Italifornia takes Manhattan

For those of you who don't know me well, it may come as a shock to learn that I have my own country. Well, half of my own country.

One night in college, my long time roommate and best friend, Michelle, and I were bemoaning the evils of late Spring in Provo, Utah. The month of March, we decided, was entirely unneccesary; and therefore the only reasonable thing to do was to start our own country, change the calendar, and do away with the month of March.

So we did, and we called it, Italifornia.

But of course, we didn't stop there. We designed a flag, created several new holidays, wrote a pledge of allegiance, designated our national anthem, royal colors, royal food, official flower, system of government, and an official plan for colonizing the rest of the apartments in our building with the cunning use of flags.

Today Italifornia has colonies in Brazil, all of Europe, Belize, California, and Las Vegas, with plans to continue expansion throughout the East Cost. One of my directives in coming to New York was to established our first colony on the East Coast.

On Thursday, my co-Empress joined me in Manhattan to begin our official tour of the colony, and of course, we began in Times Square:



Me in the middle of our newest colony...

The colonizing will continue and adventures abound.

If you'd like to join our tyrannical dictatorship, leave a comment and I'll send you the citizenship papers.

Carey Grant Summer Nights

Monday night movies in Bryant Park are one of those things that make a New York summer something out of the ordinary.

You tote blankets with you to work in the morning and then scurry to the Park when the little hand hits the five and the big hand hits the twelve. By the time you arrive, the lawn in Bryant Park is a patchwork of grass, sheets, bodies, blankets and picnic food. You find the last patch of grass big enough for your little fleece blanket and claim your territory. The sun is still high in the sky, beating down and melting the flesh off of your bones... or at the very least making you awkwardly sweaty. At last, people in your group begin to trickle in, one at a time, and the sun creeps behind a gargantuan office building casting a blessed shadow over the lawn and your little patch of blanket.

And then you wait. You chit chat about every one's day, you take turns going to get food for dinner, snacks for movies, or just finding an excuse to walk around. And you continue to wait. Every two minutes someone asks which movie is playing that night. You are continually shocked that no one seems to know who Carey Grant and Frank Capra are. You are still waiting. You begin to educate everyone within ear shot about the complexities of Carey Grant and Grace Kelly's performances in "To Catch a Thief," Carey Grant and Katherine Hepburn in "Philadelphia Story," Carey Grant and Doris Day in "Bringing Up Baby." People begin to wonder why you know so much about Carey Grant. You begin to wonder the same thing. Thankfully, the projector then begins to flicker, and the entire multitude stands up for the final stretch - they hop about, they clap, they hope some more. You are a little weirded out. Then you realize that you are the last living expert on Carey Grant movies and decide you don't have room to judge anyone for their weirdness. Everyone sits down and the film begins.

For two hours you sit entranced by the magic that is a Frank Capra film. Tonight, it's "Arsenic and Old Lace." The suspense and antics are non-stop and Mr. Grant's charm is still undeniable. Of course, because you're sitting on the ground, and have been for four hours, through out the movie, your various limbs and extremities begin to go numb one at a time. You're a bit itchy and wonder why, and then suddenly remember that you are allergic to grass. Hmm.

The movie ends happily, as Frank Capra movies are wont to do, and there is a half hearted ripple of applause as people stiffly rise and fold their blankets, packing up their picnic baskets. You're still a bit sticky and more than a little bleary eyed as you stumble towards the subway, hoping the train comes soon. However, the sight of your fellow grass-stained movie-goers and the memory of the glint in Caret Grant's eye cause you to smile and sigh contentedly.

Somehow, when you combine all of these otherwise awkward elements into one experience, it becomes quintessential and iconic, rather than just another humid, sticky July evening.

I know people

The weekend began in grand style on Friday night with a mass birthday party for various members of the YSA crowd. Now, birthdays are had all the time, and birthday parties too, seem to be in abundance, I must say... But what makes THIS party so special is that it was hosted on the terrace of one of the penthouse apartments on the Upper East Side... Sorry, let me say that again the $$Upper Ea$t $$$ide$$$.

There was mingling, iddle chatter, a excellent party soundtrack, and most of all, this was the view:

To the west, the Guggenheim in front and the Lake in Central Park...



To the South, that's the Chrysler building and the Empire State Building...


I don't know WHO I know that knows someone that was able to swing the swingin' location, but I do know this... I know people.

A map of the neighborhood

Riverside Park at Sunset

It worked out perfectly today and I interrupted my walk home to watch the sunset from a bench in Riverside Park.

"Yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a supreme Creator." - Alma 30:44

Addicted to Walking

I love walking. And when I say I love walking, I mean I LOVE walking.

This is one of the more unexpected developments of my urban lifestyle. I suspected of course, that I would become accustomed to walking, but I never expected that I would get off the subway three stops early on purpose, just so I could walk further before going home.

It started small, you understand, just an innocent decision to walk the avenue blocks between my subway stop and my office, because who knew how long the bus would take to get there... And then one day, even though, as I came out of the subway, the bus was right there waiting for me, I thought... nah, I'll walk.

And that's when things started getting out of control.

Next thing you know I was inventing reasons to walk down to the corner store, and then getting there, deciding that I'd rather walk to the next one three blocks down. Then, I started walking for two subway stops before getting on the subway after work, and now, I've started getting off early as well. It's gotten to the point where, unless its more than 20 blocks and I'm in a great hurry, I'll walk. In fact, the possibility of lateness is the only thing that keeps me from walking everywhere, all the time.

Maybe, if I get up early enough, I could walk all the way from home to work, I mean, it's only 84 blocks...

Silly Things

1. Subway stations are like saunas. Hot, sticky, and queer smelling. The longer you sit in them, the more intensely uncomfortable they become. Therefore, one of my favorite things has become the WHOOSH of passing express trains. It is one of the true delights of the urban landscape.

2. Today on the subway, the 1 line going Uptown to be exact, a man got on and stood right in front of me in a pin stripe suit. I'm somewhat partial to pin stripes, so it catches my attention and after a second I realize, the pin stripes are PINK; and not baby pink, Barbie pink. They were subtle and the effect was mesmerizing... I couldn't stop looking at the suit. I was disappointed when he got off and my trance was broken. *Note to self: Buy something with pink pin stripes.

3. Today, I got the Davey Crockett song stuck in my head.... that's right, Davey Crockett. NO IDEA how THAT happened, but there I was, walking down the street singing in my head: "Davey, Davey Crockett, Man who don't know fear; Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier." And now you can too. Ha.

4. I love making new playlists for my ipod. Because of the amount of train riding and city walking that I accomplish in any given day, my playlists get played out pretty quickly. So lately, I've taken to making theme playlists:
For example, today we listened to "Freedom," containing all songs in my library with "free" in the title. Another favorite is the playlist, "Sweeeeet," containing songs whose titles reference sweet, sugar, or honey. There is also a "Black and White" playlist, "You break it, you bought it" (all with "break" somewhere in the title), and last but not least "Baby, baby, baby" (a nod to June Carter in "Walk the Line") which includes all references to, you guessed it, "baby."
Because all of these simple searches yield rather lengthy collections of songs, I'm led to believe that the musicians and lyricists of the world could all use a thesaurus or two.


All I'm really saying is, if you get bored in this city, your imagination is getting a little rusty.