Evergreen?

Must be E. Williamsburg. My parents didn't like the standing trash water either.

Via New York Shitty.

Graffiti that educates

Greenpoint, Brooklyn


























Borrowed from New York Shitty.

My mother came to NY to feed me

My mom and stepdad came to visit for six days and I gained two pounds. Granted I also had a cold, so I double-justified their visit with my cough for reasons not to work out. Plus, it's so easy to find yourself walking 2-3 miles per day in New York--that counts, right?

In Sacramento, I lived in East Sac, which is about a mile and a half to most of midtown's madness, but heaven forbid I walk that far! OK, OK, I'll bike and sometimes skateboard, but walk?? You must be crazy. It was hard not having a car in Sacramento, but that's some of the reason I kept in touch with friends. Sometimes you have to hit up 5 or 6 people in your phone book before you find a ride.

New Yorkers don't even know how to drive except for taxi drivers who routinely honk at pedestrians as they run red lights. Buses are a little smaller, but they still zoom between massive, growling garbage trucks and brave parked cars. It's not rare to find Range Rovers and Jaguars parked in the Lower East Side, even though you know the fanciest car anyone owns in that neighborhood is a Mazda.

So yeah, I walk a mile to work and school everyday. It's not uncommon for me to wander during lunch time too, easily adding up the blocks to something resembling cardio. It's no wonder New Yorkers have zero upper body muscle, but asses as hard as peach pits--I'm envisioning a new gym machine called the Subway Stair Stepper.

My parents left yesterday and took their rich food with them. My favorite dinner involved truffle oil macaroni and cheese and pistachio-encrusted goat cheese souffle at 44 & X (the "X" is the Roman Numeral for 10) in Hell's Kitchen. My stepdad raved about the new Plaza Hotel Food Hall by Todd English (try the Tuna Two Way sushi roll, the TE sliders, and any kind of cheese with quince).

I made it to the gym this morning and was texting with my mom to compare weight gain. She gained a couple pounds too, but my stepdad "isn't talking." They can't blame me though. I provided the subway stairs Sacramento doesn't have.

The (Sacramento) Bee's Knees

In an effort to remain as close as possible to the loins of the town that birthed me, I've accepted the Sacramento Bee's invitation to contribute an incredibly narcicistic blog about a Sacramento native's perspective as a New New Yorker.

My goal is to present the news, controversies, gossip and oddities occurring in the Big Red Delicious through a lens Sacramentans will be able to relate to. As you may have already guessed, my point of view is quite sarcastic and, some would argue, crass. So if I offend you readers, well...I only accept complaints in person. Better book the flight! Nya nya nya nya nya.

I feel yesterday is the perfect place to begin, specifically because I saw the sunset from a quaint, cinnamon-tinted, pistachio-muffined bakery on the corner of E 93rd and 3rd Ave. in the Upper East Side. I asked the cashier her top three favorite pastries, at which she pointed to pecan sweet bread, a crumb muffin, and a coconut cupcake. Don't you hate it when you ask an employee for a suggestion and everything she likes happens to suck? So I ordered a red velvet cupcake, which by the way, is like crack for New Yorkers. They even have the equivalent of a hot dog stand for cupcakes in NoHo.

I was sugaring my nerves as I prepped to interview a very high profile magazine journalist. She's very particular about not appearing online, even if it's just her name. I try not to take it personally that she probably just doesn't want to be associated with some random, young twenties, scum on her boot NYU student who still can't decide whether to spell it "lede" or "lead."

After interviewing her for two hours in a high-rise apartment in one of the chicest neighborhoods in New York City, I needed a beer. My closest friend in New York, Kristin, and I met at Dorrian's a few blocks away. If you're ever in New York for an extended period of time and you get homesick for California, follow the girls with blonde highlights and the guys with muscly plaid shirts to the Upper East Side. I met a girl who had gone to school with Stefani Joanne Germanotta (aka Lady Gaga) and a guy who had toured with the U.S. ski team and was sponsored by Salomon. Kristin and I danced until the bar closed at 4 a.m. (another great perk of NYC late nights), then grabbed a bite down the street. Tip: don't ever order lox at five in the morning from a 24-hour diner.

We took a cab to her West Village apartment, emerging from the car to a lighter blue sky, so we did what all displaced Californians/New New Yorkers do: asked a coke dealer where the nearest open bar was.

We should have known that a drug dealer would mislead us because we walked down Bleecker Street a few blocks before giving up and heading back. I took photos of Kristin posing on a statue reaching her hands up to touch the sunrise. It's all very poetic until you remember that you're in New York at 6:30 a.m. and one of you has to be at work in 3 1/2 hours. I'm going to let you guess which one of us it was...Kristin from Orange County or Stephanie from Sacramento?