Archive for September, 2011

Yes, I am resurrecting La Urbanita.

Now that I’m no longer in Spain, shall I stick with the Spanish pseudonym?  Should I change it to The Urbanist (to complement my New York locale)?

I’ll have to mull this over.

In the meantime, this little blog will be shifting gears: it’s been two years since I left Spain and now, having graduated from university, I am embarking on an entirely different voyage in the careerist swamps of old Manhattan (or old Breuklen–sp?–or Bklyn, if you like).  Having moved to New York a mere week ago (on the 10th Anniversary of 9/11, an eerie date to be sure) and settled into a Williamsburg pad, I’m strangely feeling many of the same emotions that I did in Barcelona.  Of course there’s the usual mix of excitement, apprehension and anxiety that comes with moving to a new city but there’s also this strange sense of being caught up in a whirlwind (or, perhaps a treadmill, a hamster wheel).  It’s fun, it’s captivating, and it’s nonstop, which sometimes leaves you feeling like you need to catch your breath.

Yes, I know I need to relax, I’ve only been here for a meager week!  BUT, knowing exactly the kind of gal I am, I know I’ll have a mighty hard time not taking complete advantage of all that a city like New York has to offer.

Without skipping a beat, last week seemed to portend what I hope will be in store for me: new “job” (a paid internship at a prestigious NYC-based magazine with one of the most popular blogs around), new pad, and lots of new people (and maybe a new suitor or two…who knows).  Days were filled with work and countless trips to Bed Bath & Beyond, Duane Reade, Ikea, FoodTown, and the hardware store.  Nights were filled with socializing.  After a social feast-and-famine summer in Chicago (on the heels of an exquisite spring at Brown), New York has not disappointed.  When I arrived, the city was in the midst of Fashion Week and so Wednesday featured a vaguely fashion-related after party at the Tribeca Grand Hotel while Thursday was the Vice Magazine party–an event where it seemed every hipster and Brooklyn BYT coveted a spot on the guest list (I was lucky to snag one through a media friend).  In attendance were the usual hipster crew of Mark “The Cobrasnake,” Terry Richardson and some of the boys of Das Racist.  And Johnny Knoxville.  My date and I agreed he looked a little worse for wear.  Amidst hipsters drinking Grolsch and listening to many live bands, Rick Ross (yes, Ricky Rosay) took the stage for the tour de force final performance in the beautiful former bank where the shindig was held.  Check out pics on Brooklyn Vegan.  As a 180 from the Vice grungefest, two days later witnessed me hopping into Le Bain atop The Standard Hotel and 1Oak, two veritable MePa establishments.

See, I guess that’s always been my M.O., ever since college: I play it both ways (and no, not that way) but rather, I really am an Uptown/Downtown kind of girl.  I find that a lot of my closest friends share this trait and I think any longterm romantic prospect will out of necessity share in, or be amenable to, the bouncing between the ‘worlds.’  While never playing the part of a poseur, I enjoy bouncing between the two worlds–between the more conventional scene and its quirky, artsy complement.  I suppose I enjoy being the most ‘edgy’ (read: clothes, music taste etc) person in a room full of frat boys or finance types and then later being the most acccessible (read: normal grooming habits and a general friendliness) in a room full of musicians and ‘hipsters.’  But, of course those are gross generalizations of people you might encounter in those cliques–I know plenty of frat bros with good taste in music and ‘hipster’ with bad taste.  But, when push comes to shove, I’ll put betting money on those common perceptions.

For now, amidst all this craziness, I’m content.  I need to remember to slow down, let myself veg out sometimes, and take time to find the perfect throw pillows for my bed.


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