New York Conquers All

...I'm a billionaire.

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 21:18:00 -0400

Homeless man dragging a cart filled with cans twice his height a block from City Hall: So, you make a lot of money, huh?
Guy wearing government N.Y.C.H.A (New York City Housing Authority) shirt: I'm not a millionaire...

Reason #2: Law enforcement can’t stand the rain. Feeling...

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 14:26:29 -0400

Reason #2: Law enforcement can’t stand the rain.

Feeling disobedient? Want to commit a crime? Especially of the traffic variety? Well, this rainy week, all your dreams come true.

I know Rhys really despises cops who direct traffic. It’s a little redundant to wave us on when the traffic light is illuminated green. You don’t need to repeat to a New Yorker ‘GO.’ They’re way ahead of you.

So, these rain shy traffic enforcers have got the right idea. Now if only we could get them off our payroll.

Reason #1 continued: don’t you wish you were here sharing...

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 00:18:43 -0400

Reason #1 continued: don’t you wish you were here sharing this platter with me? I even got hot sauce—the way you like it! Now, I have leftovers since you weren’t here to share. You won’t find lamb this good anywhere on the good soil of Palo Alto.

Reason #1 to love/stay in New York: Red Carpet Halal carts....

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:53:00 -0400

Reason #1 to love/stay in New York: Red Carpet Halal carts. Where else can you find a well-seasoned, perfectly cooked heaping mound of lamb for $5-6 on every other street corner at all hours of the night?Tripoli? Khartoum? Probably. But what’s the point of a halal cart if you can probably arbitrarily be arrested and detained just for standing in front of one? And what the hell is wrong with you? You’d rather live in Tunis than in New York City? Get off my blog!

Guest Post: City of Lights, City of Love by Cyrena Lee

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 01:01:00 -0400

New York felt strange the first time I walked in the streets after spending a semester abroad in Paris. It wasn’t the same as I had left it; the buildings and sidewalks seemed to be at least three times bigger than what they were in my memory. I thought about New York often, and talked about it. I certainly missed the city that never sleeps.

Through the cold first winter months I missed the twenty-four hour, non-stop service subway. By the end of March I missed my best friends; Nicole and Natalie, who had visited mid-month and jetted back to America. In April I was already sick of the novelty of boulangeries and patisseries, and even though by the next month I had snagged a French teenage quasi-film star (of Zac Efron proportions post the first musical, without the fame that came along with number 2 and 3, but in my opinion his cheekbones are sharper) I was ready to leave Paris. I’d tell my French friends how fun New York summers were, how I never slept, stayed up until 6am drinking champagne [in Murray Hill] (with the mastermind of this blog), and how everyone, everywhere was outside and awake all the time. Hours before my flight back to New York, I stayed up until 5am drinking champagne and crying over the eminent loss of my Paris summer nights. When I boarded the 10am train from Gare du Nord to London, I clung onto my French ELLE magazine and kept slipping out “pardons” over “excuse me-s”.

I won’t lie, I really missed Paris. I missed the small winding streets, I missed the lazy Sundays where nothing is open except the bakeries, I missed toggle jackets and knowing when the metro was arriving. I missed my friends, I missed the way French people sing in English, I missed the gardens and parks. I was Paris-sick, and I didn’t think anything could have cured me. For the first time, I thought I could have lived in a city other than New York.

But then I slowly re-adjusted to the ‘subway’ and not the metro, I re-discovered Columbia’s campus, fresh coconut water, and Angelica Kitchen. Then I discovered Westville East. The French may be stuck-up assholes, but the one thing it seems to be agreed upon is that their food reigns supreme. Every French person I’ve talked to tells me about how the food in New York is terrible. I think their tongues are too coated in butter and oil and bread to know any better.

No matter how much I love Paris; the lights are prettier at night from the view at The Corinthian, and the love is stronger than a teen heart throb crush. Who could ever leave New York, or the Galperns?! I couldn’t. Unless one is leaving for Paris. No other exceptions.

Cyrena Lee is currently a Senior at Barnard College at Columbia University majoring in Anthropology. She is also a well respected intern at Daily Candy. Expect more posts from Cyrena as she aspires to become a regular NewYorkConquersAll.com blogist.

Excuses are for Excuse Makers

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 00:55:00 -0400

First, I lost my bright green notebook containing countless numbers of brilliant ideas for this ‘blog’ (lack of a better term). Then, I couldn’t get my computer to stay on long enough to even click on the Google Chrome icon in my quickstart menu. This blog seemed doomed. And so, as Lykke Li encourages in her song “Let it fall,” I let it fall.

Last weekend, cleaning my dad’s car, I discovered my notebook wedged tightly between the passenger seat and the console. I also acquired a new charger for my computer.

Bobes is away at the Sundance labs in Utah having the time of his life. He’s the most popular kid in camp! His co-workers (although, I wouldn’t put too much of an emphasis on the ‘co’), adore and admire him for his film-filled past. Not to mention his audience award winning film The Adventures of Arthur Conan Doyle at The DC Independent Film Festival. And word just in: Man vs. Bed was a hit at the Sundance lab staff shorts. If you aren’t already, you need to be following ideaprovince on Twitter and read about his adventures with reticent child stars, stealing berries in front of Ed Harris and wittingly and calculatingly playing a “She & Him” (Zooey Deschanel’s band) song while driving her father, Caleb Deschanel, on the dark side of the mountain.

Enough about Rhys and more about New York, which this blog will truly aspire to do. And as all the other unreliable bloggers promise, more to come and very soon. So flock early and flock often.

There goes the Rhyster Bunny

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 01:14:00 -0400

My friends (my sister, Natalie, and my part-time lover to whom this blog is partially dedicated to) have brought to my attention my obscure use of nicknames for Rhys.

So, here’s an explanatory glossary of nicknames for Bobesy:

Rhys: Despite all appearances, this is in fact, his real name! When I first tried finding him on the popular social networks of the time, I immediately assumed Reese. He was nowhere to be found! “He must not have a computer,” I assumed. Oh, how terribly wrong I was! A Google search for Rhys’ name now identifies 2,270 site matches! He’s addicted! I was overwhelmed and slightly distraught to read his au courant blogs of the time: beatjeremycoon.com and ideaprovince.com. Especially this article on the dangers of white potatoes. Here’s an excerpt which chased me away into the jungles of the Dominican Republic (really!):

“Hold up, hold up. Did she say what I thought she said? Mashed… potatoes? Mashed WHITE potatoes? Mashed DEADLY NIGHTSHADE potatoes? Did I mention DEADLY - meaning “OF DEATH”… potatoes!? This is what you want to cure you? You’ll set your health back 100 years to caveman times! I must be daydreaming! Cause if I’m not…. WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?!?!?”

Can you believe it? Rhys using the EF word? Besides his ‘roid rage, I’ve never heard the likes of that word come out of Rhys’ mouth! Not even when he accidentally consumes a grain does he resort to such profanity.

Anyway, his deep-seated hatred of potatoes wasn’t enough to drive me away. (Read the post. It’s become one of my favorites.)

I discovered Rhys’s spelling of his name the same day we finally spoke (after months of deadly sexual tension over the Angelica kitchen takeout counter.) He received his Christmas bonus that fateful day and a co-worker pointed out to me how strangely he spelled his name. Rhys proudly held up his envelope with the anomalous spelling of his name. “Aw, shit! I’ve been Googling your name all wrong all this time. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” I almost blurted. But as Rhys handed me an old receipt with the correct spelling of his name accompanied by the addresses of his two blogs, I kept my cool. I waited until I rounded the corner, clear of the big paned Angelica windows to jump up and down uncontrollably. “Nice and nicely done,” I asserted to my sister who was patiently waiting in the car while I made my smooth moves. When I got home, I immediately cyber-spaced into Rhys’ blog, only to find an entry about an inner debate deciding whether or not he should move back to Austin for his girlfriend at the time. Uhhhh, enigmatic for sure. Well, I’m sure y’all know how that worked out. On to the next name.

Rhysy: OBVIOUS! Everyone calls him that. Especially my mom.

Bobes(y): Rhys-Rhys-Bo-Bhys-Banana-fanna….So, it originally started out as Bobesity from “Bobhys.” It seemed appropriate to fondly call my slender, gaunt boyfriend by a name that rhymed with obesity. That term of endearment became too burdensome to roll off the tongue. Decided to stick close to the amount of syllables in his original name. So, Bobes is short for Bobesity. And if I’m feeling especially cutesy, I’ll go for Bobesy.

Rhyster Bunny: This one just came to me. Rhys’s nicknames for me helped inspire my WBAR DJ name: DJ Slaw. That’s a derivation of Nicoleslaw. His other favorite is Nicolemine.

Hope you all had a good Rhyster Sunday. Bobesy and I certainly enjoyed ours (although nursing me back to health probably isn’t one of the finer pleasures in Rhys’ life). Here’s a picture of Rhys mistakingly putting ash on his forehead for Easter Sunday:

He’ll get it right next year…in New York.

"“According to the Obama-Coburn Federal Funding Accountability Transparency Act of 2006, MADD..."

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 20:45:52 -0400

“

“According to the Obama-Coburn Federal Funding Accountability Transparency Act of 2006, MADD received $9,593,455 in funds from the federal government between fiscal years 2001 and 2006, but received only $56,814 in fiscal year 2000.”

What the hell? The government is essentially paying a lobbying organization to lobby them.

”

- Rhys Southan

Rhys savoring one of his last New York sunsets from my...

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 20:32:51 -0400

Rhys savoring one of his last New York sunsets from my apartment. The tallest building in Montreal is 51 stories. Weak! I live on a higher floor (55th) and that’s not even close to the tallest building in Manhattan! Say au revoir to your gorgeous, script-inspiring sunsets.

One day baby, you’ll realize that New York is the one.

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 19:42:00 -0400

One day baby, you’ll realize that New York is the one.

Montreal is only worth Passing Over

Sat, 11 Apr 2009 01:25:00 -0400

Passover. The holiday where a divine force saved the Jews in Egypt. Perhaps this year my salvation will come in the form of Rhysy (if he stays in New York, that is).

Rhys and I have celebrated four Passovers together (Three years, four seders. Do the math.)

Passover was our first family holiday together. We had only been formally dating for 2 or so months, yet he eagerly accepted an invitation to spend the Passover with my family—in Brooklyn, nonetheless!

See? An intimidating affair. But Rhys took it in stride.

Four Passovers ago, Rhysy was misguided and vegan. I was worried whether this seder would accommodate his ascetic lifestyle.

Rhys would never have eaten a matzoh ball four seders ago…nor would he now.

I warned him that my father’s side of the family was more carnivorous than a Venus flytrap. Rhys took my concern to heart. During the ceremonial Haggada reading, there is a part where you are supposed to eat a small sandwich consisting of Matzoh, horseradish and charoset (fruit and nut mixture). Bobesy, in a sweet attempt to curb his appetite, took a huge piece of circular matzoh and heavily slathered it with horeradish and charoset.

Things have changed from four years ago (although my aunt won’t let Rhysy live his matzoh episode down). Now Bobesy prides himself on being primal. He’s eaten more meats (types and quantity) than I have over my 21 years of life.

My family’s seder affords him the opportunity to continue his diet in a comfortable and neanderthal manner of life he’s accustomed to.

Plus, his luck is changing! This year, even before the Afikoman hunt began, Rhysy spotted the Afikoman under the table in the main entrance to the house (same place as last year! Uncle Louis, either you’re becoming extraordinarily crafty or rather amnesic). Rhys informed me of this year’s holy of holies and we patiently awaited for the Afikoman hunt to begin…but we waited in vain! Perhaps because the youngest person at the table was 18, there was no one to tug at Uncle Louis’ shirt tails and insist that the search begin. When some of the guests had left, Rhysy convinced me to claim victory for finding the Afikoman. I felt guilty taking Rhys’ claim to fame away from him (especially after the matzoh disaster four years prior), but I really wanted my $20. I ran to Uncle Louis. Astounded, he asked me where I had found it. “Same place as last year, Louey, same place.” He hit himself on the forehead, “D’oh.” He pulled out his wallet and furnished every man and woman under 30 with a fresh, crisp $20. Montreal may have cheap rent, but it certainly does not have free $20 bills.

Rhys snapped this shot of me. He later told me that Aunt Eva was shocked that he would let me out of the house like that. Rhysy nodded in agreement. But in actuality, Rhys encouraged me to wear this backless ensemble. Anyway, this is a family affair—what does Rhys have to worry about? Unless Aunt Eva knows something we don’t!

I’ll leave you with a little something I picked up off of Wall Street. You would never find something like this on the eve of Passover on the streets of Montreal:

Remember last night, Rhys? Albert and Sharon certainly do!