Here On the Street Where I Live

but not those things.

On Thursday I ran out the door on my way to work. I passed a gorgeous rimmed taxi cab. Then I passed an impeccably well kept powder blue station wagon. On the corner there were two more vintage cabs. Next I passed a red finned sexmobile convertible that audibly screamed 1959... Hmmm...

I wish I could have recorded this moment on my face. It was a wait. a. minute. face. It was an 'Elmer Fudd just realizes that the sexy cocktail waitress is in fact Bugs Bunny' face. I am thankful I live in a neighborhood where nothing seems amiss until you hit the fifth flawless vintage car.

See that little purple building on the right at the very edge of this photo? That's the boutique I live above. It's next to the old school magazine candy shop and beside the spa and bakery next door.


It's a charmed life.

Further investigation resulted in this find:

Oh i see. I see how it is.

It wasn't long until the faux subway stops started catching my eye. This is a real stop where I normally catch the R train in to Manhattan. If you were over the age of 40 you are lined up on this side of the stop wondering loudly where you can CATCH THE 'R' NOW?!
"IS THIS NOT BROOKLYN? AM I IN QUEENS?"

It has become clear to me that they are going to lie, the way films about aliens sometimes do, and call my beloved Brooklyn - Queens. Ick.

As if anything in Queens could ever be this lovely.


This is a lie too. That train station is 100% fake. They built it from scratch. Oh how I wish I could catch a train on Court. Sigh.

My favorite part of this whole ordeal was spotting the smaller details all along the streets. Where new age hipster bikes usually lounge, beautiful 50 pound Schwinns lined the walk. Newspapers with 1958 stamped on the front page were stacked on my corner. Street signs were swapped. It was like a dream. I blinked and suddenly everything just went vintage -- a skill I've practiced with little success for the last ten years.

This photo was snapped after I got back to my bedroom. I was laughing in a delicate flower kind of way with a dreamily dressed boy when finally discovered and eventually removed from set around three in the morning. I thought I was perfectly camouflaged in my yellow bell skirt and vintage pearls.

Apparently the "true extras" in this scene were scanty and were also all men. My take on that goes like this:
'BRING ME A PICNIC TABLE AND LET'S FIDDLE DEE DEE THIS ISH!'
As if 50 years ago women weren't interested in eating pizza and watching drag races?
*puts on best Alicia Silverstone face*

Anyway, the view from my bedroom was pretty great.
I would have posted about this bit of Hollywood Glamour sooner but I was busy writing to the mayor, Macys and God in triplicate to ask that the Thanksgiving Day Parade now start on this particular corner in BK town.

To give you an idea of the scope of this thing, here's a photo a friend sent me from a different bedroom window in Downtown Brooklyn, a 15 minute walk from the penthouse at 302 Court:


And here's a photo I found while reading the ahem, New York Times this morning. It is my understanding that they have a better camera than I do ;)

photo credit: Ben Russel

Long ago, during a unfortunate Toby McGuire crush, I realized that maybe I wouldn't LOVE living in the 60s. My week long stint walking home amongst some of the prettier things whilst not being judged for my persimmon pout, makes me realize that no, I was wrong. I was basically made for Pleasantville.

After hearing me rave about it for the last four days, the boy decided to try my walk-the-walk. Tonight he arrived on my doorstep with a raw chicken in a pot and his momma's recipe for Rosemary Roast Hen in his back pocket . He handed both over, pulled a newspaper from the crook of his arm and demanded I remove my shoes. OH SNAP! I'm sorry. Do not ever try to trump me. I'm from Hawaii and barefoot in the kitchen is kinda my thing.

When and where would you most like to live? I'm not going to cross Pemberly off the list, but you know, in the meantime...