Results tagged "London"

HOMEMADE DONUTS.
Need we say more?

Donuts—1st attempt (Also, we love kitchen gadgets)

I know. Who needs a Donut Maker? I mean, one could go through life — several lives, actually and never even once consider how much better things could be if one were to acquire a Donut Maker. Right? Which is exactly why… read more… (don’t stop now!).

Amanda, or Mandy — as I like to call her, and I went to college together.
We went to a women’s college on the Main Line of Philadelphia where we sat on pedestals while hummingbirds bouffanted our hair and talented monkeys ironed our tops… Men were slaves and there was a constant rainbow overhead… And we basked in the never ending sunshine…

When Ry wrote me asking if I’d be interested in guest blogging on For the Birds this week I became totally and completely overzealous and did jumpy claps of excitement. Would I be interested in guest blogging?  Would I?  Would I EVER!  

You see, I am a newbie to all this blogging business.  Before I began my blog in May I used to skulk silently around the interwebs reading other blogs, For the Birds was and is one of my favorites due to Ryan’s ability to tell it like it is and make a seemingly everyday observation interesting, thought provoking, and often hilarious.  I would check in via facebook whenever I saw she had a new post up.  I’d read For the Birds and blogs written by other friends and acquaintances of mine and think to myself, “How do they do it?  How do they find inspiration?  Day after day they come up with something engaging to write about.  I could never do that.  Could I?”.  I still ask myself that question on an almost daily basis.  Does anyone really care what I have to say or am I just shouting my ideas, musings, and thoughts into the echoy cavernous abyss of cyberspace?  For instance how can Ryan make a recap of a Southampton town meeting such a good read?   For me the fact that she had been writing a blog for so many years, and was still managing to keep me, and numerous others,  coming back for more was awe inspiring.  I mean MARTHA reads her blog for crying out loud!  So Ry is sorta my blog hero, she’s kind of a big deal.  So yes, I accepted the invite whole heartedly!

Then  I panicked.  For two reasons, the first being that people actually READ her blog.  My blog is mostly frequented by my Mom and my sisters.  If they don’t comment I harangue and verbally abuse them at family functions.  And I have 5 sisters so that helps hike up my traffic quite a bit.  Sidnote, sister number one, why are you STILL not following me? I am not buying the whole “Your blog won’t let me follow you” bit.  Save it. Just DO IT!  But I digress…Oh, yes, so I was a little unnerved to realize people would actually be reading what I wrote and even more unsettled when I pictured them mumbling to themselves, “Who the hell is this hack and what has she done with Ry?”  And secondly, in the the last week I have hit the proverbial wall.  After 2 mere months of blogging I felt like I had nothing to say.  So I did what anyone would do, I made excuses.  ”I have no time….this week has been insanely busy…I am working non-stop…I’ll get back to it Monday”.  In my defense, my sister was in London on business so I was taking care of my little Terr-bear round the clock.  (Big ups to all the Mothers out there who manage to both parent and blog, I don’t know how you do it).  Add in a freelance wedding makeup gig on Saturday and a birthday party on Sunday and stick a fork in me I was DONE.  As the weekend wore on I started to look towards Monday with apprehension and anxiety.  I HAD to come up with something to write after a weeks silence!  It’s only been two freakin’ months!  Pull it together woman!  Must…find…inspiration.  Write something! Anything!  There were no more excuses, and as Monday loomed closer my angst grew worse.  What will I write?!!  

Then Sunday night I logged onto the computer and there was this little beacon of light, a message from Ry asking me to be a guest bird.  But whatever shall I write I thought?  This week, of all the weeks, when I seem to have lost my mojo, NOW she wants me to guest blog?  So, screw it I thought to myself, I’ll write about the fact that I am freaking out over not having, uhm, anything to actually write about.

Well, will you look at that!  I actually just wrote something. It may not be amazing, but hell at least after six days of nothing I got SOMETHING.  Thanks Ry for the opportunity, for being a pioneer, and for nudging me out of my dry spell.

If you’d like to check out my blog about spending my days with an amazing little man while I figure out what to do with my life please stop by here: http://thebutterflyandthebear.typepad.com

In the spring of 2005 my former design studio was in the midst of a new business partnership–And about a year into it, things were going very well. I managed all aspects of design while my partner handled most of the business side and website programming. We were approached by a Client, one that we had previously developed an ad campaign for. Although he was a builder by trade, he had a grand idea–a new publishing venture– a new Hamptons based publication. This was to be a glossy but sophisticated glimpse of life on the East End of Long Island… The beauty and artistic nature; the earth’s core of what makes our location so unique–beyond the fame, night clubs and society parties. It was a great idea, but it wasn’t just a project — it was a whole new company and it was up to us to recreate this vision.

“That’s that Hawaiian burger joint. I hear they got some tasty burgers.“

And so we set off… A small group was formed and–considering that none of us had any experience in such a start-up–meetings were ridiculous. Topics ranged from font sizes to distribution to what’s for lunch–Hey someone call and get us a table for dinner… drinks, laughs…. There was nothing very serious about what was going on — except that someone was beginning to spend unthinkable amounts of money. There were city dinners, Hampton Classic Tables, meetings with minor celebrities, random gifts, parties… You name it. Personally, I stayed out of most of the debauchery.. not my style, but what I saw happening was grandiose, and we hadn’t even published an issue yet. Admittedly, I turned a blind eye on the expenditures… I was being placated with visions of success.
Never ending dollars–someone, somewhere out there was funding us.

“Mmm-mmmm.
That is a tasty burger.“

Upon the publishing of our first issue (Memorial Day 2006), my business partner very suddenly decided to take his exit. We had been moving at a fast pace, and I know things in his personal life were changing… but we were right there — on the threshold of what we had been working so hard for. Before things became unpleasant, he told me that he would be happy to stay in the partnership but could not be associated with the owner of the magazine anymore and therefore couldn’t have anything to do with the project. He then went one step further to insinuate that he had attempted to sabotage the whole operation by not completing the publication’s website in time for a nationally televised plug on a syndicated morning show. Horrified, I resented him immediately and requested his departure. There were some legal dealings for a few months, and then he was gone. I immersed myself, once again, in the creative development of the next 8 issues, collateral and other projects of the design firm.

“But I do love the taste of a good burger. Mm-mm-mm.”

A few issues in — things were looking good. Advertising was a stretch, but we were gaining readers so the owner decided to up the distribution to include NYC and scattered Barnes & Nobles from Philadelphia to Boston. He also started making hiring and firing decisions on a weekly basis as well as salary increases. Money was still being spent like there was no end… and I continued to not question where it was coming from–Honestly, I had an idea, but didn’t really want to know. Mostly women were hired and referred to as “the gals at the office”… Along with this came rumors of the owner’s various infidelities. He had become a friend, however, so I dismissed ideas that this “family man” was capable of such behavior. After much discussion, a proposition was verbally offered to me — make my design firm part of the overall magazine in exchange for lofty partnership shares in the company as well as a top tier executive role… I mean we were going to be picked up soon by Time Warner or Condé Nast for a few million, right?
“Where do I sign?”
“Oh – the contract is being drawn up… let’s just get started running your financials through the magazine on Jan 1 to avoid tax problems”
“Oh, Okay.”….

I’m not one of those people that runs outside to see upon being told that ‘the sky is falling’…Thing is that I had a business partner going into this whole thing and really didn’t like running the design firm on my own. I thought I had thought it through — and I sincerely trusted this man.

“You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in France?”

I continued to not only direct, design and layout and occasionally edit every issue that was going to press, I was also managing clients that the design firm catered towards… it was too much. I asked for help, but funds were becoming tight, what with the Christmas party coming up and all. There were major politics at hand– cut throat… people being thrown under the bus on a daily basis. It was all consuming. It was so consuming, in fact, that I can’t remember very much of what was happening in my personal life at the time. At some point I renewed my passport, went on vacations–blackberry in hand, and… early in 2007 became pregnant. My husband and I  — our families, everyone was ecstatic. I did the whole waiting thing — not telling anyone at the publication until I had made through the first-tri to the safety zone…

“A Royale with cheese.”

Around the same time as my exciting personal news, the publisher was let go due in fact to his alleged marking up of printing costs, reimbursable expenses and, in short, embezzlement. A new publisher, formerly a sales “gal”, decided to push editorial and creative to focus on fashion and NYC– not so much local… And the owner had, in fact, left his family life and had taken up with a newly hired editor — another gal from the office. I do not claim to be a saint–far from it actually, but I was caught up in a whirlwind of disgusting behavior. I decided to, once again, turn a blind eye and work until the baby–then retire…
But wait, people were not getting paid. Why stay?
But wait, he has my company.

It was a Friday in April and I requested a meeting with him… Still no contract, fashion, crazy egos, and by the way I’m pregnant… He replied “you are the last of the Mohicans… I’m not doing this without you.” A nice hug, so proud — happy for you and yours… Later that same day, he called to yell at me about the website not being finished.. I explained that our programmer was up to his ears in Client projects… projects that were making us money. He accused me of mismanagement and suggested that I resign. After a good cry, I called and asked his office manager, who was actually my office manager, to let him know that he could expect my resignation on Monday. Apparently, she handed him my message on a post-it. He then denied ever suggesting such a thing.

“You mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down?”

It ended quickly–June 2007, like a band-aid being torn off. After fights — crying, yelling, demanding… it was apparent that I was out. The owner stopped speaking to me and instead sent threatening emails or verbal rants through the publisher. I don’t know why I waited– still designing…. but eventually decided to pull my company out of it all — I kept my employees at the crazy salaries that he had given them. We were once again a design firm.  He threatened to “come after me”, compiling a case against me as he had with my former business partner. He had his lawyer insist that I pay him back all of the money he spent on my company when in fact he owed me a great deal in back pay. There was never a contract, however, and his actions–unspeakable emails and threats spoke louder than any half-baked lawsuit. In March of 2008 they offered to let me design for them again until I had worked back the money that they thought I owed–thus lifting the threat of having them actually sue me. I politely declined and haven’t heard from them since…

“Ah, hit the spot.”

And then it was over. They continued to publish up until the fall of 2008–I would pick up an issue here and there… still beautiful, but dry and typical. There are rumors of what transpired over the past years since I left… and many posts online.. but factual? Who knows. I often wonder if it will reappear should the publishing world see a resurgence. People still tell me different stories on almost a weekly basis.

What I do know to be true is slightly unbelievable… My original business partner in the design firm, as it turns out, was already partners with the owner of the magazine when I went into business with him and had been for years. The two of them were also partners with another man and were dividing up shares of their other various businesses. When the man I partnered with walked from the publication–they went after him to retrieve his shares of everything and from what I’ve heard — a great deal of his money. Therefore, the owner of the publication, his business partners–including my partner were actually making money off of my designs for the year before the publication project ever came up.

The owner of the publication– I mentioned, was a friend. We allowed him into our lives–he took my husband to ball games, took us out for dinners… invited us to spend time with his family. On many occasions, he suggested that we invest in one of his many properties.. We never would have, but always acted interested and requested business plans, which never surfaced. He was so interested in us – my husband and I –that it was almost too much, but I never wanted to disappoint him when it came to the magazine. I was, perhaps, naive. But now that innocence is lost forever. Friendship was the booze they were selling, and I was drunk… while in the end, I’m just a graphic designer.

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

But at least I’m not unoriginal.
And I don’t mean that in a finger pointing, “YOU ARE”, tone.

I just mean that while visiting the loo last eve I saw this scene being played out in our son’s bathtub… No, I was not drunk… But as I found myself staring at this for, mind you, a little while, I fell into a rabbit-holesche, Beatles fell into a Dream moment. Transfixed. The universe… right there, being explained to me by four bathtub toys and a drain pull.

Whew. Glad I have that figured out… NEXT!

Is it just me, or have we hit the dog days of summer? It’s suddenly hot — after being wet and unseasonably cool for months and now it’s August? What? And when did July happen? I’m in denial–hot sweaty dehydrated denial.

In other news… 299 tropical bird skins have apparently up and flown away from London’s Natural History Museum… Now – I’m always one for a good art heist (as Scotland Yard beats down my door), but bird carcasses? Really? Apparently that’s what they are — just dead bird bodies with feathers–no eyes or internal stuff…. You can read about it here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk. Can you imagine how this happened? In our world of secured insanity… Someone went into the bird carcass area of the ornithological
collection in Tring, Hertfordshire — picked up 299 dead birds… some more than 3 feet long– and then simply carried them out? There was no gun chase, no bomb scare.. no getaway car… very hush hush and low key…very unbirdlike. Those that cherish these feathers are of course torn to bits over the loss… a catastrophe for the science of bird studies and future generations… Truly a mystery that needs to be solved immediately and authorities are on it… searching high and low, questioning collectors, fashion designers and fly fishing extremists…. but have they considered…