a few nights ago, while trying to relax after my 73rd day working without time off, I found myself watching a filmed-live re-creation of one of Norman lear’s excellent shows, the Jeffersons. the redone show was ok, and by that I mean kinda dull, but it moved the amazing theme song front and center in the crowded space I call my mind.

today, I opened my newest shop, in artists and fleas soho, (490 broadway at Broome) and the song continues to float around in my head. but since I live in the east village and the shop is in south of Houston, I’m technically “movin’ on down.”

I’m open daily 11 to 8. I hope you’ll pop by to buy a bag or two. while you are there, if you hear a wobbly voice singing very off key, please try not to judge. I write way better than I sing.

on sunday, I’m going to pick up my Bryant park booth and drive it into the city so I can set up in time for our oct 31st opening. we’ve got loads of new products and a spiffy new glow in the dark floor, so hope you’ll pop by to say hi.

I signed up for he writing class first; I make my living writing so how disruptive could it be? then, the mold making class I’d not been able to fit into my schedule–the one I needed to take so I could get started on my new candle line–opened up at a time I could attend. I’m having a big birthday this year and have been saying, all my life, I wish I could draw, so I signed up for a life drawing class as well. my September was very busy.

as it turns out, I’m not half bad at drawing. and I caught on to plaster mold making so quickly I was making molds at home after the first of five lessons. but the writing class didn’t go so well. the first week, after saying, “great writing,” to five, in my opinion, not great essays by other students, the teacher ripped into me so hard, I actually checked the floor under my chair for blood. she told me my essay was gross, the people in the story, despicable, then went on to criticize me personally. I was shaken.

Not sure if I hated the teacher and the class because she’d torn my work to shreds, I returned for the second session where I didn’t read aloud so she didn’t have a chance to critique my work; Despite no personal attacks, I found myself disliking her and the class just as much as the previous week.

I’m going through a little cash flow crisis right now, so didn’t want to throw away the $500 I’d spend on the class. I continued to attend, each week wondering why the other students treated her like a guru when I found her and the class so ridiculous. the last night, we went around the room, each saying what we are working on and nearly every student proclaimed their deep love for the teacher and what they had learned. I felt like I had experienced a completely different class.

so, what did I learn? Writing is time consuming and the work it takes to get an essay published just isn’t worth the tiny pittance papers and magazines pay. And I *&^%^ hated my writing teacher.

several years ago, paparazzi caught lady gaga carrying one of my bags as she was boarding a plane in New York.  she’d been given it as a gift and I was thrilled to learn she loved it enough to actually carry it.  but not as thrilled as I am to learn she stopped by the shop today (at 3:14 in case you track such things.) and bought, “my sister loves me.”

two weeks ago, along with all the other makers in the artists and fleas family, I moved to soho.

right there on the corner of prince and broadway, I’ve opened up shop.

walk in the front door, and there I am.

I hope you’ll stop by.

as a hardcore the good wife fan, it was a treat to learn josh charles was in my shop this week.  he bought a bag.

whether you love our new president, or you don’t, you gotta admit, it wasn’t really all that nice for him to leave his wife in the car holding the now infamous blue tiffany box while he bounded up the stairs to great the outgoing first family.

and, damn, he is a bad dancer.

whether or not you think an actress has any business speaking about politics (i think it is great.) you cannot say ashley judd does not commit.  her reading today of a young girl’s poem was so exhilarating, so moving, it brought tears to my eyes.

after lukewarm interest during the election from millenials about the importance of women fighting for women, it was so amazing to see such a turnout at every single one of the marches held today.  in my life, i’ve always found the very worst things to happen to me open the door for the best.  i hope the election of a president who doesn’t hold women’s issues in high regard will turn out to provide the spark we  need to keep moving forward.

http://www.rebateszone.com/fathers-day-gift-ideas-2016

today for lunch, we went to a restaurant called tickets, owned by ferran adria the guy famous for once owning il bulli.  it is one of the hardest reservations we’ve ever scored.  and while our dejeuner was delicious, it has to be one of the weirdest restaurant experiences i’ve ever had.

the place was done up like a movie theater on acid with all the front end staff dressed in usher uniforms.  the windows were filled with sponsored displays that reminded me of pre-game decor made by high school cheerleaders.  if there is such thing as a design muscle, it really made mine ache.

i am not a huge fan of molecular gastronomy.  i appreciate the artistry and effort, but in the end i’d always rather have a soulful bowl of something, anything, cooked over a hot stove.  yes, it is cool they can make some olive oil and olive juice look like a real olive, but i’ve seen too many magicians pull that coin out of a kid’s ear to be impressed.   that said our pan con tomate was the best i’ve ever had.  ditto the iberico ham.   and the octopus was absolutely delicious.

the restaurant is a bit like a tourist conveyor belt.  literally the moment we ate the last bite of our entree, someone appeared behind our counter seats and told us to grab our drinks, we were headed off to the dessert room.  umm, ok.

we walked through a velvet curtain into a willy wonka lover’s wet dream.  the ceiling was covered in gigantic strawberries and cherries and the lone waiter was rushing about spraying sweet smells from an aerosol can.   one wall was covered with televisions which to my great surprise were playing one of my favorite flicks, the party.

we were encouraged to order three desserts for two.  the cheesecake was really a mouse covered in white chocolate.  delicious, but completely campy all dressed up like a wax covered round of cheese complete with custom labeling.  the other two were dull enough i don’t really remember what i ate.  i do however, remember our spoons were held by magnets to a little tree on the table.

a quick trip to the loo provided the most head scratching moment of the day.  yes, yellow subway tile and matching yellow wood trim is a bit gauche, but ok, not everyone has the same taste as me.  but when i looked up, i realized the ceiling was mirrored i suddenly found myself searching for the faux fur topped heart shaped bed.

please note, it seems you are supposed to put your cash into the candy box in which they bring the bill; when we didn’t the waiter took the money from us, stuffed it in and scurried off to get our change.   we left out a side door blocked by a blue velvet rope and emerged into the sunlight still puzzled.   our meal was tasty.  and at 100 euro for cava, sparkling water, vermouth, a gut busting number of creative tapas and three desserts, pretty cheap.

i just didn’t get it at all.