Belting it Out

Posted on July 17, 2013 by emily

Even if we had idyllic childhoods, we can all likely point to a moment when we felt “scarred.” A moment that, at that time, felt so monumental and painful that we thought we may never recover. I had one of those moments…in 9^th grade Concert Choir. I attended an all-girls school in Philadelphia, and freshman year some of our classes (starting off with music and art) were coed with the boys from the school across the street. So 9^th grade Concert Choir was a BIG DEAL.

Anyone could take Concert Choir, despite the fact that technically there was an “audition.” That was just a formality. So when the female teacher of this class who will go nameless (she had a male counterpart, and thank goodness for Mr Weir!) told me in front of the entire class, HALF OF WHICH WERE BOYS, that I should consider fulfilling my music requirement another way, I turned, not red, but purple in embarrassment. She went on to tell me that I should consider joining the hand bell choir.

I managed to recover from this body blow to my self-confidence, and Mr Weir allowed me to stay in the class. I made it through the holiday concert just fine as a member of the alto section. But my humiliation was not over. For our end-of-the-semester “exam” one singer representing each part had to sing “A Whole New World” from Aladdin (it was quite popular that year). So I was placed next to a soprano and a tenor with a young man singing the bass line just feet away. We all started to sing, and I guess I strayed from my part and started singing along with the boy next to me. My teacher stopped the song and said in front of the entire class, “Emily, you are a girl, you can’t sing the tenor line through the entire song.”

Again? Come on! I was a brace-faced freshman. Did I have a target on my back, or more accurately, a target on my vocal chords?

With this preface, you can understand the reason that I have not sung out-loud in pubic since the late 1990’s. And I’m serious. While I take true pleasure in singing loudly and boldly alone in the car, I usually lips sync at church and even my go-to karaoke songs are not actually selections that require singing. I rap (Tupac and Wyclef being my favorites).

But my personal singing drought stops now! In the spirit of this blog, of putting myself out there, and not being afraid of failure, I will be singing at a cabaret night/fundraiser at the Mansfield (Mass) Music and Art Society next month (more details to come). Yep, not only will I sing out loud in public, I will stand up on a stage and sing for tons of people…who will have paid money to be there. Yep, this is completely insane.

Rehearsing

Luckily I have two experts to get me ready. Chrissy Lamont, an amazing singer and a musical theater veteran was kind enough to agree to sing a duet with me, “Class” from the show “Chicago.” I will be singing the part of “Momma” (a.k.a. Queen Latifah). Check out how real singers do it here:

Additionally, vocal coach Christine Kasparian is donating her time and talent to whip my voice into performing shape. Christine runs a variety of musical programs and also offers voice lessons, mostly to kids. This seemed perfect because my singing ability is around a 10-year-old’s level.

We had our first singing lesson this past Sunday, and even though I’m no longer that mortified freshman with braces, I was still really nervous. We started out by talking about breathing, and did some exercises to help me breath from the diaphragm and not from my chest. It was harder than I expected. We then started warming up my vocal chords by singing scales, which immediately produced flashbacks of the failed singing attempts of my youth. I was fidgety, and uncharacteristically shy when I was attempting to hit high notes. But I was reassured by the news that I was not in fact tone deaf. According to Christine and Chrissy, I could “find the note,” (i.e. I could sing the note they played on the keyboard) but my voice was “not developed.” I guess belting out Fleetwood Mac in my car has not been enough to develop those muscles.

We moved on to rehearsing the song that Chrissy and I would be singing next month. This was a little tricky, because despite the fact that I took piano lessons for several years, I cannot read notes. So we took it verse by verse, I would sing along, and we strategized how I could reach the notes…and hold them. We did this for several hours. Here is a sneak peek, or more acurately a listen, to the progress I made:

(Please excuse my framing. I promise you will be able to see my entire face in the video of the final performance)

Let’s just say that I’m lucky I have a month to practice.

What was so interesting about this experience is, despite the fact that I know I don’t sound very good, I don’t really care. I’m not as focused on the potential of embarrassing myself (or offending my audience’s eardrums) as I am focused on proving to myself that I can do this, despite my sordid history with singing. While this inner-reserve won’t prevent me from being laughed off the stage (although I really hope that doesn’t happen), at least I’m not preoccupied with that possibility at this point in my preparation.

More details to come on the date of my performance…in case any of you want to witness this spectacle in person…and of course I will have a full re-cap post after my debut.

Many thanks to Christine Kasparian and my dear friend Chrissy Lamont for helping me through this process. My self-confidence has been boosted by your support. I was not compensated in any way for this post.

Playing Hard to Get

Posted on July 9, 2013 by emily

Nothing says summer like the 4^th of July, fireworks, ice cream and fireflies (or lightning bugs if you prefer). I have such warm childhood memories of these glowing insects; summer nights spent catching them while playing with neighbors. We must have done a lot of gymnastics while we tried to catch them, because I also associate fireflies with my 30-year (and counting) struggle to execute a good cartwheel. But I digress.

When I was asked last year if I would like to experience and write about life as a firefly tracker I thought it would be nostalgic, and relatively easy. Boy was I wrong. This week’s post has been a year in the making.

I first interviewed Don Salvatore, a science educator at The Museum of Science, Boston last June. He runs the museum’s Firefly Watch program where nature lovers, and the rest of us, can take part in studying these blinking beetles by observing and entering data online to create a national database. With this program, “everyone can get involved with science,” Salvatore told me at the time. He opened my eyes to the fact that the color, duration and frequency of their flashes indicates the type of firefly it is plus their gender. It was illuminating…in more ways than one!

Photo courtesy of the Museum of Science Boston

Armed with this information (which can also be found on the Museum of Science’s website) and a notebook for documenting my findings, I set out to see if I had an inner nature tracker in me. What could be better than spending a summer night outside, with fireflies (and maybe a glass of wine)? Well, I ended up having to set out many, many, many more times than anticipated to find these critters.

I tried to find them last summer in a variety of spots: Avalon, NJ, Quincy, MA, Greenwich, CT and Newport, RI. Each time I sat outside (in fields, marshes, even bird sanctuaries) from dusk until dark looking for fireflies. Sometimes I had company (my mother, aunt and a collection of friends all came along for these hunts), but each outing was marked by a serious lack of fireflies, and an abundance of frustration. While they seemed omnipresent in the summers of my youth, they seemed to be playing hard to get in 2012.

Despite half a dozen outings specifically to observe fireflies, I only saw them once, under less that optimal conditions. I was at a backyard party at a friend of a friend’s house in Connecticut the second week of July. I saw fireflies in the bushes at the edge of the yard, and slowly walked away from my conversation and towards the shrubs as if in a trance. Then I realized that I would hate for my friend to have to explain why her tag-along guest was crawling around in the bushes. “Oh, that’s just the sort of thing that Emily does,” I could hear her saying by way of explanation. I let myself be absorbed back into the party, figuring they would certainly turn up again that summer. They did not.

When summer 2013 rolled around I was determined to find fireflies! Nature had challenged me to a battle of fwaits…if not wits…and I would not go down without a fight.

So far this season I have spent many an evening sitting on a bench along the Charles River or in Boston’s Public Garden, waiting for the bugs to show themselves, and specifically show their glowing butts. I must have looked like a complete weirdo, sitting at attention on these benches, staring purposefully around, yet at nothing in particular, camera in hand. Still I came up empty.

So this past week, while spending some time with my family in Avalon, New Jersey I decided I would give the fireflies one more chance to be a part of this blog. In yet another example of their endless support of me (and this blog), my mom and dad came out with me at dusk to search for the elusive creatures. We stood near a marshy area, as it got increasingly dark. Now, instead of standing alone purposefully staring at nothing, I had safety in numbers; we all looked insane in the membrane. After waiting around for what seemed like hours we had not found a single firefly, but we did encounter numerous mosquitos.

My parents are such troopers for standing in the dark with me…

We decided to drive to another part of the island to a bird sanctuary to give it one more chance. This time we stayed in the car (I was seriously being eaten alive) after five minutes my mom yelled, “I see a light!” as if we had won the lottery. We jumped out of the car as if it was on fire and ran towards the few tiny flickers in the foliage. We started counting minuscule rapid-fire bursts of greenish light (it looked like they were having some sort of seizure). There were also a few with slow and steady flashes as if they were keeping time by metronome. But if I remember fireflies liking me as a child and hanging out for a bit, 30 years later they have wised-up and after about two or three minutes they flew away and the three of us were left alone in the darkness again.

I’ll admit, I did feel a sense of accomplishment. We had persevered and finally seen a handful of fireflies, although, when I started the hunt last summer I though I would have collected more than two minutes of data. As many of you have read here, my mother has a lot of experience with animals. So she and I analyzed the charts that detail the color and frequency of their flashes and determined that our rapid-fire finds were male, and of the punctatus species of fireflies and our slower friends were of the marinellus species. “This is all very exciting,” my mom said. A year in the making, but yes, exciting indeed.

When I went back to the museum’s website to submit my data I was comforted to see that there is a theory that firefly numbers are dropping, so it’s not just that they don’t like me. I’m glad I’m finally able to cross firefly hunting off my bloggy to-do list, and I can safely say that my next passion in life is not collecting data on lightning bugs…but it may just be my mom’s.

Thank you to Don Salvatore from the Museum of Science in Boston. You too can get in on the firefly watch, and I wish you more luck than I had.

I Lost my Voice (And Found it Again)

Posted on June 27, 2013 by emily

There are several reasons I started this blog, the most important was that I wanted a vehicle to help me find my next passion in life. But I also saw it as a vehicle to get me writing again. Writing used to be my job. I wrote eight hours a day and I loved every minute of it. Now, as I’m searching for something I am passionate about, I often wonder if it hasn’t been right under my nose (or, more accurately, under my fingers) this whole time: Writing.

I am happiest when I am writing. Sometimes I crack myself up to the point of laughing out loud, and I feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I craft a turn of phrase that I am particularly pleased with. Maybe I’m wearing a pair of rose-colored glasses, but I can imagine nothing better than writing all day as I used to (although I wouldn’t mind an atmosphere a little less frenetic than a newsroom).

So about a month ago when I was asked to start writing posts for The Voice of Downtown Boston I was incredibly excited. It’s not Slate.com, (that would be a dream come true) but this unsolicited invitation was extremely flattering. And while this isn’t earning me a great deal of money, it will certainly help support my newly-acquired interior design habit.

I went into my first assignment with a fire in my belly. I felt as if I was returning to my journalistic roots by writing about weekly outdoor block parties held in Boston’s Downtown Crossing. I realized this was the first time in more than a year that I was being told what to write, instead of me dreaming up what I wanted to write about it. No one told me to try synchronized swimming; I wanted to see if I could do it.

This is where I got into trouble. After I submitted my first post, I received feedback that I needed to re-write it with “more personality.” More personality? The criticism affected me more than I wanted to admit. I have spent years, not to mention a great deal of my parents’ money (in the form of Columbia J School tuition) developing my writing style and voice. It’s something I’m immensely proud of. I think my personality shines through in my writing. Then I realized it shines through on this blog…a safe place of my own creation. Reading the post again, yes, it was a little stiff…it read a bit like a press release. I re-wrote it, but refused to read it when it finally went live on the site.

I have always been confident in my writing ability; now that confidence was severely shaken. Maybe I just think I’m a good writer, and all of you really read this blog for the pictures and puns? Maybe the truth is that I’m just average (and as you all know by now, average is a four letter word for me) with my court jester-like adventures acting as a diversion.

I figured I wouldn’t be asked to write for them again, and that my little adventure as a freelance writer was over. So when a second assignment came in I was equal parts relieved and nervous. I was reminded that the Voice of Boston folks had asked me to write for them because they liked my blog, and this quirky literary voice of mine. This time, I would show them personality, I thought. My assignment was to write about Post Office Square, a public park in Boston’s Financial District. Not the sexiest topic, but I was determined to Emily-ize it! I framed the piece around a love affair that I was having…with the park. Yep, there’s Emily! You can read the finished product here. It was published without revisions, and I felt validated.

So now in addition to my very demanding and fulfilling full-time job, and the part-time job/passion project that is this blog, I have now acquired a third job writing for the Voice of Downtown Boston (and hopefully more outlets in the future). I hope I will be able to fit in time to sleep. Let the writing adventure begin!

My new home office

It’s My Apartment, And I’ll Cry If I Want To

Posted on June 12, 2013 by emily

In addition to my blog life being filled with adventures, my normal life seems to include a fare number of adventures (of varying degrees) these days as well. I’ve been in my new apartment for three months now, and most of the time I think I’ve adjusted well to living alone. But in the past few weeks, my limits (emotional and physical) have been tested.

In the past when I’ve run into a household problem, there has always been someone to tackle the issue with me, and in many cases for me. Whether it is yelling for my Dad, peering into a broken oven with a roommate next to me, or calling a boyfriend when I can’t find a fuse box, I always felt as if I had back-up. In the past few weeks I have felt painfully alone.

Let me set the stage: summer takes a while to arrive in New England. Memorial Day weekend for example, was windy, rainy and 45 degrees. So when a surprise—or at least it was a surprise to me—heat wave hit a week ago, I was ill prepared. I was that girl who went out looking to buy an air conditioner when it was already 95 degrees. After an introductory lesson on British Thermal Units (am I the only person who had no idea what a BTU was?) from dear old Dad and searching the aisles of half a dozen stores, I finally found an AC in the ‘burbs. I lugged it home, up my three flights of stairs and ripped it out of the box, desperate for instant relief.

It was at that moment that I realized while I had watched as an AC was put in, I had never actually done it myself. Yes, I’m thirty-something and never installed an air conditioner. I was overheated and exhausted from climbing the stairs and as I tried to balance the unit on the windowsill, I admit it, I started to cry…and I stripped off my clothes. I’m sure it was a pitiful sight, a hot, sweaty, half naked girl crying with an air condition precariously balanced on her knee, which was propped up on a window sill. In that moment I felt completely hopeless, and slightly embarrassed that I could not help myself.

I slept in my living room that night—overhead fan cranking, patio door open—next to the AC that I was not able to get in the window.

The following weekend, after the heat had subsided, I was to have patio furniture delivered, which I didn’t realize would come in approximately a bazillion pieces. It took over my entire apartment (true, this may say a great deal about the compact nature of my apartment, in addition to the copious number of pieces) and I was instantly overwhelmed. It literally could have taken me days to make sense of all of it.

I was serious, a bazillion pieces

As I looked at the pieces of metal and cushions that littered my floor, I had an epiphany: In every other aspect of my life–including work, and this blog—when I’m in need of help, I seek out an expert. Why should these household tasks be any different? If my Ikea hack experience taught me one thing it’s that time is money. I may not be resourceful with a hammer and nails, but I am resourceful enough to know whom to call to get these things done. Hadn’t I preached that sometimes you just need a handyman…or at the very least a handy man?

After a quick walk to Charles Street Supply, my local hardware store, I had booked their resident handyman to come over and install the air conditioner, and I created a taskrabbit account and posted a request for someone to “help me” put together my patio furniture for $50.

For those of you who are not familiar, Taskrabbit.com allows you to post tasks you need done, and members of the community—who have gone through background checks and interviews, so you can feel confident that an ax murderer won’t arrive on your doorstep—can claim and do them. My taskrabbit, Marc arrived Sunday afternoon and we quickly got to work, interrupted several times by my Dad who called to make sure this “stranger I found on the internet” had not chopped me up into little pieces.

Marc getting down to business

And while Marc did do most of the work, I did keep him company, play DJ, hand him pieces, and arrange the cushions when he finished. A real team effort if you ask me! That hysterical, nearly naked girl from the weekend before had been replaced with a calm, even jovial, partner in furniture assembly.

Marc testing out his handywork

Living alone is teaching me a lot about myself, most importantly that it’s ok, even essential at times, to ask (or pay) for help. Feeling helpless, or hopeless, is never good. But being able to find solutions to these problems—and those of greater consequence as well—is an important step in the right direction…in this adventure called life.

Who says I’m not resourceful?

Painting the Town Red (But Mostly Blue)

Posted on June 5, 2013 by emily

I’m a stereotypical first-born: Type A, ambitious, overachiever. As you may have already read on this blog, my brother and I are very different creatures. He’s the creative one. He’s an accomplished artist (you can check out his work here), and I’m immensely proud of him. That doesn’t stop the competitive older sister in me from coming out from time to time.

I’ll never be as good a painter as he is, but that fact didn’t stop me from trying. So when the folks at Paint Nite asked me to try out one of their painting parties I jumped at the chance. Paint Nite has become a Boston (and ‘burbs) bar staple over the past few years. At its core it’s a series of laid-back night of drinking and painting held at different Boston area bars and restaurants several nights a week. You can check out their website to see their schedule, sample paintings and to sign up.

Let the painting begin

When it came time for my friend Diana and I to choose when and where to get our paint on, we did what anyone with discerning taste would do: we chose our location based on what we would be painting (their schedule is organized, not just by date and location, but also by painting and artist leading the class). The prettier the better. There are dozens of painting sessions to choose from, and in the end we chose a sail boat scene. We arrived at Basho and took two front row seats, I figured I would need an unobstructed view of our instructor (and more importantly, her canvas) if I was going to create something with even the slightest resemblance to what I was supposed to.

Erica shows us how it’s done

My first clue that this would not be a dark, hipster, artsy night was the artist who would be leading us in our sailboat soiree. Erica Pearson was cute, personable and not dressed in all black. She led us step-by-step through the painting, pausing to work her way around the room as we completed the water or a sail. I had my doubts, but it was actually fool-proof, literally. My stick figures are nothing to write home about, but whether it was Erica’s explanation or demonstration (or maybe I was touched by divine artistic intervention) I was able to paint the heck out of those sailboats, the water and even the reflection of the sails against the water. The latter was the most difficult part of the painting and required a very specific water-to-paint ratio on the brush. I may have let out a squeal of frustration, but Erica and Diana we able to talk me off my oil-paint covered ledge.

I was really concentrating.

My lovely friend Diana with her work of art.

The finished product

I was really happy with the end product, and that I got to spend a night catching up with a dear friend. But because I am über competitive, I couldn’t just be satisfied with my painting. I had to see what a real artist thought of it. So I asked my aforementioned talented brother, Daniel Mahlman, to critique my sailboats. Here’s his dispatch:

“The colors are a little generic. Meaning the actual colors you are seeing are more complicated in real life than you have them; getting the actual colors in the right shapes is what makes your painting look like the thing you’re looking at. That said, just as a painting, I kinda like it. Except the ocean color. Water is almost never that color of blue, and is never that color blue all over. I would revisit it and look for some darker greens and reds in the water and look for variation so that it is not the same color all over. Sorta reminded me of this painter, Milton Avery.”

A piece by Milton Avery

Let’s skip the “generic” part; that’s a fair criticism, there were a few dozen of us painting the same exact scene, so it’s certainly not original. Let’s focus on the part where he writes that he “kinda likes it!” He can even see similarities between my technique (can I call it that?) and the Milton Avery piece above, and that’s a compliment. I think? (his piece is kinda simplistic as well, if I do say so myself)

Paint Nite is tons of fun for people of all levels of artistic inclination. Through the end of July, they are offering my readers a 15% discount. If you live in, or around Boston, and want to commune with your inner artist, use the code greatwidepainters when you sign up to received this discount!

Paint Nite allowed me to spend a night with them at no cost, but as always, all the opinions expressed on this blog and authentically my own. Thanks to Daniel Mahlman for his generous feedback.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Posted on May 29, 2013 by emily

As you all know, I take requests on this blog. If you have something you want to see me try I will make every effort to bring it to life on these pages. Several months ago, one of your fellow readers suggested I try ice climbing. I made every effort to make this happen, but sadly I was too late and all the ice in the Northeast melted before I booked it. So as not to disappoint the great gal who made the suggestion, I found the next best thing: rock climbing.

Those of you who have read this blog for a while know that I did attack a rock wall once, with surprising success, but I knew that this would be different. Climbing at a rock gym offers a certain sense of safety despite the fact that you are off the ground…maybe it’s the brightly colored mats covering the floor. But I figured this outdoor adventure would make for a good post: I’d fail miserably, you would laugh, and that would be that. I should have known better, it’s never that simple.

Hiking in to Pinkham Notch. Photo courtesy of Corey Fitzgerald

Our day began early. My friends Laurie and Eleanor (who has a great travel photography blog that you should check out) agreed to come with me and we were due in the White Mountains of New Hampshire by 8:00 a.m. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the copious amount of caffeine consumed on the drive, but we busted into the bunkhouse of Northeast Mountaineering laughing hysterically. Corey Fitzgerald, co-owner of NEM and his fellow guide, Vincent Dude, were probably not expecting this much pep. Nor were they expecting the impromptu stand-up comedy routine we performed as we hiked into Square Ledge at Pinkham Notch, right in front of Mt Washington. The ledge is 100 feet high (I don’t think I knew that until after I started climbing).

It may have been because we were still laughing so hard, but I volunteered to climb first without thinking twice about it. Seriously, it takes me longer to decide whether to screen a phone call. Before I knew it, I was off the ground. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I’m a natural (but don’t take my word for it, read what Corey has to say)! Women may worry that they don’t have the upper body strength to climb, but it’s all in the legs. All I had to do was find a crevasse to wedge a toe in and simply stand up on that leg. Plus, I was so focused on what was directly in front of me (the rock) that I didn’t really look around and register how high I was. I think this is a testament to the cumulative effect this blog—and all these adventures—have had on me. I have somehow Metamorphisized from a worrywart into an adventurer. Climb a mountain? Why not, it’s Saturday!

About 50 feet up

At the top I had to belay down, and that’s when my bubble burst. I was terrified as I leaned back and walked my feet down the side of the ledge as Eleanor lowered my harness (and me) slowly to the ground. And when I say terrified…I mean scared to death…deep breathing, maybe an audible whimper. I even yelled at some tween boys climbing nearby when their shrieks just about sent me over the edge (sorry, rock climbing humor). Corey said it was actually pretty normal for people to be more nervous on the way down, which made me feel a little better. But only a little.

On my way down…holding on to that rope for dear life. Photo courtesy of Corey Fitzgerald

The obvious hypothesis I came to while nearly hyperventilating was that it’s all about control. Despite being harnessed to someone on the ground I felt more in control while actively climbing up, on the way down I was anything but. I really thought I was over this control freak thing, but maybe I can be excused because I was 100 feet in the air.

I didn’t let that loss of control—or fear of death for that matter—stop me. I climbed two more times. Corey had repelled from the top of the ledge to take some of the amazing pictures you see here, and he was able to coach me from the top. On my subsequent climbs I told him a few times that I was done, I had made it high enough, that I was going to head down. Without putting any pressure on me, he encouraged me to keep going. “Don’t you want to tap the carabineer (which marked the very top),” he asked. Well, of course I did. On my next climb when I couldn’t find a foothold and got frustrated he suggested I take a moment to rest and take a look around. That was the perspective I needed. Soon I found my next move, just as I’m sure he knew I would. BEST GUIDE EVER. I am really proud of my friends as well; both faced a fear of heights or physical limitations and did a great job.

Still smiling. Photo courtesy of Corey Fitzgerald

I learned a few lessons from this adventure, including that fact that while I may be more brave—or maybe brazen—as a result of trying all these new experiences, I’m not immune to momentary freak-outs. But it’s o.k. to be scared sometimes, just don’t let that fear hold you back from trying new things or testing your limits (to a certain degree). Pushing past that fear and those limits helps us discover what we are made of and how much we can accomplish.

Eleanor attacking the ledge. Photo courtesy of Corey Fitzgerald

I also learned how important it is to surround yourself with the right people. This rock climbing experience could have been very different if I had been with different people—both friends and guides. We never stopped laughing, and Corey and Vincent were the definition of supportive. I usually don’t gush this much on the blog, but they were fantastic. I was not compensated in any way for this post (I actually paid them), so you can trust this recommendation. If you are thinking of rock climbing, hiking or ice climbing in New England you should do it with Northeast Mountaineering. We have already booked our next outing with them: Franconia Ridge in August. I think I am becoming outdoorsy!

Can you tell we had a great time?

Many thanks to Laurie Murphy and Eleanor Crow for climbing with me and to Corey Fitzgerald and Vincent Dude of Northeast Mountaineering helping us do it. As I mentioned above I was not compensated for this post. To Valerie Jupe, who suggested I trying ice climbing, I will try again next winter. I will not let you down!

Apartment Update: Bedroom (& Brimfield)

Posted on May 22, 2013 by emily

Thank you for the tremendous response to last week’s post, the big reveal of my adventure in interior design. This week we move into the bedroom…cue the romantic music.

Here is the before:

Long and narrow, tough to work with

As you can see the shape of my bedroom (not to mention the window and radiator) doesn’t allow for many variations in terms of furniture placement. My bed could only really go one place, so there it is. I’m using the same Serena and Lilly bedding that I had in my last place, although with these eggshell colored walls (which sadly I am not allowed to paint) the pink and green seems a little bit more in your face than before, so I may change my bedding in the coming months.

Because the room is an odd shape, I really didn’t want to invest a tremendous amount of money in bedroom furniture that fits in this small space, but may not be the right proportion for a larger room I inhabit in the future. In addition, and perhaps more importantly, I wanted to impress you all with my craftiness, so I decided to Ikea Hack! I didn’t realize this was a thing until I stumbled upon this Apartment Therapy post and realized there was a lot I could do with a raw wood piece from the Swedish furniture maker. It’s a cottage industry.

I started out with the rast table (above, at an amazing $34, I’ve paid more for a lunch). Sitting in my living room with a dozen pieces of raw wood covering the floor gave me terrible flashbacks of college, but it was an easy piece to put together, and I quickly moved out to the patio to paint (high gloss Chantilly Lace by Benjamin Moore), stain (“Red Oak”) and varnish what would become my bedside table. After a few coats I added some brass pulls from Lee Valley Tools (I cannot get enough brass these days). I think it looks great and at this price if I throw it out in a year when I fall in love with a real beside table it won’t own me anything.

Buoyed by my success with the rast I braved the crowded maze that is Ikea again, determined to hack a matching dresser. I picked the “tarva” five-drawer chest. Things didn’t go as smoothly this time around. This piece really required a drill (which the instructions did not state, even if it did, I don’t own one), and after several hours I remembered why I stopped buying Ikea furniture: its assembly has the unique ability to make me feel stupid and weak at the same vulnerable moment. As an intelligent adult I should be able to follow the instructions that are laid out solely in pictures. But I couldn’t. After sitting on my floor crying for longer than I care to admit, I called in reinforcements in the form of my friend Chris, who saved me by putting the frame of the chest together. I had to be rescued again a few days later by my dad who brought his drill up from Philadelphia to help me assemble the drawers. Sometimes you just need a handyman…or handy men.

While the finished product does look good, if time is money than this dresser is worth a fortune.

With my Ikea hacking behind me (thank goodness), it was time to turn my attention to the walls and attempt to make my room look a little less like a padded cell. I was on the hunt for some vintage illustrations on the website of the New York Public Library (a great resource), but I abandoned that effort when two friends and I started planning a trip to the Brimfield Antique Show this past weekend.

For those of you who don’t know, Brimfield is a HUGE outdoor antique fair with hundreds of vendors. It’s held three times a year in the town of…you guessed it…Brimfield! I had stopped by a few years ago while driving from Boston to New York, but didn’t spend much time because it’s so enormous and I quickly got overwhelmed. This time we were strategic: we discussed what we all were looking for so that we could keep our eyes open for each other and stay on track.

Brimfield is an experience, to say the least. We went on the last day when many vendors had discounted their items and were willing to haggle. Walking around looking at all the treasures I wished I had been able to go before I picked out all the pieces that now populate my tiny place. There were so many unique pieces, and so many items that I would love to upholster!! It was so easy to get overwhelmed by all these beautiful—and in some cases odd—things in every direction. I was glad the three of us had set priorities; they helped me stay the course.

I found an old illustration of Columbia’s first campus (an ode to my J School days) in a goldish frame. After bartering its seller down, and re-stringing some twine for hanging, it has filled in the missing piece in my living room’s gallery wall. I also found four vintage bird illustrations, each had touches of pink so I hoped they would work well in my bedroom. They are an odd size so I got crafty late last night (nothing like a blog post deadline to end procrastination) to make them work in the frames I picked out. I used pop dots (my favorite crafty go-to) as spacers so the illustration appeared to hover above white textured construction paper I picked out. It makes them look more polished and makes my at-home framing job look more deliberate.

Late night crafts

My vintage prints securely in their new frames

The shape of the room still makes it feel a little bit like a psych ward, but the walls certainly look better.

I wish I could fit the entire room in the frame, but that says a lot about the size and shape of the room.

So now you have seen it; my new place! My adventure as an interior designer will continue, it’s a process and I still have some items to pick up (gradually, as my bank account replenishes itself I need to find a headboard, but the fact that my bed inches past the window is making my decision hard, I am thinking something like this) but I’m happy with it so far.

I have to thank you for all your wonderful comments, tweets and all the encouragement throughout this process. It was so nice to be able to share my handiwork with you!

I leave you now with some scenes from Brimfield:

If only I needed a door…

Inspiration for my next projects…

Clutter ceases to be clutter if it’s in gorgeous copper bins

Ready to head back to Boston with our treasurers!

Apartment Update: Living Room

Posted on May 15, 2013 by emily

It has been two month since I moved into my tiny new apartment. While the last several weeks have been an exhausting mix of moving, furniture assembly, organization and more trips to Target than I expected, it’s been so fun turning this space into my home. I told you all that I was going to learn some tricks from an interior designer, but that didn’t work out so I’m going it alone. I was disappointed at first, but it’s made for more of an adventure. I can now also claim that I did this all by myself, and I’m really happy and proud of the (nearly) finished product. To add to the challenge, I am working on a very tight budget. All this is not to say that I don’t have a lot more to do, but here’s an update on all that I have been up to.

You all remember the before shot of the main room:

Empty Apartment

And here is the after:

Please remember I didn’t really have any furniture (I sold it all when I moved from NYC to Boston). I showed up on Beacon Hill with the wing chair, ottoman and piano bench that I upholstered, but that’s about it. As a result, I was able to build the entire room (one of the two in the apartment) around those items, specifically my beloved chair. I focused on navy, white and pink for the room.

The table and chairs in my kitchen came from my grandmother’s house (by way of my aunt’s basement). Thankfully the table is the perfect size for the small kitchen, but has two additional leaves embedded in the table I can use for dinner parties.

I had been dreaming of a navy velvet sofa (Did you know that Jonathan Adler has a line at JC Penney?), but decided to go neutral because this isn’t my “forever home,” and who knows where I will be (or with whom) in a year or two. I fell in love with the brass nail heads of the Vaughn sofa from Boston Interiors, and the price was right. The folks at Boston Interiors were so nice and left me along to waffle between a few styles for nearly and hour while entertaining my fellow shoppers by face-timing with my mother throughout the showroom.

With that purchase made, I was able to have fun with the rug. I picked this trellis pattern in navy and white. I was this close to choosing a chevron pattern for the floor, but I think chevron’s moment in the trendy sun is just about over. Instead, I picked a chevron pillow. I figured it was less of an commitment. I’m pairing that with a Kim Salmela pillow that ties in the trellis of the rug, with an ethnic print (reminiscent of the ikat of my upholstered bench) with pink welting in a shade close to that on my chair and ottoman. It was my own personal design hat-trick.

The wing chair has been in constant use since I moved in, and it really needed a companion in the form of a little end table. I found this brass one at Home Goods, but you can find similar one at Create & Barrel. I love brass, and because of the sofa’s nail heads I decided to overlook the mirrored top. Not in love with that part of it, but flowers help soften the look for me.

I own some lovely pieces of art, but nothing large scale enough to work above the couch, so I decided to try a gallery wall made up of some of the items I love most (prints, photos of dear friends, a map of London, a favorite New Yorker cover, a pen and ink by my talented brother, and an original Loose Parts cartoon that’s an inside family joke) plus two small sun mirror to add some much-needed texture.

My gallery wall

I went through the entire process by cutting out newspaper to the specifications of my frames, hung them on the wall, and then stared at it from different spots in the room for an hour or so to make sure I liked the arrangement. Putting the whole wall together took more time than I expected, but I’m pretty happy with the end product. I’m looking for one more item with some texture for the upper left corner. If you have a suggestion please send it my way!

I’ve held off having an official housewarming party because I want the space to be “done” before I have people over. In the past I’ve offered advice to friends who are decorating to cut themselves some slack, don’t rush the decorating process, and take time to see how they use the space before committing. I haven’t been able to take that advice to heart. I’ve been stressed about the shade of blue on a pillow, and a back ordered coffee table sent me into a tailspin (speaking of which, I now think I’ll be getting this Lucite one from CB2 so that it visually disappears into the room).

I seem to be projecting a lot of my feelings about myself onto my apartment. I only want my friends—and you—to see it when it was finished and perfect! I finally did have two girlfriends over for wine a week ago, and I was prepared to explain why this or that was not complete, or when the patio furniture is arriving (next week, just in time for summer), but I didn’t need to explain the state of my apartment to them. They loved it—the work in progress that it is—just as they love me (also a work in progress). When will I learn?

Next week the apartment tour continues in my bedroom where my craftiness was pushed to its limits. Stay tuned.

Inspiring…and Certainly Not Saggy

Posted on May 8, 2013 by emily

Periodically on this blog I take time out from my own adventures to tell you about someone who has followed their passion until it paid off. This helps remind me—and I hope you as well –that if you stick with it (whatever your “it” is) it will pay off one way or another.

A few weeks back I had the opportunity to interview Andy Dunn, the co-founder and CEO of Bonobos, at the party to celebrate the retailor’s new brick and mortar “guideshop” right off of Boston’s Newbury Street. Boston was the site of the company’s first physical presence for getting up close and personal (not to mention trying on) with their wares (you still have to make a purchase online), having operated solely via e-commerce until about a year ago.

The scene at the guideshop party

Dunn started Bonobos (named after particularly promiscuous primate, I’m going to leave that alone) by making a commitment to better fitting pants for men. “Fit” is a fashion buzz word most commonly associated with women’s attire. Some would argue that men’s jeans and khakis don’t really “fit” at all; they sag and hang lifelessly from their owners’ bodies, suspended somewhere below their wastes (and sometimes even below their butts) by a hardworking belt. That ended in 2007 when Dunn’s co-founder and business school classmate, Brian Spaly, started altering his pants after getting fed-up with their ill-fitting construction. That’s when the two friends started following their passion to create a better fitting pant, and embarked on their mission to — the in the words of The New York Times — “banish the saggy bottom.” (Dunn and Spaly parted ways in 2009 amid creative differences. Spaly has gone on to create Trunk Club).

Dunn addressing guests at the Boston guideshop party

Speaking with Dunn in a corner of the bustling party, it was clear that he’s truly passionate about the company, its employees and its line of menswear that has expanded to include not only chinos, but also jeans, button-down shirts, suits, blazers, T-shirts, ties and a host of accessories. Pocket square anyone? Dunn’s face and tone emits the enthusiasm he has for his company and its products.

Bonobos are great fitting and come in tons of fabulous colors

Bonobos made a name for itself not only based on great fit, but also on customer service. As an e-commerce site, their business model relied heavily on a generous lifetime return policy and knowledgeable personnel to provide assistance purchasing a product online that arguably everyone would prefer to see in person and try on. Their customer service representatives, known as “style ninjas,” are available via email, phone and twitter.

Dunn and I spoke about the difficulty of following your passion when there’s no guarantee that it will pay off or even get off the ground. “The leap is scary, but empowering,” he said, describing the initial venture. Contrary to what I would have thought, he said it hasn’t become any less scary as the company has grown, despite its mounting success. Now he has 120 employees who depend on him and the company.

“Both our customers and employees love the product and love the company,” he said referring to being named one of the Top 50 Best Places to work by Crain’s New York Business. “So I know we’re doing something right.” By any measure, Bonobos is a success. In addition to $8 million in initial funding cobbled together from 100 angel investors, Dunn and company just went through s second round of financing totaling $30 million, including more than $16 million from Nordstrom, where Bonobos are now also available.

Dunn said he learned a very important lesson on a trip to a Kenyan village towards the end of business school, and it’s stayed with him ever since. “It’s not risky to do what you love, it’s risky not to.” That idea really resonated with me (not that this blog is all about me…well…I guess it is) and has stayed with me even weeks later. It doesn’t matter if 500 people read this blog, or 5,000. I’m not doing this for you (no offense). I am doing it for me, and the fact that hundreds of you enjoy reading about my escapades–and appreciate my honesty when I’m having a “crisis” (of varying degrees)–is just a big ‘ol perk, but not one that I take for granted. The leap I am taking though this blog is bound to impact my life (and already has) in some unexpected ways, and as Dunn says, it’s much riskier for me not to do it than to jump in head first.

Thanks to Andy Dunn and all the lovely folks at Bonobos. You can see, feel and try on Bonobos by making an appointment at their guideshop on Dartmouth and Newbury, or at one of their five other locations, and make a purchase at www.bonobos.com. I was not compensated in any way for this post (But full disclosure, if they made women’s clothes I may have asked to be. Just kidding. Sort of).

The Big Reveal: Yo-Yo

Posted on May 1, 2013 by emily

After weeks of practice, I am ready to reveal not only my new-found yo-yoing skills but also the first Great Wide Open Digital Short. It’s like an SNL Digital Short, but without the soundtrack, and less funny…but only slightly (I hope).

Let me know what you think, and if you’d like to see more of these videos. Don’t worry, They won’t replace my witty written posts, I like writing way to much to give that up. Enjoy!

So as you can see, while I did display a “marked improvement,” I’m still not very good. But far more important than that, I had tons of fun learning all things yo-yo!

Before this adventure I didn’t realize the skill and dedication it takes to be a good yo-yoer, and I had no idea how popular yo-yoing still is. When I mentioned this latest adventure I received tons of questions about the tricks I was learning, and what type of yo-yo I was using. I felt as if I had suddenly gained entry into a cool club…a club I never knew existed.

While I’m not advanced enough to complete any tricks, here is my yo-yo yoda, Adam Nelsen, demonstrating some traditional tricks:

“The Jamaican Flag”

“Ursa Major”

“Rock the Baby,” not “hang the baby”

Me and my yo-yo Yoda

Thanks again to Adam Nelsen for being a patient and supporting teacher. And an extra special thank you to my friend Geoff Brownell for shooting and editing this video. A wonderfully fun partnership has begun!

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure:

Share this Adventure: