The time I showed Madison Avenue my lady bits.

So.

You know how, when you're about to have an important meeting with someone -- professional or otherwise -- you deliberate over what to wear?

And then, you're all proud of yourself for selecting your outfit?  It's sharp, it's comfortable, it's hip but it's not trying too hard?

Let's say you take your cute outfit out to breakfast, and you're feeling good.  You're about to have a meeting with oh, say, a national television producer.  Let's say you finish up breakfast, march out to Madison Avenue in New York, and now, you are on your way.  Your Confidence Outfit and you.

Let's say people start looking you up and down.

You walk a block.  Two blocks.  Five.  It seems that everywhere you go, people can't stop gawking at you.

"Wow," you think.  "I knew this ensemble was a winner, but apparently I've outdone myself."

Let's say you walk into the building of your meeting, and because it is a New York tower, you must check in with security at the lobby.  The security guard, he also can't help but notice your clothing.

At this point you're beginning to feel a little funny, what with all this ogling, but hey.  You signed up for the attention.  You're looking pretty fly, girl.

Let's say you walk into a crowded elevator, and by now, you've simply gotten used to the stares.  You graciously nod back.  But then the elevator door opens, and right before your meeting, you decide: "I'm going to hit the ladies' room, just to make sure there's nothing in my teeth."

You walk in.

There is a mirror.

The image back reveals something far more disconcerting than food in the teeth.

Instead, the ENTIRE FRONT OF YOUR DRESS IS TUCKED UP INTO YOUR PANTY HOSE.

You are face-to-face with your underwear, tiny, "summertime" underwear.  The hose are sheer.  There's little left to the imagination.

You start back in horror, because Madison Avenue just saw your vagina.

***

This is how I began my day on Thursday, while on a work trip to New York.  But it's ok, because I had these pictures to come home to -- and the following are how I shall remember my visit.  Rather than displaying my crotch for the world.

Bryant Park.

Times Square!  Did you know there's a huge, luxury Applebee's on Times Square?  Random!

The New York Public Library.  We were there for its 100 year anniversary.

The New York Anthropologie inside the Chelsea Market Building, a series of shops and offices nestled inside the old Bisquick factory.

Doesn't is seem that no matter the city, Anthropologie is the most meticulously designed store, ever?  My sister-in-law is a window and store designer for Anthropologie, and I was honestly slack-jawed when I visited her store in Dallas.

This curvy wall leads you out of the Chelsea Market Building, onto the bustling street outside.

My work buddy Stephanie and I had drinks inside the Maritime Hotel.  We decided to take advantage of the good lighting for an impromptu photo shoot.

Rockefeller Tower.  Staring up at this made my neck hurt.

Me on The Highline, a raised train track in Chelsea that's been converted into an elevated stretch of garden, covering several city blocks.  Stephanie and I took a walk there in between meetings, and I was charmed by all those colorful buildings in the background.

This was a random art installation inside Anthropologie (yes, we're back to Anthropologie), and at first, when I looked down from the top floor, I thought it was just a big mess:

I thought, my my!  Or rather, tsk tsk -- this is certainly out of character for Anthropologie!  

Then I realized what I was looking at, and then I stood there in the middle of the store and proceeded to take a billion pictures of Valentin's cool work.

I think I would probably donate one of my limbs in exchange for this tile.

Ok ok!  We finally left Anthropologie.  Here are two more shots from two New York bakeries, Fat Witch and Elsie's.

You are just so charming, New York.  You're rough and sleek, gritty and elegant, dirty and pristine.  Each year I love coming back home to Austin, but I feel like a bit of you rubs off on me with every visit.

Only, help a girl out, and tell me the next time you can see my lady bits.  Deal?


UPDATE (6/2/11): The original title of this post used a ... different word for "lady bits."  Not a profane word.  The anatomical word.

But then, I woke in the middle of the night having a nightmare that I got fired for posting that word on my blog, so I changed it.  Harumph.

I'm a little sad to see it go.  I got stopped on the street after that post, just for using the v-word!  It made me want to go audition for the nearest Vagina Monologues performance and vent about it.  Oh well.  

New York Noir.

The past week I've been walking around New York, snapping shots like a shameless tourist.  

We come here every year for work, but still.  The wide-eyed wonder never wears off!

There are two things in New York that delight me to no end.  People's enthusiasm over books, and people's enthusiasm over food.  

When it comes to the latter, I've instituted a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy -- don't ask me how many times (or in what amounts) I've eaten cheese, chocolate, and truffle oil, and I won't tell you. 

However, at Bryant Park Grill, I have something exciting to report.  With my meal, I thought I was reaching for black beans with my fork, then realized it was rice coated in black cream.  Or to be more specific, squid ink risotto.

I think my culinary sophistication levels multiplied by approximately 1,000.

Those are my friends and colleagues, Elaine and Stephanie, on the subway with me, as well as me displaying my special CBS News badge.  We pitched them a  few authors this morning, and fortunately, I managed not to tuck my dress into the front of my tights for this meeting (like I did for yesterday's TV meeting).  That's called progress.

Comely Austin Fashion Week Posters.

I dined in an iconic New York Fashion Week site tonight (Bryant Park), while a country's length away, these beauties arrived in my inbox.

Remember the fabulous wigs of Austin Fashion Week 2010?  Those were not lost on this years' poster designer.

I likey.  Do you?  

Also.  You guys.  I'm at Book Expo America right now, and I have to say, it's such a heartwarming community of unabashed book lovers.  

I'd normally attempt to riff on something suitably fashion-appropriate, given the post, but instead I want to tell you about literature.  At a panel of book editors I visited, this book was discussed, and there was literally a mob outside the panel doors afterwards.  People were positively clamoring to sieze copies.  We're talking mosh pit, and I was down in it.  I caught an elbow in the face.

That made me incredibly happy.

Does everyone remember the cool discussion we had a few months ago about book suggestions?  Put The Night Circus at the top of your list.  There was a bidding war for it among publishing houses, and it's already been sold / translated to 25 countries.  It will be huge, little readers.

I'm going to be a part of it! New York, New York!

Every year for work, my company goes to New York for the literary industry's biggest conference, Book Expo America.  

Or, as my husband Ross likes to call it, Nerd-a-Thon.

Anyway, I am so excited!  As you may recall from my 20-year-old diary, my list of life ambitions used to include living in New York for one year.  I still fantasize about that sometimes.  Doesn't every writer? 

  You think:

What would it be like if I lived down the block from The New Yorker?

What if my next door neighbor was a book publisher?

What if David Sedaris moved back to New York and became my ROOMMATE and we also became best friends?

What if, what if, what if.  That's the problem with writers.  We so often live in fantasy, that it's hard to yank ourselves out sometimes and return to the real world, where non-fabulous things like bills, laundry, tire rotations, and bank statements await.  Booor-ring.

So!  Reader, have you ever been to New York?  Where do you recommend I go?  I've visited plenty of times, but the city is so gargantuan that I try to discover something new on each visit.  This year, in between work and meetings, I'm definitely checking out:

• Char No. 4 (crafted cocktails in Brooklyn)
• The High Line (an art walk in Chelsea that my new friend, Tucker, recommended to me.  PS.  Go check out Tucker's art work.)

But what else?  That's just two places.  Surely I need to see more!

Could Austin be a Fair Trade City?

This past weekend, a friend from Ten Thousand Villages invited me to their annual event: The Austin Fair Trade Film Festival.

This same friend also asked if I would like to attend a fair trade wine and chocolate tasting last Friday night.  To which I responded: Does Dolly Parton have breasts?  Yes.  Yes, I will do that.

Now before I tell you that I gorged myself on shiraz and cocoa solids, let's have a memory refresher on "fair trade."  Maybe you don't need one Reader, but I do.

"Fair trade is an organized social movement and market-based approach that aims to help producers in developing countries make better trading conditions and promote sustainability. The movement advocates the payment of a higher price to producers as well as higher social and environmental standards. It focuses in particular on exports from developing countries to developed countries, most notably handicrafts, coffee, cocoa, sugar, tea, bananas, honey, cotton, wine, fresh fruit, chocolate, flowers and gold."

Thank you Wikipedia.  This definition will become significant in a moment when I tell you about Austin's plans to become a fair trade city ... but, all in due time.

So there we were, Friday night, Ross and I, at Artworks Gallery.  Before us stood mounds of chocolate, bottles of thick red wine, Austin's fair trade community, and a wildly gesturing man leading our chocolate / wine education.  We loved him.

Can you make out this man's arms as he's teaching us about our palettes?  Probably not.  They are blurry, because he was just that excited.  And in truth, so was I.

Now, I have a funny relationship with wine.  When I drink too much, I not only experience the worst hangover in the whole wide world, but it's the kind of hangover that brings on anxiety and guilt and basically makes you hate yourself.  Question your decisions in life.  Wonder why you didn't call that person back, why you didn't pay for your vehicle registration on time, why you don't go to the library more often, why anyone in the world has any fondness / respect for you at all, you lazy, good-for-nothing drunk.  Because that is what it is like for me, when I drink too much wine.

HOWEVER.  That didn't happen on Friday.  I like to think that it was because A) a tasting, not a guzzling, B) fairly-traded wine, with more good karma in it than my evil hangover wines, and C) our excitable host made us drink it sloooooowly.  And eat our chocolate sloooooowly.  What a revelation.

We tasted this one square of chocolate that had anise mixed into it, almost like licorice.  I normally loathe licorice.  But after letting the chocolate sit patiently on the roof of your mouth for a while, allowing it to break down naturally, without biting ... why, something pleasant happens.

The licorice essence was spicier, earthier than I remembered.  After we attained that flavor, and only after we attained that flavor, we were allowed to take one sip of chardonnay.  It behaved like a spritz of lemon, cutting into all that rich, chocolatey anise.

Do you see that Jerry Garcia-esque man with the beard?  HE INVENTED THE BLACK-AND-WHITE FAIR TRADE LABEL.  The kind you see on your coffee, chocolate, etc. if you are the fair trade-buying type.

So cool!  I shook his hand later on, and was kind of tickled to meet him.  He and others in Austin, especially the Ten Thousand Villages community, are attempting to turn Austin into an official Fair Trade City, a process by which Austin must meet a certain fair trade goods/shops/services to capita ratio.  I understand it's a difficult certification to get.  But then again IT'S AUSTIN, where you can't walk more than two feet without tripping over a food trailer or a WalMart protest sign.  So the spirit is there.

Speaking of WalMart -- well.  Actually.  Before we get to WalMart, let's look at some pretty art, yes?  I walked around Artworks snapping a few photos.

Drooled over this lamp.

My adorable Alice May, who invited me to the whole affair.  Pardon our dimly-litness.

The next day, Saturday, I attended the actual film fest at Alamo Drafthouse (S. Lamar), for a screening of WalMart: The High Cost of Low Price. 

I could write a whole blog post on that documentary, which came out a few years ago.  This is just the first time I've seen it.  Have any of you?

Basically, I knew WalMart was bad.  But I didn't know how bad.  For example, I didn't know it was impossible to unionize.  I didn't know that a huge swath of its paid employees live below the poverty line.  I didn't know that WalMart implicitly encourages its employees to go on welfare, WIC, Medicaid, etc. because the company flat-out does not offer adequate employee support services.

Now, I am all FOR federally-funded programs (see my thoughts on universal healthcare), but I don't think people realize that they pay for WalMart's impossibly cheap goods in a hidden way: State and federal taxes.  The reason WalMart is able to profit billions (literally, billions) dollars a year is because taxpayers support their employees with these programs.  So the cheap television set you bought may have cost nothing at check-out, but in actuality, you "pay" WalMart later, in a much more discreet way.

To reiterate: Federally-funded programs, good.  I like them.  Billion-dollar companies manipulating those programs for their bottom line, bad.  I don't like that.

Anyway ... I could go on and on about this documentary.  You really must see it.  It was one of the first films that made me realize that fair trade was a bipartisan issue, and not exclusively a tree-hugging, drum circle, yay flowers issue.  Which is admittedly my camp, but (some) Republicans are against WalMart's terrifying business practices, too.  This is very refreshing.

Now then.  That ugly WalMart business behind us, let's stroll to a happier place.  You and I.

Here are a few shots from the Film Fest's Global Market, which set up shop outside the theater corridor.  It was kind of like a Ten Thousand Villages shop turned inside out, plus musical performances and outdoor yoga.

I really could have spent all day here.  And next year, perhaps I will.

Thank you Austin Fair Trade Film Festival!  I love your community, and left your gatherings feeling incredibly inspired.  There's so much more I could write here about the people I spoke with and the ideals you foster!  But I'm thrilled you wanted to hang out in my little corner of the Internet for a while, and invited me to come hang out with you.

Editing your life ambitions.

Me in college: "Hippie Tolly"

Me in college: "Sorority Tolly"

I know several kids who are graduating right now.

Some high school.  But mostly college.

The biggest myth about college is that it's the place where you "find yourself."  Which as any college graduate can tell you, is partly true.

But only partly.

***

When I graduated college seven years ago, I thought I had a lot of things figured out.  My career path, for example.  I was going to get my PhD in English Literature, teach at an adorable little liberal arts school, and walk around wearing terribly hip glasses all day. Victorian literature would burst out of my smart, expensive tote, and I'd stride into class each morning with an exhausted but confident smile, ready to shape the young, nebulous minds before me.

However.  Before that, there was the whole matter of getting through college itself.

And while I was there, actually stumbling through it all, I carried huge, unresolved questions about my self identity.

See, each day, I looked around at the feminists, the environmentalists, the Christians, the lesbians, the Young Republicans, the Green Party, the newspaper staff, the soccer players, the sorority sisters, the stoners and the baseball team.  I studied their language and their habits closely.  I listened to their slang.  Watched how they dressed.

And I quietly wondered where I fit in. 

On some days, I showed up at the student-run coffee bar for slam poetry readings, wearing tattered jeans, jewelry from a Native American reservation, and a thrift store t-shirt.  I nodded along to the poets' earnest rants against racism, NAFTA, and meat.  I added my name and email address on the Students Against Unrecycled Paper clipboard that was being passed around, and in the margin scrawled "this is an outrage!!" for good measure.

Then, the next day, I skipped over to Tri Delta clubhouse.  Flat-ironed highlights bouncing in the wind.

I wore my Tri Delt pin and made a Tri Delt shape with my hands, and pledged my allegiance to the Trident Sisterhood.

Or was it the Dolphin Sisterhood?

***

The truth about college and identity is: It's confusing.  Even after you graduate, you're still groping around in the dark for a while.  You try out one path, and it looks as though it's leading somewhere promising, then a scary monster pops out from absolutely nowhere and you are like GET ME THE HELL OFF OF THIS PATH.

This truth applies to work, romantic relationships, circles of friends, and apartment leases.

During the past few weeks, I've gotten a few really nice emails from students who are about to graduate college.  I can hear both the excitement and trepidation in their notes, all wondering (explicitly or not) just what, exactly, is supposed to come next.

I'll spare you my advice to them -- it's not very sage.

But I will share with you a very timely discovery I made this weekend, while cleaning out one of my old book shelves: My college diary.

Or rather, one of roughly 12 I kept during that period.  I had a lot of feelings, ideas, and (dear God) opinions during that four-year stretch.  What you are about to read is a list of "Life Ambitions" (actual title) I made for myself at the age of 20.

This list was composed on March 15, 2003.

UM.

Can you believe the same individual wrote:

14. "protest regularly against issues that conflict w/ morals"

15. "develop six-pack"

Or:

5. "get doctorate degree"

6. "find signature scent"

Doesn't it seem like a bipolar person wrote this?  It's not just the wide, eh, variety of goals here -- but that each lofty goal is immediately undercut by something I'm sure I read at the gym.  Or possibly in Glamour.

 

So just for kicks, I went through this list today.  Here is an update, nearly 10 years later, of my progress on "Life Ambitions."

Out of this whole list, I accomplished exactly two things!

Both #9 and #17 have now been ticked off.

I did go to a protest once ... against the War in Iraq ... but mostly I stood around by myself, wishing I had brought a sign or something.  

I haven't bought my parents a retirement home yet, but I still think it's my favorite Life Ambition on this list.  I also haven't gone sky-diving (but I'd like to), run a marathon (HELL no), or written a novel.  But maybe that one will actually happen someday.

 Additionally, I didn't get a column in the newspaper (someone watched her Sex & The City very closely in 2003), but I DID start a blog!  Three, actually.  The first two completely sucked.  I'm still sticking it out over here.

For the most part, knowledge about cars and "science" (Life Ambitions #11 and #12) continues to elude me.  My transmission's functionality has been explained to me several times, but all I hear from mechanics is: "blah blah blah MAGIC, blah blah blah MAGIC."

***

So new and upcoming graduates: My only piece of advice is probably, keep a diary.

Make your own list of "Life Ambitions," if for no other reason than it will be totally hilarious to look back over them someday. 

Truth be told, I still make "Life Ambitions" lists for myself all the time.  Now that I'm nearly 30, my goals have changed tremendously.  I'm too shy to share them with you now.

But maybe, in a few years' time, I'll let you know if I've reached any.

happy graduation to you all.

Rooms with a view.

Do you know what makes me truly happy in life?

Chocolate.  Obviously!

But after that?  Home decor.  Hands-down.

My mother earned her degree in interior design, and not too long ago, I wrote a letter to Joel Mozersky asking if I could be his intern.  In fact, I almost posted it on this blog.  Then I figured maybe not.

Anyway, now that Ross and I are settling into the new house, I go back and forth between viewing our rooms as:

A) Haphazardly arranged with previous owners' paint choices on the wall and a mystifying lack of shelving (true)

B) A clean slate, ready for us to make our mark! (potentially true)

I'm focusing on B.  Fortunately, our new house is what I like to refer to as "petite" so decorating shouldn't be a HUGE challenge.  Right? 

At our last house, Ross and I lived with a roommate named Caleb, who we miss very much.  We also lived with Caleb's grandmother's paintings, quilt, grandfather clock, "Fun Machine" (a pre-programmed electronic organ, fun!), and globe of the world.  Somehow, I like to think it all came together: Caleb's (grandmother's) style and mine.  Here is a story the Statesman wrote about it.

This is me, "working from home."  For which I typically wear sweat pants and a tank top a tailored dress, tights, and special yellow heels.  Oh absolutely.

Anyway, I guess you could call our home decor style Granny Chic.  I like vintage.  And Caleb's grandmother's stuff was about as vintage as you could get.  But now in our new place, what do we want to do? 

I'm putting together an "inspiration board" of sorts to help me figure it out.  PEOPLE.  Have you been to Pinterest yet?  I discovered it via my design hero, i.e. the girl who made over this blog, Kelly Ann Mount of The Flowerchild Dwelling.  Everything you see here comes from Pinterest.

This kitchen is ever-so-slightly "we just retired in Boca Raton!"  But, I adore the clever pops of color.

Yes.

I enjoy shabby chic when it's less overtly estrogen-y.  And has a weirdly cool edge, like this one.  Doesn't the 19th century portrait make it?

Totally practical.

Whee!  These prints are fantastic.  Our house currently has stained concrete floors (that kind of look like wood) as well as a green couch, so maybe this could happen?  Yes? 

If I get really brave, I'll do a before / after photo shoot of the house.  The "before" will probably include a photo of Claudia, our cat.  With the move, she was just turning into a lunatic, but I'm happy to say we've now sedated her with copious amounts of catnip.  This is what she looks like when she's on it.

Are you insane for home decor, too?  Where do you go for decor inspiration?


UPDATE: My friend Lani just shared this poster with me, AND I LOVE IT.  Little deer, you have a future home at Chez Moseley-Carnes!

UPDATE #2: Poor Blogger! They went through hard times this week and lost some data. Which is being restored this weekend.  If you left a comment and don't see it on this post, it should be coming back soon.  I mean we were having such a fun time and all down there in the comments section.