and spied him I became consumed with sneaking looks at his tired, boyish face. He was dressed like he worked in some kind of uptown office, black pants a little too short for his lanky legs, old school headphones perched atop endearingly tousled brown hair. For 15 minutes I looked at him whenever he looked somewhere else.

All too soon he got off. I tried to watch him leave, but my vision was blocked by a marvelously fat guy and his incredibly giant lunch bag. 15 minutes was hardly long enough. I wanted more time with this specimen of cuteness. Read More »