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.

i’d like to live in paris.  but i’d sure like to visit barcelona a lot.

the food here is bananas.  and the vintage shopping is blow your mind.

if i don’t come back, look for me slumped over on a side street stuffed with iberico ham.

i am in paris where my husband i just had a delicious and soulful meal including a bottle of wine for the grand total of 81 euro.

walking home, my husband mentioned david chang’s latest ramblings about tokyo having the best food in the world and (i’m paraphrasing here) paris and italy can fuck off.  coming on the tail of his rant about how hard it is to make money running a restaurant in new york, i gotta say, i’m really getting annoyed with “sir” david chang.

i run a business in new york.  it isn’t a restaurant.  but, i have all the same challenges david chang faces.  rents are high.  customers are fickle.  only difference is i have to pay my employees a living wage and can’t get away with paying salespeople (known as waiters in restaurantese) peanuts and hoping my customers will fill a tip cup to make up the difference.

i wish david chang would stop whining.

yes, new york is expensive.  but nowhere else do people spend like they do in our wonderful city.  yes, rents are high. but has anyone looked at the markup on wine and booze?  yes employees are expensive, hard to find and tough to keep.  you are the fucking boss and get to keep the profits from their labor.

i think i mentioned i am in paris.  where  people cook in microscopic kitchens without any of the “kiss the ground i walk on” adoration showered on american chefs.    today i had lunch in a wine shop that somehow morphs into a restaurant during lunch and dinner.  the owner, albeit wearing a martin margiela sweater, waits on tables.  not just when someone calls in sick but every time i’ve been there.  he also sells wine off the shelves, simply reaching over customers to grab a bottle when someone shows interest.   dinner was  at a popular place down a long long deserted alley.  the kitchen barely had room for a stove.  the place was packed with people eating some of the most delicious food i’ve had all year.  and that includes the two fantastic meals i had in tokyo in january.

so, please david chang, shut up.

you are not the only business person who has it hard.

and you are not the only chef who has to figure out how to turn a profit.

and if you don’t think paris has fucking amazing food, you are eating at the wrong places.

i just needed to get that off my chest.