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Monet's "Snow Scene at Argenteuil"

On Friday I woke up grumpy. I could see the snow stacked up on the windowsills, I could hear the whistle of the cutting wind, and I could feel the cold chilling the apartment. The alert on my phone said: -10 degree wind chills. I could hear it! I could hear the cold.

I grumbled as I put on layer upon layer of clothes getting ready for work. My mood went into certain distress when I could not find the winter fleece socks for my weatherproof boots. After twenty minutes, I went with my weatherproof sneakers instead.

Then I stood on the subway platform for an hour and a half, saw one packed train come and leave the station without a single person getting on or off, felt my feet go numb, and decided to call it a day on that endeavor. At street level I scurried into the neighborhood grocery store and made sure to grab enough food for Jesse and I if we were to be esconced for the entire weekend because of the blizzard.

Working from home in a comfortable outfit, under the blankets on the couch, was dream-like. How perfect! I could get everything done right there, and the wind sounds faded into something more like music as I knew I wouldn't have to face them that day again. Serenity.

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I was not to stay indoors all weekend, thankfully.

On Saturday, an event I was looking forward to at the Frick: the Dutch Masters exhibition. I was in awe of the Vermeers and the Rembrandts; there were many paintings I had never seen in person that I had long ago learned about in art history. But perhaps I’m most enamored of paintings with fictional histories - I do love fiction and I read The Girl With a Pearl Earring over a decade ago, and just finished The Goldfinch. But these fictional accounts also were words upon words of appreciation for these paintings, so when I stood in front of them, it seemed like only then did I understand fully and completely their power and those words. There are swaths of pages near the end in The Goldfinch that are in tribute to the titular painting, and to the enduring legacy of art, to the communication inherent in a centuries-old painting. I was a bit breathless in the throng as I stared at the little bird; maybe my eyes welled up a bit.

I think my love for Donna Tartt's novel The Goldfinch is swelling in retrospect. I gave it 4.5 stars but now I can't imagine what I docked it for. I think now it's a 5-star book... maybe it's one of my favorite books? It's certainly one that stays on the mind, and after seeing the painting, with the atmosphere Tartt so wondrously puts to page in mind, I'm already looking forward to rereading it one day.

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Afterwards, my museum companion Erica and I went to dinner, both carrying prints of Carel Fabritius' "The Goldfinch" and discussing our other favorite piece in the permanent collection, Jean-Antoine Houdon's sculpture "The Dead Thrush." I don't like birds much in real life, but am apparently attracted to them in art. I retreated home to an empty apartment (except for the cats, of course) and in my fervor of needing more ART decided to watch two long-time must-see Criterion edition films, The Double Life of Veronique and Paris, Texas. Definitely good, definitely ART -- my need to devour such satisfied.

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On Sunday I met Amy for brunch in Williamsburg and we lamented how we'd each only been to Paris once but loved it so much and as we looked around the cafe (it has a French name) we tried imagining we were actually in Paris. But -- not even close. One day, again!

I returned home for football playoff games with Jesse. It's always fun to watch games with him, even with the Patriots aren't playing. At one point we were talking about the best films of the year and I was having trouble picking my favorite (I've been mulling it for far too long) and then he said that he still hadn't seen one of my finalists and maybe we should watch it. I never say no when Jesse wants to watch a movie! (I, obviously, am always ready to watch a movie.) So we popped it in and it solidified: this was definitely my favorite movie of 2013. More on that when I divulge my list this week...

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Last night started off innocuously enough. Jesse and I had a quick bite to eat at our favorite local spot, and we traded jokes and football stats with the bartender. My husband was gentlemanly and walked me to the subway so that I could catch my movie and he could catch his football game.

As I was checking my bank account on my phone, however, I saw an erroneous $700+ charged for some concert tickets in LA. WHAT?!?! I headed into the theater, and bought my ticket to see Short Term 12 via kiosk while simultaneously on the phone with my bank. Luckily it all got squared away before the theater opened, but: annoying.

I felt better after talking on the phone because before that, and after finding out--those mere minutes--is when I have near-meltdown type of anxiety. These moments are almost always caused by money issues. I'm pretty relaxed about the unexpected EXCEPT FOR THINGS TO DO WITH MONEY.

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Moving on: Short Term 12 was a great film, and surely one that will be in my top 10 at the end of the year. I didn't know much about its premise going into it, and perhaps I should leave it that way for you, too. It's highly moving, and I was bawling into my wine (I love a theater that serves), and Brie Larson should be a serious contender for Best Actress next year. 

But she probably won't, as these things go.

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These are probably my favorite movies of the year so far: Fruitvale Station, Short Term 12, Before Midnight, Side Effects, Spring Breakers, Star Trek Into Darkness, Much Ado About Nothing, The Heat. Yes, even that movie.

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I've worked near to the Apple flagship store for years, so walking past the block-circling lines for the iPhone 5S this morning was no surprise. The noise level goes way up in the area, though. I mean, New York is always loud, but you have these lines of reporters breathlessly regaling their studios about freakin' lines.

I avoided the block for most of the day. During lunch I wandered around Midtown and snapped the photo above because it was a truly beautiful day. It's starting to get crisp in these parts, welcoming autumn, my favorite time of the year.

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Do not read The Spectacular Now. The movie is probably one million times better, though I have yet to see it. 

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I just IMDB'd the film The Spectacular Now and see that Brie Larson co-stars! Definitely going to see it now. Hopefully with a nice glass of malbec. 

The view of my desk today.

Usually three days of meetings produces a huge mess of my desk. However, I'm pretty proud of this today. Not too messy (though I'm only showing you a portion of my desk--the papers continue beyond). Pretty boring, but now you know what my space looks like. I've worked at the company for six years, but last year I got this sweet desk in a room with three other people next to a WINDOW. Do you know how important a window is at work?! A window that overlooks Madison Avenue?! It's important.

Short and sweet to the soul.

I went to school for journalism, and I haven't had much chance to make use of my degree since graduating. Working at a corporate fashion label, I'm complimented on my clear and concise e-mails (thanks?). In my personal life, I'm that person that asks a lot of questions. One of my high school teachers told me that I should look into writing as a career at a time when I was considering being a forensic pathologist--figuring out how a person died. I'm beginning to think my true calling would be a detective. Veronica Mars-turns-30-style.

I haven't had many 'cases' to work with. If my friends start dating someone new, I'm to find out if they have a criminal record, or other unsavory facts. Have any doubts? Somebody acting shady? E-mail Jessica! Easy enough; one did and I had to pass along the headshots for multiple DUI arrests in another state. The other day my friend started reading a new blog and couldn't figure out who the blogger's vaguely referenced-to husband was (he was hanging out with famous people)--after two minutes of perusing the blog, I sent my friend the husband's Wikipedia page. Mere Googling work. Elementary, as RDJ would say.

On New Year's Eve, my best friend's husband Jon decided we should play 'Mafia' in which one person is randomly and secretly selected as a mafia hitman, and while everybody's eyes are closed he/she kills another person. The narrator, who sits out, then tells everyone who was killed and the living are left to deduce who may be the mafia hitman. I was the first killed--somebody knew my prowess in deduction--and I knew it was my best friend Kelly immediately. Smart move, Kells! In the second game, I also guessed the killer based on clues (a laugh when everyone's eyes were supposed to be closed). In the third, I had no clue because it did not make any logical sense. It was down to four of us and the hitman killed the person everybody suspected most at that moment--why would the killer choose to kill the person that could make him get away with it? Turns out, the narrator wasn't wearing her glasses and was not calling the right 'dead people.' I felt vindicated.

I know, this is really riveting detective-work.

 

On Monday at the office, I did exonerate someone from a co-worker's ire. I work in a room with three other people. Jon likes his coffee; he drinks it all day. I like my coffee too, but I put a lid on it so I don't spill between the kitchen and the office. Jon goes lid-less. When we came into the office on Monday morning there were splats of coffee along the floor. Our resident clean-freak and OCD'er Scott was miffed and told Jon he should clean that up, it was extremely messy of him. Jon was mystified that he could spill so much, as was I. But I kept out of it. Later that morning, walking down the hallway I noticed more drips. Next to my trash can I noticed a different spilled-coffee pattern. I turned to my co-workers and declared: Jon did not spill coffee on Friday, it was the janitor and a leaky trash bag. Somebody had thrown away a cup with coffee still in it, the janitor had gone from desk to desk pulling out the trash bags, not realizing he/she was leaking. Next to my desk they had put the leaky bag down, as I could see the trashbag wrinkles in the coffee stain. Scott apologized to Jon, and the office went back to normal. I relaxed in my swivel chair and crossed my legs on top of my desk, relaxing with a cigarette and ready to take a nap as I shoved my fedora over my eyes.

Just kidding about that last part.

Sigh. My job is really boring.


Photos by Berndnaut Smilde for his Nimbus series via Colossol