Footloose + Fancy

Dave and Maggie. A portrait. (Credit: David Lindsay:...

Fri, 17 May 2013 10:58:00 -0400

Dave and Maggie. A portrait.

(Credit: David Lindsay: http://dav-eed-lihn-sahy.tumblr.com/)

You could do a few things this weekend: 1. Bring some flowers to...

Fri, 10 May 2013 13:21:00 -0400

You could do a few things this weekend:

1. Bring some flowers to a friend, or if you’re considerate, YOUR MOTHER. (It’s mother’s day, but hopefully you know that unless you’re motherless). :(

2. Decorate your lawn.

3. Contemplate your options and calculate risks.

4. Get a little tipsy at brunch (hopefully with inlaws!)

5. Fuel your workouts with thoughts of sweet treats you can consume.

6. Get lost. No, seriously, GET LOST.

When I was seven years old, my father took me on a road trip...

Wed, 08 May 2013 19:14:00 -0400

When I was seven years old, my father took me on a road trip that lasted for seven weeks. The idea was simple: we would fly-fish around the United States. We packed our things, our fly-fishing rods, a tent, some books and journals and our old dog, Amos. Atop of the car, sat our green L.L. Bean canoe. We planned to drive our way across the country, learning about poetry, the great outdoors and to see how long a seven year old can go without her Barbie dolls.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember the trip that well—at least, not all of it. Instead, I can recall strange little blips, little moments that stick out in my mind like a sore thumb. I remember eating ice cream at Niagara Falls and sharing licks with Amos. I remember the smell of the campfire, my clothes drying after a dip in the water, the feel of the canoe and the baked beans with hotdogs my Dad sometimes made for dinner. I remember visiting the home of a relative of Jesse James and how she made me try on her vintage dresses and they all smelled like mothballs. I remember riding horses, galloping through open fields filled with daisies and bobbing for apples.

But, I can’t recall interesting conversations, or big moments or things that acted as a turning point in the trip for both my father and me. I wonder why that is. Why do I remember what the grilled cheese tasted like at a diner but not how Mt. Rushmore looked, glimmering in the sun?

Since college, or when I took a fabulous film theory class, I’ve been obsessed with the concept of memory and what we choose to remember. Why do some things make such an impression and others do not? When I’m home visiting family, I tend to watch home videos. I’ve done this so many times in my life, I can recite lines from them.

Later, after I’m done watching them, I try to force myself to remember the moments captured on film. At times, I think I’ve done it—but then, after careful contemplation it seems that I’m only remembering the video and not the moment itself. Maybe, Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) should create a “service” that allows you to access your memories like a film reel, where you can pull up a memory of your grandmother on her wedding day, or a family vacation to a desert island. This way, you never lose them.

A random musing, yes. But interesting, I think. Memories have been on my mind recently, since I stumbled upon some old photos from our trip across the country.

Beautiful photo by the talented Trevor Triano. See more of his work: here.

Two summers ago, I was an intern in a wine cellar in Vermont. I...

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 10:41:58 -0400

Two summers ago, I was an intern in a wine cellar in Vermont. I rode my bike from my apartment to the farm where the cellar was located; about a 6 mile ride in each direction. Pedaling up steep hills and careening around winding roads and passing by dusty farmhouses, I used to get so hot and sweaty and sticky. I looked forward to learning about grüner veltliner or the maceration process in a chilly and dimly lit cellar—a place I could rest and cool off. But frequently my delight at the colder cellar temperatures diminished quickly as the trickles of sweat dried on my arms and I began to shiver and get hungry.

The summer weeks I spent shelving wine, tasting it and learning about varietals were some of the best memories I have—that period of my life (a recent college graduate, in a new relationship and amidst the Vermont heat and mountains) wasn’t constricted by time or an intense pressure of need/want. Instead, it was a time I spent going to dinner parties thrown by friends, writing love letters and taking bottles of wine to the movies. It was also the summer that I learned to love the olive.

Before I interned at Shelburne Farms, I hated olives. I asked that they be removed from my salads and entrees. I shuddered at their presence on my plate. But, on a swelteringly hot day at the farm, one where I was doing more manual labor than learning, my boss offered me a Castelvetrano olive to tide over my hunger until dinner. Briny and crisp, I waited for my gag reflex to kick in as I chewed. And then I waited some more. Nothing. In fact, at that moment, these olives were the most delicious thing that I’d ever tasted. I ate 10 more and went back to work, savoring their salty taste for the rest of the day.

Two years later, I order olives by the bowlful. I add them to my salads and my entrees. I eat them for snacks and for dinner. It’s funny to think that at one point in time I hated them, despised them—and all it took to sway my mind, to alter my taste buds was a hot day, a cold cellar and a hungry belly.

You may have noticed something. You may have noticed that the...

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 14:55:00 -0400

You may have noticed something. You may have noticed that the weather is getting warmer. You may have noticed that there are new movies coming out in theaters this summer. You may have noticed you have a gray hair. You may have noticed you need a breath mint after lunch. You may have noticed that your sock has a hole in the heel. Or you may have noticed that I’ve been on a bit of a blogging hiatus—one that has been full of moving boxes, a new Brooklyn neighborhood, bikram yoga and a ton of TV drama.

I look back on this month that just passed and I try to pinpoint what it was that made me shy away from writing. Maybe it was the boxed up books on my floor as I transitioned from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn. Maybe it was the lacking sense of direction I feel constantly about work, writing and life in general. Maybe it was the few bouts I had with a few different sicknesses. Maybe it was Don Draper and zombies coming back to life and HBO, the entire network really.

But, I’m back. Think less Arnold Schwarzenegger and more like a slow stretch on a Sunday morning, hungry for breakfast and a good book. I can’t promise that I can do much in life—like basic math or sing, but I can promise to update this little beauty of a blog and to tap some of the interesting people in my life and make this a place you’d like to come to again—to read about things on your lunch break, or before you sleep or when you wake up or because you have a fondness for nonsense and a love for me that just won’t quit (talking to you David Lindsay). Good to see you and see you soon, as in, tomorrow.

A week ago today, I was snuggled deep into the sea green couch...

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 12:26:12 -0400

A week ago today, I was snuggled deep into the sea green couch in my childhood living room, cooing at my aging dog, Noah, talking to my friend Emma and watching the flames in the woodstove dance and lick at the air. I spent 10 days at home, in Maine, caring for my sweet house while my parents vacationed in Mexico. Driving a car around familiar old streets, feeling my face flooded with light in the morning, eating food that’s been prepared for with care, hearing the wind blow at night and visiting with my grandmother, Kathleen, were some of the perks that made me feel like I’d been revived and brought back to life. They were more than lovely—they were restorative and acted as a reminder of the things that I hold dear.

I love NYC—I really, really do. In fact, I’m about to move to Brooklyn (on Friday!) and I am oh-so excited for this new transition that will hopefully bring more creativity and interesting people into my life. But being at home made me realize how I have put some things that I love most about life on the backburner: light, family and quiet.

Maybe my hope with moving to Brooklyn should be to infuse my life with these things again. I should take the time to have make coffee at home, savoring the flavor and the quiet instead of rushing to buy it at a chain café. I should write to my grandmother a few times a week, exchanging letters about my grandfather and her life before children, just to know about how she felt and what she did so I can remember them for years to come. I should read more; learn about so many more things. I should lie in bed for a few extra minutes in the morning, just listening to the sounds of shoppers, commuters, couples, letting the day begin, instead of forcing it to. I should do these things, and do less of the things that bring rush and hurry and fuss to my life.

So here’s the Brooklyn and fabulous grandmothers and Maine. Oh Maine. And, here’s a song for you, that I’ve been keeping on repeat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3jdbFOidds

Up Above the Clouds On Friday afternoon of last week, I sat next...

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 13:59:00 -0400

Up Above the Clouds

On Friday afternoon of last week, I sat next to a man named Javier, and flew from LaGuardia to Portland, Maine. After a coffee and a few biscotti, Javier and I began to talk about our lives, our travels, our fears and the twenty-year age gap between us. With two kids, a big backyard and weekly trips to pharmaceutical conferences, Javier is a busy man. He told me about what it’s like to work hard on his marriage in a tough economy, traveling on weekends, how much he loves watching movies on Friday night with his kids and how weird people are at drug conventions, where the bar for weird is remarkably low.

He told me so much about his life and who he is, all in a matter of fifty minutes. And I reciprocated with stories: about my parents, about my intense fear of flying, about my job, and my long-distance relationship. We went from strangers to great friends to strangers, sharing a drink and a few jokes—if only for a brief moment in time. Up above the clouds there is no honking taxicabs, no screaming children, no rush to be somewhere else—it’s just you, the person next to you and the next forty-five minutes of your lives.

And so, the plane landed and we bid each other farewell, trading a “Have a nice trip!” for a “Travel safe!” Watching Javier walk away I felt happy that I’d met him. For me, living in New York with 8 million other people, it’s nice to stop and chat with one of them every once in a while.

As I waited for my baggage to come through I began thinking about the other interesting interactions and thoughtful conversations I’d had on planes. There was the man I met with a long curly mustache, traveling to win back his old girlfriend. The Google Exec who asked me for a summer reading list. The Spanish woman who held my hair back as I got sick on my first solo flight to Italy. All of these connections have stayed with me since, but mostly for the comfort and for the story.

In my experience there is a sense of impermanence when it comes to airplane conversations, of anything goes. The need to pretend that a relationship will last falls away as we climb up above the clouds. There’s no point in pretending that you will ever see each other again, so why NOT bare your soul? These conversations tend to breed a sense of ease, security and openness. People share things with you that they haven’t shared with the closest members of their family. And it’s kind of wonderful, in a strange way. It’s a moment of shared connection, a simple bond, and a chance to learn about what it’s like to live another life, to be another person.

Image above from the one and only and handsome, David Lindsay.

I am currently hunting for an apartment in Brooklyn—and I just...

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 11:43:00 -0400

I am currently hunting for an apartment in Brooklyn—and I just want to cry and go home to Maine and snuggle my old dog and watch movies while I drink wine and eat ice cream. Right now, I live in a lovely apartment on the Upper West Side, but, I want to get down and dirty in Brooklyn, where my friends live and the affordable but delicious restaurant scene is rampant. I want to live among the ladies and gentlemen who are making it all happen, the place the NY Times is currently writing about, the place where people do things like attend barista conferences and have careers filling dresser drawers with buttons. You know, #art.

But finding an apartment is hard and my dreams of fun couch cushions and brass accents are going up in flames as I start to face the reality of my bank account (when I login I expect to see this in place of actual numbers: :( ). But that’s what Pinterest is for, right? It’s a place you can pretend design the home you will never have because who color blocks their staircase in real life? No one, that’s who. NOT YOU, Maggie.

These days, under the fluorescent lights, I have to stick to fantasizing about a space that’s filled with things that make me happy: vibrant art prints, wild patterns, David Lindsay, pictures of my parents in their thirties, French windows, sun-soaked wooden floors, fireplaces, books from my childhood, green and pink plants and a couch that swallows you whole with comfort.

Find more images, and images above: here.

This week has been a strange one—I’ve been so tired and...

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 15:17:48 -0500

This week has been a strange one—I’ve been so tired and overwhelmed with emotion. In an effort to not let my chocolate eating habits get the best of me, I’ve resorted to channeling my never-ending stream of tears into exercise and movie-watching. This past week I’ve done a few good things: gotten back into bikram yoga, began apartment hunting with my baby brother, Jack and signed up for a design class online. So, things are looking up or towards the future.

Everyone has a different way of dealing with the fatigue that comes during midday—mine is to sleep at my desk. Just kidding. During the middle of the day, if my eyelids begin to droop and my body begins to feel sleepy, I sip on a triple espresso for a while, or put on some music that makes me tap my feet. But this week, the fatigue has been hard to shake—I can’t seem to get out of my sleepy funk. I just want to crawl into a heaven of down comforters and drink chai and listen to Etta James.

Here’s to the weekend—may it be laden with sweet dreams, fresh mornings and sleep-filled nights.

Mixing Tapes and Breaking Hearts (I wish)

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 15:51:00 -0500

Mixing Tapes and Breaking Hearts (I wish) :

Mixtapes are not dead. They are indeed alive and well and they exist on the internet (and in our hearts that are completely in love with 80’s John Cusack and roadtrips/love letters/leg warmers). I have found a place, Tape.ly, that is oh-so talented in the art of allowing one to create a mixtape. The only downside is that you can’t write out your love letter confessions on the front of the tape with a sharpie. BUT. You can create a playlist/mixtape for your friends to enjoy and dance around to. Which is exactly what I have done. It’s called Sunshine and Southern Comfort, which should give you an idea of how you’re supposed to dance to it and get ready for spring. Just click the title above to get groovin’. Or go back to 1970. Your choice.

xoxo,
M

PS—The mixtape cover image is by the one and only, and most handsome, David Lindsay.

When I was visiting my Dad over the holidays last year, I asked...

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 15:18:38 -0500

When I was visiting my Dad over the holidays last year, I asked him what the food he would miss most is. His response? Peanut butter crackers. I love that. It’s uncomplicated, simple and totally him. I spend an inordinate amount of time perfecting my tastes to try to reflect sophistication, creativity and intelligence. The problem with this is that sometimes, it’s these tastes are not what I want, or what I love the most. They aren’t something I’d miss if they were gone. I try to force myself to remember that it’s ok to indulge your comfort zone instead of stifling it.

Sometimes, I just want the recipe for the Tuna-Pea-Wiggle my mom used to make me when I was a kid, not the Boeuf Bourguignon from The Art of French Cooking. Sometimes I just want to watch Sleepless in Seattle and not anything by Akira Kurosawa. At times I’ve wanted to fall asleep reading Harry Potter and not Jane Austen.

This isn’t to say that the sophisticated things that I don’t want aren’t wonderful and that I don’t ever want them—I do. They just have a time and place. There’s just something about comfort and things that make you nostalgic for home, childhood, make you rest easy. They don’t stress you out. They’re peanut butter and crackers.

This weekend, I finished Nora Ephron’s book, I Remember Nothing. I loved it. In her book, she kind of hints at what I’m talking about above, in two essays entitled, What I Will Miss and What I Won’t Miss. They’re really nice lists, if I do say so myself, as an avid list-er. I think Nora and I would have gotten along oh-so well.

So, for you:

What I Won’t Miss

Dry skin

Bad dinners like the one we went to last night

E-mail

Technology in general

My closet

Washing my hair

Bras

Funerals

Illness everywhere

Polls that show that 32 percent of the American people believe in creationism

Polls

Fox TV

The collapse of the dollar

Bar mitzvahs

Mammograms

Dead flowers

The sound of the vacuum cleaner

Bills

E-mail. I know I already said it, but I want to emphasize it.

Small print

Panels on Women in Film

Taking off makeup every night

What I Will Miss

My kids

Nick

Spring

Fall

Waffles

The concept of waffles

Bacon

A walk in the park

The idea of a walk in the park

The park

Shakespeare in the Park

The bed

Reading in bed

Fireworks

Laughs

The view out the window

Twinkle lights

Butter

Dinner at home just the two of us

Dinner with friends

Dinner with friends in cities where none of us lives

Paris

Next year in Istanbul

Pride and Prejudice

The Christmas tree

Thanksgiving dinner

One for the table

The dogwood

Taking a bath

Coming over the bridge to Manhattan

Pie

You could do a few things this weekend: 1. You could go for a...

Fri, 01 Mar 2013 14:26:25 -0500

You could do a few things this weekend:

1. You could go for a dip.

2. You could throw a party.

3. You could give someone a handmade gift.

4. You could watch a film.

5. You could read a book.

6. You could be sweet and request a back rub.

7. Or you could take a nap.

Find these images and more, here.

My junior year at the University of Vermont, I took a class...

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 15:17:00 -0500

My junior year at the University of Vermont, I took a class called Introduction to Film Theory. The first film that we watched was La Jetee, from 1962. I remember the lights being dimmed in the classroom and the film beginning. For the better part of 28 minutes, I was mezmerized and curious. Or, addicted. There is a moment, in the film that if you blink your eyes, you’ll miss it, making the act of spectatorship and paying attention of the utmost importance. If you know this film, you’ll understand the musings below, but if not, you should watch it for a better understanding.

(Watch the whole film here: http://www.hulu.com/#!watch/215917).

Later on, in the semester we read Roland Barthes’ Camera Lucida, in which Barthes explores photography and the act of taking a picture and also looking at one. It’s a complicated, difficult and interesting read, one that also inspired me to take a closer look at my feelings when looking at photographs.

In the book, he uses an image of his mother as the primary stage to examine his own senitments and desires. Two words emerge from the reading; studium and punctum. The studium denotes the cultural interpretation of the photograph, while the punctum is more a personal detail, a pin-prick of personal interest to the viewer. It’s the thing that makes you stop in your tracks, or catch your breath, or re-read a passage, or stay on the page a minute longer.

The photographs above mean something to me, or bother me in some way (either good or bad) and I’m not sure why. But, I thought I might share them to see if they do the same for you.

You know, I realize that this post is boring, and though it’s interesting to me, I feel the need to apologize to you. I have tried unsuccessfully on many a date to engage others in conversation on this topic… and needless to say I didn’t get a lot of second dates. So you’re not alone in hating it.

Friends and Lovers: How to Throw a Party. So, we made another...

Tue, 26 Feb 2013 11:00:01 -0500

Friends and Lovers: How to Throw a Party.

So, we made another video. Check out this second botched attempt at trying to focus and follow people, objects, places and things. I should get rid of the champagne next time I’m behind a camera. Enjoy!

I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t practiced making an Academy Awards acceptance speech in...

Sun, 24 Feb 2013 18:30:00 -0500

I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t practiced making an Academy Awards acceptance speech in the bathroom mirror. In fact, I used to dream of that moment far too often in my younger days—a moment in which I would thank my mother for her eternal beauty and grace, blow a kiss to my “then” boyfriend (John Mayer) and cry, causing mascara to run down my cheeks. In my dreams, I always received a standing ovation.

These days, my fantasies are in check (somewhat) and I enjoy watching the show just as much as I enjoyed dreaming about being a part of it. I would bet, that over the course of the two decades since I saw my first film, I haven’t missed an Academy Awards ceremony. I love them. They make me teary; they remind of my former (ha!) flair for the dramatics and they are filled with great moments. Historical moments. Moments that remind us why it is we love the movies.

Above and linked here are some classic LIFE images of Academy Awards from the past—there’s Grace, Audrey, Marlon, Paul and Joanne. So much glam and elegance it makes my head spin. It almost makes me wish you’d seen it myself. Below are a few links to some of my favorite acceptance speeches: Matt and Ben, Cuba and Tom. Get your Kleenex out. I’ve already got mine (and my sweatpants).

Cuba, Matt and Ben, Gwen, and Tom.

You could do a few things this weekend: 1. Hang out with your...

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 15:06:00 -0500

You could do a few things this weekend:

1. Hang out with your best friend, giggling and telling secrets.

2. Get ready for your closeup, Mr. DeMille.

3. Go for a walk.

4. Do something stupid but still look good while doing it.

5. Tend to your garden.

6. Offer someone a hand.

Or you could make homemade pesto via this recipe from Tiger in a Jar. Mm. Whatever it is I hope it’s Wild and Crazy Kids.

I’m sorry to do this to you. Here, on my blog. But, I can’t help...

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 13:56:56 -0500

I’m sorry to do this to you. Here, on my blog. But, I can’t help myself since it is my blog. It’s been one of those weeks—a week where I took a step back and looked at what I was (what I am) doing, and thought, hmm. Is this it? Is this all there is? This isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s more of a progressive thing, I’d say. If I do say so, myself.

What I mean is this—I am enjoying my life, but it’s a tad lonely and comes with a sprinkling of boring. I want to learn even more, eat weird spiders and sea creatures, and to do more of the things I’m passionate about. I want to have funky key chains. I want to walk down a runway. I want to use the Italian I learned in college to film a movie short, in, get this, Italian. I want to own a dog named Chopstick. I want to try my hand at so many artistic and creative outlets that my head wants to spin and pop off.

I guess the next step is figuring out how to do this, exploring and creating and getting funky, all while still maintaining a sense of responsibility and a pure hatred for oatmeal (only boring people eat oatmeal/sorry oatmeal lovers).

Dispatch from the obvious bubble: there are some things in life...

Tue, 19 Feb 2013 11:15:00 -0500

Dispatch from the obvious bubble: there are some things in life that you’re good at and some things that you aren’t. Duh. But! I am constantly in awe at the number of things that fall into the latter category. I like to think that like our changing taste buds, growing older and wiser inspires us to become better at the things we used to be /currently are horrible at. Or, in the case of taste buds, to appreciate a good brussel sprout. To illuminate my point:

I am always impressed at my inability to take a good picture. Its sheer luck if an image comes out in focus. And, I almost always opt for the easy (and cheesy) shot: my feet against the tarmac; smiling puppies and bouquets of flowers; a handsome man laughing at a joke. When I look at Dave’s photographs, I find myself jealous of his good eye and capability to see beyond the immediate surface. His pictures are so much better. Guess that’s why he’s a professional.

I mean, I should be able to do it—take a good picture. I’m surrounded by people who are good at it, who give me great advice. But, I can’t. So, it seems I must add it to the list of things that I just can’t do properly: have a stress free conversation with my landlord. Own more than one sheet. Talk on a landline. Invest. Send faxes. Take care of plants. Wash my clothes after each wear.

It’s a tough one, this life.

A love letter to dinner parties Dear Dinner Parties, Why you...

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 12:49:00 -0500

A love letter to dinner parties

Dear Dinner Parties,

Why you gotta be so fine? For centuries people have been witnessing your ineffable charm, your beautiful and worldly accents, and your ability to bring friend and foe together over a decadent slab of meat. How cool it must be to be you! I’ve had the pleasure of hanging out with you on many the occasion and I’ve decided that since it’s Valentine’s Day (and on Valentine’s Day you come clean with your feelings) I will admit this burgeoning secret that I’ve held inside for quite some time: I love you.

I do! You’re the best. You’re so versatile. You can be stylish French soiree or a scantily clad bachelorette party. You can be prim and proper or down and dirty. You can be country western or Fleetwood Mac themed. How enriching it must be to experience so many different cultures, intimate conversations and delicious meals! I am oh-so jealous.

So, there you have it, dinner parties. I love you. If I could, I would throw you a dinner party in celebration of you being so awesome. Thanks for sticking around all of these years.

Love,
Maggie

Volume No. 3 Homemade Bars: These days, I like to unwind with a...

Wed, 13 Feb 2013 14:39:00 -0500

Volume No. 3

Homemade Bars: These days, I like to unwind with a nice glass of wine when I get home from work (listen to me; I sound like the stuffiest old man on earth). Walking home from the subway, I like to stop by a little wine shop called Vino Fino, that’s a few blocks away from my apartment. Up until recently, I craved wine. But, as of late, I’ve been wishing that I was cool enough to have my own homemade bar. I imagine the type of person who has a well-designed bar, with little treasures and delicious spirits, funky shakers, etc., is someone who knows a lot about life, or at the very least is someone that I would like to have a drink with. Ideally, I’d decorate my homemade bar with two types of gin, some seasonal flowers, striped mixers, dotted straws, printed ice buckets and cocktail recipes. Oh, a girl can dream.

Random Camaraderie: You know those moments in life when someone does something spontaneously romantic, or a situation has gotten out of hand or there’s a crazy person yelling about Jesus next to you on the subway? Usually, if you’re lucky, there’s also a normal person, just like you—sitting or standing or watching nearby who’s just as aghast or just as amused by the events, crazy person, as you are. To me that’s random camaraderie. It’s a rare connection, a shared link that doesn’t exist outside of that one experience. I love those moments. Where you happened to catch something truly crazy, daring, bold, impractical, passionate, romantic and you share it with someone else you don’t even know, someone who just happened to be on the same train home.