Hair Lust!

In Soho Over the weekend, a man came up to me and asked to take a picture of my hair. I was quite excited that a photographer would randomly want to take a picture of my hair. This implied that he liked my style. He then positioned me in front of a wall near by and told be to act natural. So I did. The end result was Lovely and in the process I learned that my style can effect people in various ways.

Visit the website and check out more pics!

hairlust.wordpress.com

A Harlem Adventure

My roommate and I decided that we needed to go Target to get some basic things for our dorm. As we searched for the nearest store using the store locator on the target website, we realized that the only two stores that were closest to us, were in Brooklyn and in Harlem. Brooklyn was too far for us, so we decided to go to Harlem. We saw that we could take the subway to get there, but we decided to take a cab just in case.

As we hailed down the yellow cab on 3rd Ave, we told the driver we needed to go to Harlem, 117th and FDR Drive. He turned around and looked at my roommate and I, and said "you two going to Harlem by yourselves." We laughed and said "yes we're just going to the Target, and then we're coming right back." He said, "alright, you got it." He then proceeded to tell us a few things about Harlem. He said that in his day Harlem was bad, very bad. But that it has changed a lot, and it has gotten better. He then told us that he lived in Harlem growing up, and he was there when "crack" came out. We found this pretty amusing because he was so honest with us about Harlem. As he pulled over on 117th, he wished us a farewell, and he added a be safe. My roommate and I quickly got out and headed straight for the Target. Harlem is definitely different than the Upper East Side. Everything about it, the look, smell, and people are different. I can definitely say a different crowd lives there.

The Target was just the same as any other Target I've ever been to. We loaded up on groceries, home supplies, and a few unnecessary things of course. As we walked out of the store loaded with bags around our arms, we didn't know where to look for a cab. We then saw a sign that said taxis. Turns out, they weren't the typical yellow cabs, but they were Gypsy cabs! As we loaded our things into the car we asked what it would cost to take us to 55th and 3rd. The drive said quickly, and quietly 20 dollars. The cab to Target had cost us 11. All we wanted to do was get back so we got in, and said okay. During orientation they did tell us not to accept gypsy cab rides, but since we were in Harlem we didn't want to walk around with tons of bags looking for a cab. Our trip to Harlem was an interesting one. I'll probably be back soon since Target is the best place to get everything, but at discounted prices. So maybe I'll have another Harlem adventure!

Ithaca is "Gorges"

Cornell University's football stadium

Over the weekend I went to Ithaca to visit my boyfriend, Max, who attends Cornell University. Ithaca is small city located about 250 miles northwest of New York City. There are only two means of transportation; plane or bus. I decided to use the bus, but will most likely choose to fly next time. The drive to Ithaca took approximately 4 and a half hours, but seemed briskly in view of the breathtaking scenery. Max and I spent Saturday morning and afternoon walking around campus. The university sits on a hilltop overlooking the rest of the city’s immense surroundings. Two sides of the campus are brought together by gorges. Yes, some theories reveal because of the pressure and “demands” of the school, Cornell University has one of the highest student suicide rates. It’s difficult not to notice all the black tall fences placed on the campus bridges over these gorges. Each school of study at the university has their own building and quad. No student should ever be in doubt when it comes to finding a book or a quite place to study with the school's 21 libraries. Because Max is a member of the football team I was able to see the stadium, and walk out onto the field. Overall, my visit to Ithaca this weekend gave me a good sense of what a college campus is along with little taste of the traditional college experience. I was however happy to return to NYC on Sunday night because I rather have my college experience here. It’s comforting to know whenever I do want a weekend of the traditional college experience I have Max just a couple hours away. 

R. Alex Stanford 

A Brand New Experience

Before coming to New York I always had a fear of riding the subway, I’m not sure if there’s a specific phobia for that, but if there is, I had it. Although that was only until the other day when I realized I had to take it in order to meet my manager downtown. I was so nervous when I swiped my New York City metrocard for the first time. I got onto the subway and just stood there, shocked, I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it. I anxiously awaited my stop (which felt like it was taking ten years to get to) but finally I heard the robotic voice that sounded more like music to my ears, announce my stop. I stepped out on to the subway platform still trembling with fear. I walked towards the exit sign and ran up the stairs into the daylight. I glanced around a bit, looked up at the street sign, and found myself on Bleecker Street. That’s when I closed my eyes and sighed with relief. My first trip on the subway alone was a success! At first I was very happy about this accomplishment that is the every day life for many New Yorkers, that was until I looked at my watch and it read 3:45. “I’m late!” I thought as I started running down the cobblestoned street. I was actually late to meet my manager on McDougal Street to catch up on my music career. After quickly passing a few streets I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was headed. Fortunately I met a young man with a map who led me in the right direction. Ten minutes later and I arrived on McDougal where I vaguely saw from a distance the figure of a woman about 5’1 with blonde hair, black skinny jeans, and a leather jacket. Right then and there I knew it was my manager, Maureen. We greeted each other and started walking the beautiful street. As we passed each storefront, restaurant, and club, Maureen had a story for each. She told me how McDougal Street, now mostly desolate, was once a vivacious spot where young musicians gathered. She told me many stories, as well as showed me many places. She showed me the street that Bob Dylan’s hit single “Positively 4^th Street” was based on along with the Blue Note Jazz Club where many renowned jazz artists have performed. Even though she has taught me so much music history in the past, this was still my first real music experience that I’ve had since living in New York and I loved every minute of it!

-Bianca Monica

Open Doors

Every morning I get out of bed, open my blinds and look down at the city street. The city that never sleeps, the big apple, also known as my new home. To some the idea of living in the city is only a dream, it used to be like that for me too, but I was able to make that a reality. Every day I walk the city streets with people of all kinds, people with different race, religious backgrounds, jobs, schools, and origins. But in some kind of fateful way, we're all in the same place, at the same time, and yet so different. It is amazing to see how many people are in one city, all out to accomplish different goals, for all sorts of reasons. I pass tourists with their excited smiles and flashing cameras. I pass business men and women with their briefcases and coffees at hand, briskly walking to make it to work on time. I pass joggers who look so focused on their running, seemingly not noticing anyone around them. And here I am amongst so many different people. My goal is to come a stronger person than when I came in. I plan to learn from other people's experiences as well as teach others my own. I hope to grow as a person, both spiritually and mentally. I plan to try new things and open my mind to anything and everything. I am allowing the city's doors to welcome me and open me up to things I never could have imagined in my small, New Jersey town. I am ready to break free from my high school mentality and finally become a woman.

-Erica Cavaliere

flea market in brooklyn

I sat down with the assignment and didn’t quite know what to write about. I’ve lived Upper East Side every time I’ve been in New York and I still do. I have friends whose kids I’m babysitting in West Village, I love walking around in Soho and Central Park is amazing. Thinking about New York made me realize two things: I have been in many places around the city, but also the fact that they’re all situated in Manhattan. Sure, my ex-boyfriend’s house was in Long Island and when arriving to New York and JFK you pass through Queens but that’s about as much exploring of the city I’ve managed to do so far. I approached this issue by bringing it up to my two roommates and friends. 

One of them, Michaela had never even been in NYC prior to her arrival 10 days ago and all she has seen aside from the view from the cab she took from Newark airport in New Jersey is Manhattan, mainly Upper East and Lower West. We haven’t even brought ourselves to go sightseeing, so none of us has seen Empire State building, The Statue of Liberty or The Guggenheim Museum. My other friend, Amanda has been in NYC more than Michaela but less than me but still happens to know her way around almost as good as I do inspite of the fact that I actually lived here for 4 months last year. Amanda’s sister spent some time in NYC and Amanda stayed with her for a week in her apartment in Williamsburg in Brooklyn. According to the sister, Lovisa, there is a flea market taking place there every Saturday and Sunday. She suggested an adventure for me to write about in the blog and I was excited to go there for the experience and the kind of used vintage items I was hoping to lay my hands on. 

I woke up at 10 am the morning of the adventure and after boiling a couple of eggs and getting ready  (which for some reason always takes us hours and hours) we walked from our apartment to the Metro at the corner of 86^th street and Lexington Avenue to take the 4-train all the way to Brooklyn. The subway was crowded and way too hot for the jeans and long sleeved T-shirt I was wearing and I felt ill, standing there at the hectic platform. A couple of men entered the train soon after us and played music and instruments to an applauding audience and that quickly put me in a better mood. We got to our stop at Atlantic Avenue but we had not yet reached our destination, for the question remained: where was the flea market located? I found a poster that read “FLEA MARKET, PACIFIC AVENUE AND 4^TH STREET” but it was after passing it the second time that we realized that the dates on the poster said 20-21 August. We asked a woman in a nearby Deli and finally got directions to the market after almost an hour in the intense heat and sun. To our delight the market was indoors and I was happy and relieved when I entered the air-conditioned building. 

I’ve been at flea markets before (there is a fabulous one over at Upper West Side) but this was definitely extraordinary. The different stands offered everything from jewelry to worn clothes, old bags and used furniture but everything seemed surprisingly clean which made the whole experience even more enjoyable. In the middle of everything they sold tiny cup cakes, old fashioned and vintage looking as if my deceased grandmother had made them decades ago in a household somewhere in Sweden. The rings and necklaces were art deco and probably purchased at Bergdorf Goodman by a wealthy woman in the 1960’s. The winter coats oozed luxury with their fur-collars and gold buttons and had most likely been ridiculously expensive 50 years ago but could now be ours for a couple of hundred dollars. There is something special with vintage. It’s a two-faced word, both amazing and rather solemn. Vintage tells us stories from past generations that are no longer around to share their own tales, it reminds us of something that used to be; something that once was full of life and taste and scent and energy and now remains as an old coat on a rack in the back of a store or in a basement full of forgotten things. As I walked through the mixed crowd I couldn’t help but wonder whom that breath taking Hermés Kelly-bag belonged to, who wandered the snowy winter streets in New York with that fur-covered hat and who the person was who wore those black leather shoes that looked like they had been transferred here directly from the 1850’s. Who was the child in the black and white photo and what stories could that old camera tell? 

My friends ended up buying a bag full of things but I only found one piece that I wanted. It was a ring made of the most beautiful turquoise stone I’ve ever seen. It reminded me of someone I used to know and once I held it in my hand I knew I had to buy it. 

I left the flea market with a cup cake to go, thinking about my grandmother as I was eating it, and we moved on to a restaurant around the corner we decided to have lunch at. Although it was passed 3 pm they still served brunch and we ordered pancakes, eggs, sandwiches and orange juice before we headed home to Manhattan with the 4-train, with a fuller stomach, emptier wallet and a whole lot of happiness. 

Johanna Pettersson

Discovering Little Italy

A person cannot find something unbelievable in this world while they are looking for it. The wonderful things and places will choose to find you when you least expect it.

The sun was just setting on a warm Friday night and i had just met my sister Nicole, her boyfriend Frank and my boyfriend Dan at Grand Central Station. We had no plan, or idea of what to do for the night. We just knew two things: We were excited, and we were hungry. Dan asked me what i was in the mood for and my answer became the theme of the entire night, Italian.

Before we knew it we were wondering around little Italy at night. Green, white and red lights arched over the streets giving off an enchanting glow. I remember having this nostalgic feeling of once again being a child at a carnival with the whole night ahead of me. My heritage is mostly Italian but for tonight, while i was here, i was 100% and more proud of it then i had ever been. Nicole and I slowly walked down the street; the aroma of authentic Italian food no doubt reminded both of us of our Grandmothers kitchen. We suggested the name of each restaurant to our boyfriends with fake and exaggerated accents. Although we passed a dozen places that would have been suitable, we kept walking to be sure that we were not missing an extraordinary one a little further up the road. Finally hunger stopped us all in front of an amazing little pizza place on the corner.

We chose a table outside so we could continue to take in the unbelievable atmosphere. As I watched the people walking by, smiling contently, i felt connect to each and every one of them because we were all experiencing this place together. I noticed the sign on the corner "Mulberry Street." My mind flooded with memories from my high school Crime and Violence class. Mr. Beler had chosen to dedicate most of the semester discussing the historical gangs and people of New York and he continually mentioned this street in particular. All of a sudden the history of where i was overtook me, i imagined that i had just gotten off a boat from Italy, The way some of my grandparents had, it would have most likely been this neighborhood that my family and i flocked to. Perhaps a distant relative of mine lived on this very street. I felt even more connected to this place then i had before.

When the pizza came it made every pizza I have ever had seem inferior. We all ate until we felt intoxicated. Afterwards, we wondered around more, noticing many novelty jewelry shops and places to buy useless nick-nacks. Dan and Frank both felt as if they had to have just about everything they saw in these places. Suddenly, we noticed the time, it was nearly 1AM and trains stop running at 2. We quickly picked up a box of cannoli’s to-go, and we all rode the train back to Connecticut together. During the long ride home I snuck a cannoli as everyone snoozed. The taste carried me right back to Little Italy, and i realized that without even looking I had discovered my favorite neighborhood in New York City.