Das boot

I'm fairly amateur when it comes to fashion, so at the beginning of a new season, I do what the women's mags giddily instruct: Find a signature item and build your wardrobe around it. 

Introducing my signature item: Boots by Coclico, first spotted in the window at Diana Kane in Park Slope.  They were marked down from $475 to $356, so I quit therapy therapy to offset the cost. (Not really. I just quit therapy because I decided my crazy is in remission.)

Now the question is can you wear boots in the summer. An informal poll of friends resulted in a mix of winces and "ehs." But I would argue that these boots are made of an ultra-light suede and have a loose, slouchy fit. Plus I don't plan on wearing them with denim cut-offs (think Jessica Simpson in her Daisy Duke phase.) Instead, picture them paired with a flirty, summer dress. 

Das cute, no? 

Posh-luck dinner

Just your old-fashioned pot-luck fundraiser where the guests brought sushi and set their tables, replete with chargers and cloth napkins, either eco-conscious or status-conscious. Or maybe both. 

Did I mention this was in Connecticut? 

 

I spied plenty of monogrammed LL Bean totes, along with a handful of men in Nantucket red pants, and the majority of women in frothy Bohemian tops, most likely from Calypso. 

Everyone left their kiddies at home with the babysitter (or Grandma and Grandpa) and let loose.  Wine was spilled, diets were broken, and I'm pretty sure L'il Wayne was played.  

Ah, the burbs. 

Epigraph envy

"Any idiot can face a crisis; it is this day-to-day living that wears you out." --Chekhov

This is one of those thoughts that, in your head, had seemed so original--until you realized Anton said it better than you could have ever thought it. 

So now I'm quoting the New Yorker quoting Perillo quoting Chekhov. 

It's the epigraph in Perillo's new collection of poetry Inseminating the Elephant, which makes me want to go out and buy the book. 

Throw Pillows scoops WSJ

 I'm not going to say that the WSJ is reading my blog, but...

"Table tennis is ripe for reinvention," says Keith Hindle, executive vice president of London-based Fremantle, who foresees a variety of revenue streams from live ping-pong events, branded merchandise, sponsorships and league memberships.

...

"The question was could we take this game out of the basement and the cluttered garages," says Mr. Friedman. "We think the timing is just right."

Mr. Wynn goes so far as to suggest ping pong has sex appeal. "It's taking on this cool cultural space of short-shorts and retro headbands, and it's kind of goofy, but it's also got people who take it very seriously," Mr. Wynn says. "It's poker eight years ago."

Who has her finger on the pulse of what's "kind of goofy"?

Table it

I'm not a natural athlete. I played sports in high school and always got by on speed and aggressiveness, not skill. 

But my family did have a Ping Pong table in our basement and my brother and sister and I could spend hours playing. I won't say I was good, but I wasn't bad. Not bad at all. 

I probably hadn't played in a good ten years until last night when I found myself at the Fat Cat in the West Village, just your regular bar with beer, live jazz, ping pong, checkers and more.  

I was a little rough around the edges, I'll admit, but I still had a mean serve. And while my opponent won, it was not an easy victory. (And I later schooled him in shuffleboard.)

 This all makes me think: I need a  game room. Or maybe just a dining room-slash-Ping Pong table.

Tennis (shoes) anyone?

When I was in middle school,  I wanted a pair of Keds. Desperately. But they were too pricey. So my parents bought the knock-offs. The shoes looked the same, but the label wasn't blue; it was white. And it said Kapers, not Keds. I was mortified. 

But now as an adult, I no longer want what everyone else has. (Cool when you're 12, not when you're, ahem, older.) In search of the perfect, under-the-radar canvas sneaks, I came across the Parisienne brand Bensimon. I didn't have to go as far as France, just Williamsburg (Brooklyn by way of Manhattan by way of Brooklyn). Once there, I went straight to Jumelle, a very Gaul boutique. The shoes were $52, not cheap, but not cost-prohibitive. Plus, when I wear them (sans socks, of course), I feel very I'm-not-trying. They just have that certain je ne sais quoi. 

Getting graphic

(This post is not yet rated.) 

Hello there, gorgeous. Mind if I cozy on up next to you? Oh, you're so soft. S0 silky. 100% silky. 

This purdy (but not too purdy) pillow from Sweet Charity was on sale, half-off, making the price barely over $30. Or free actually since my parents bought it, a thank you for the week they spent with me, literally with me, in my cozy one bedroom apartment. But I digress. The pillow is made by Plush Living, a totally affordable line that also sells bedding, journals, and shower curtains. The other goods are tempting, but this pillow will forever remain my first love.  

End scene. 

The time has come...

About seven years ago my watch was stolen off my desk at work. I mourned its loss, but quickly recovered. Like so many others, I came to rely on my cellphone to tell time. A watch seemed redundant. 

But then I saw this tick-tocker at Flirt on 5th Avenue in Park Slope. And maybe it was the weather.  Or maybe it was the hangover. Whatever the case, I had to have this was my watch-cum-bracelet. (Heh-heh, I said cum.) 

My new find is from a brand called Time Will Tell. Online, they offer their wrist-ware for $65, $10 less than what I paid. But! A) I don't see my particular watch on the site. And B) With shipping I'm sure the cost would come out to be the same. Oh, and instant gratification is basically priceless.