Skip to main content

Brooklyn Brou-haha

I hate to be so Manhattan-centric – but when did it become okay for Brooklyn mamas to cheer their borough while grinding ours in the dust?

Somehow, if you’re not a brownstone-living, Bugaboo-pushing, Brooklyn-based mama you are about as un-hip as it comes in Gotham.

Well, I am happy to report that there are plenty of us, chic (uh), hip (er), cool mamas hanging out in our Manhattan playgrounds. And while we may not have the square-footage to lord over our Brooklyn borough compadres, we also don’t have to suffer the various subway trains that snake slowly through Brooklyn’s neighborhoods just to get home. Oh, you all have cars? Nice – ever try to park in the CITY?

Sure I sound a bit defensive. Maybe because I’ve read yet another story today about what it takes to be hip to be a mama – this one courtesy of The New York Observer which claims (again...) that Manhattan is d-e-a-d and the hipster parenting crowd is now ensconed in Brooklyn. Apparently, now even my zip code now makes me an uncool mama.

The minute the rabbit was born, my time and energy to devote to keeping myself somewhat au courant dipped into minutes per week. If my nails are trimmed, my legs shaved and my hair conditioned I’m feeling pretty good. Hey – this week I even gave my poor neglected eyebrows some attention, and worked my edgy leather jacket into an outfit.

As far as I’m concerned, that makes me hip enough.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …