ketch[ing]up

It's Tuesday, I know, but let me tell you about Sunday.
Because there was ketchup involved, pre-5pm, and that is always a good thing.
I think ketchup is a food in and of itself. It's not a mere condiment; labeling it that strips it of its innate glory. It's a pureed, red mess of vinegary deliciousness that makes everything taste better. I'll opt for ketchup with my grilled cheese over tomato soup, and I'll even throw it in a pan with pasta [don't ask].
Did I mention how NYC can make me ridiculously happy? Even after scant hours of sleep and a throat hoarse from chattering and laughing too much the previous day? Well, it did. And ketchup was, of course, involved.

It came in the form of brunch at Cafe Orlin. The brioche french toast sounded incredibly tempting...until I saw the goat cheese, avocado, and tomato omelette. This neat yellow package packed with creamy goodness with a touch of Tabasco and Heinz's? That combination made me forget that the back of my eye sockets were burning from lack of sleep. I woke up a little, even [although that may have been the Americano], and managed to recall some of the ideas M1 and I came up with the previous night.
Needless to say, I stuffed my face. M1 rolled me back downtown and hung out while I waited for the bus with an amazing early birthday present from Lauren: the perfect, pink, vintage suitcase, complete with a "K" monogram.

M1's pile of stuff was the last thing I took a picture of before jumping onto a crowded, cramped bus headed back to Beantown. 4.5 hours later, I was home, pumping up my tires, and throwing a leg over a bicycle. Once back in the saddle, I momentarily forgot how much I already missed the city. And sprinting up the hills, I remembered why I absolutely, frantically, desperately love biking. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose.
And while fighting the temptation to book another ticket to NYC, a ball of pure happy uncoiled in that space between my lungs and the back of my throat as I clipped in and sprinted. Shooting smack couldn't beat this.

disorder & [cookie] anarchy

Somehow, miraculously, in the two days I was in NYC, I only watched one episode of Law & Order.
Yeah, one.
And for a girl that seemingly makes the four-hour bus ride down there expressly to watch TV, that's a huge deal, folks. But there were cookies and pizza to be consumed, and cups of really, deliciously refreshing coffee to be gulped down, and even work to be done. And I'm not just talking about researching great burger joints.
Saturday started with, of course, a bike shop: NYC Velo. Dropping off hats would usually take a grand total of 5 minutes; instead I hung out for almost a solid hour, checking out the new shirts and the mix of people who rolled in and out of the door. New shop employee friends were made and loitering accomplished before I made the trek to Mood once again...but this time with a companion [Mike Spriggs, a.k.a. M1] in tow.

Thread and fabric were purchased and then wandering ensued. Strolling around the garment district, our ability to detect all things Rapha led us to the new Ace Hotel, where some of the Continental team had had drinks just over a week ago. Sinking into the plush, red couches, we rested our feet, sucked in the lobby with all of our senses [okay, we didn't lick the couches, though], and took goofy pictures of each other [the picture of me will not be posted here].

Our stomachs growling loudly, we demolished burgers - veggie for me, meat for him - at the Old Town Bar & Restaurant. A two-floor bar established in 1892, it's what you would expect from an old pub. But the high ceilings are peeling paint, the booths are solid wood, and the tables bear the marks of decades of use. Impressively authentic, I munched on fries as skinny and delicate as the women strolling around outside while snapping even more pictures.

Bloated, fat, and happy, our feet automatically led the way down to the bike shop. M1, though, with other things in mind, cleverly directed me down a few streets, and with one casual remark, had me drooling.
"Oh, this is Momofuku Milk Bar...wanna check it out?"
Before he finished his sentence, I was assaulted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. I nearly swooned. We grabbed two cookies - blueberry cream and cornflake - to go, before I was ushered out onto the street, following the brown paper bag in M1's hand.
And it didn't end there. My pulse started racing yet again less than 10 minutes later as my lips touched the rim of a cool glass of cold brewed iced coffee at Abraco. Served with cream and sugar [unless you request otherwise; I opted for milk instead of cream], this iced coffee will change your life. This is to iced coffee what DiFara's is to pizza; genuinely delicious, it almost makes you wish you had never tasted it because now, you can't stomach handing over money to drink normal iced coffee. And when coupled with cookies, it's enough to rekindle my love affair with New York, NY.

Back at the shop, Mike and I sprawled out on the couch until another famous face, Ethan Laek of Laek House came through the door. And before I knew it, I was in NYC Velo after closing, feeling just a little bit exclusive.
Of course, Saturday nights in NYC never stop at 7pm. Pizza from Lil Frankie's was demolished along with a pear, arugula, and gorgonzola salad while ideas were bounced around for upcoming projects. As I masticated cheese, bread, and tomato sauce happily, M1 grabbed the TV remote:
"Hey, wanna watch an episode of Law & Order?"
Ah, New York City...you know the way to a girl's heart.

surprisingly exclusive

I'm not going to lie, I secretly love owning exclusive things.
The earrings I got in a small store in a stylish Tokyo neighborhood, the bracelets I never take off, and the tiny track frameset I now proudly own. Sure, other short people own the same Dolan, but none in Boston, and none have doused that frame in so much pink.
Small surprise, then, that I like to make exclusive things too.
But, it is sort of surprising that I'm currently [back] in New York City, with a bagful of new hats, for a new shop. The concept is the same, but the everything else seems completely different. Which sort of resulted in something like two weeks of crazed hand painted hats inspired by bright sneakers and my personal love of the 80s.

And it also resulted in panicked fits of nervousness and apprehension and the conviction that these are not going to move. I almost backed out of a weekend down in the city, despite a promise for Americanos and french fries on someone else's tab. I spent the morning sipping coffee, stalling and balking at leaving my sister's apartment to head to the shop, the bag full of new hats still burning a hole into my confidence and self-esteem.
I'm finally getting off the couch, off the Internet, and out of the apartment to head to the East Village though. Because I hold myself to keeping my word, and a promise was made to NYC Velo for an order of 10 hats [okay, I did one better, literally, and am delivering 11]. It took some late nights, some stress-fueled tears, and some coaxing by friends to get them done. They're finished though, and seemingly just in time; I'm so anxious right now that I almost need them out of my life.

And with the added weight of being an exclusive run for a very reputable shop [evidence of their awesomeness here, if you scroll down a bit], I'm going to worry about them. Obsessively.
One more reason, why, if you're in the city, you should stop by. I mean, even if only to let a worried mother hen know how her babies are doing in a strange new city.

stretched thin

Wow.
I haven't seen you in months. And while I never thought it would work out between you and me...well, I'm having doubts.
Because these days, we've been seeing so much more of each other. I've been resisting it, though, and I always tell myself how it might not be a good idea to pay yet another visit. But I do anyway - it's becoming part of a routine by now - convinced that I'm going to leave in tears.
Is it me or have you changed? I'm actually starting to enjoy our time together. You're so different from everything else I'm used to...and I'm starting to feel like that that isn't so bad. And after our sessions together, I come home, lie on the floor and just think about you. Staring up at my ceiling, slightly dazed, trying to absorb what just happened.

That's not to say you don't leave me in some pain. You do. Oh, you do. Some days more than others. Which is why I've avoided you for so long. I couldn't keep up with you physically, so I just gave up and didn't bother trying.
I guess it's better to fail than to never try at all. Or, at least that's what I've been thinking these days. See, you've even gotten me being kind of optimistic! Seriously, sometimes I really question what's been going on. And I'm always questioning "us".
You know I'm careful with that kind of thing, though. And with everything on my plate, I can hardly manage a relationship.

I don't want to scare you away...but...I don't know...I might, just might, be kinda falling for you.
Oh, gym, do you think we can make it work?

kind of special

It's official.
It takes a special kind of person to leave the office at 5pm, change, get on a bike, and throw down some training miles. The obsessed kind of special where groups of friends heading to bars on beautiful Tuesday evenings can simply be ignored, exhaustion from a busy day at work is pushed aside, and sitting in front of the TV after work is just not an option.
Not that I have a TV, but I really do not want to belong to this special group of people.

I headed out to do my first longer ride after work yesterday. I'm totally okay with heading to the gym and sweating out a few miles on a treadmill after work, but back on the bike, it took a monumental effort to even do a mere 30 miles. The day at the office was spent immersed in one massive case, which meant that I was counting down the minutes until 5pm. And when that magic number appeared on the clock, it was time to squeeze the last drops of physical energy out of my legs.
It seemed like a bad idea from the start. I got home to refill my water bottle and jersey-fy and found that I was out of energy bars. Screw it, I thought, and headed out anyway. And while the route was relatively flat [compared to the 40 mile route I usually do], it made it sort of more boring. I was already tired, getting hungry, and starting to mentally kick myself for conjuring up this idea when I have to run tomorrow.

Because it takes a special kind of neurotic, too, to do rides after work. And it's not just a competitive kind of neurotic. You really have to love bicycles and everything about them to do it. Passionate neurosis, I guess. The key ingredient for anyone carving out a couple hours out of their day to pedal away. Social obligations get delayed, as does dinner, and of course, just life in general.

But then again, if I wasn't out there yesterday evening, sweating, hurting, and fighting that voice that told me I could turn back after 12 miles, I would never have seen a toilet plunked down on the side of the road. Something that, while you could appreciate from the driver's seat of a car, you can really only fully experience when you hop off your bike next to it, to snap a picture.
It's sort of gross, but it made me smile. I'm going back later this week to make sure it's still there.

adorkable

My first boyfriend was a computer science major [yes, I started dating in college]. He was clean cut, played Ultimate Frisbee, and was his high school's valedictorian. He also watched Star Trek and loved video games. He didn't totally look it, but he was kind of a dork. I thought he was the most adorable thing, ever.
Until we broke up, of course.
Still, I've always had a soft spot for dorky things. Like I find abacuses sort of charming. I really want a Casio calculator watch. And I've played my share of a certain MMORPG.
So when I found myself surrounded by cyclists of every shape and size, at least half of which had on one of those unavoidably bright yellow traffic vests, I didn't cringe. In fact, it was really sort of endearing. Sprinting to Cambridge to drop off hats that I'd promised for months and months, I found myself in the middle of the Amory Park Brookline Bike Parade. I vaguely remembered being handed a flier about it at an intersection on Friday but had proceeded to completely forget about it.

Catching up to the tail end of it, I chatted up a few bike cops before winding my way up the parade. And right before I turned off Beacon to hop onto Comm, I saw the immense peloton that was the Bike Parade. It was impressive. And while it was sort of, well, dorky, it was the good kind of dorky. The kind that makes you smile to yourself because people are having so much fun. The kind of dorky that reminds you that cycling doesn't always have to be about speed and competition and training.
Heading towards Comm, my legs finally moving at a reasonable pace, I unconsciously started to push myself to go faster, faster, faster. But slowing down at a light, I wondered why. It was Sunday. I was rushing to Cambridge...just to rush there. And I was getting sweaty and gross.

I coasted the rest of the way there, resisting the urge to pick up and haul ass. Decked out in all black, my poor choice of clothing dictated that I was sweaty when I arrived to chat with friends. And watching them get excited over a few cycling caps, I realized how bike-dorky we all are. It's just hard to tell without the yellow vests.
No wonder I love bike people.