Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

in which this city is the problem and the solution
October 3, 2013

‘Dennis,’ said Jules. ‘Let’s leave these dishes and just go out somewhere.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s just go out walking or something. Let’s do one of those New York things that are free and that make you happy when you’re feeling discouraged.’

Meg Wolitzer, The Interestings

 

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accomplishments
May 30, 2013

This is an exciting time of year.

My friends C. and A. just wrapped up graduate school. B. got a fancy new job. M. and T. are finishing up their intern years and starting in on residency.

And me?

I finished Jane Eyre.

You know, that 400-ish page Victorian novel that many kids knock back in high school English? (Not the AP one.) That paperback I’ve been plugging through, like someone whose second or maybe third language was English, for nearly a decade?

Feel free to send gifts.

just kidding on that last one!
January 7, 2013

Do you really think I’m dumb enough to watch Lena Dunham play “Rachel, circa 2006” with the woman who gave birth to me in attendance? Absolutely not. 

Hope my brothers (and one of their girlfriends!) had fun with that though. 

regrets from 2012
January 7, 2013

-Not professing our support of gay marriage in our wedding programs

-Not getting tickets to see Jay Z at the Barclays Center

-Agreeing to watch an episode of GIRLS with my mother

words for 2013
January 7, 2013

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

-Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

a (moderately failed) attempt to make up for all of those terrible instagrams in the last post
July 5, 2012

Dave and I went to Smorgasburg, the all-food outpost of the Brooklyn Flea market, last weekend.

It was a bit of a spontaneous Saturday for us – not just because we jumped on the ferry to Dumbo on the fly – but also because, for the first time in, oh, forever, I brought my camera around on one of our little NYC escapades.

I’ve been kind of avoiding my camera like the plague since we moved here, which is a shame considering I spent so much money, so much time, so much effort on learning to use that big hulking dslr. I can’t be totally certain now, but I think I remember being giddily excited about picking it out at B&H, lovingly and only half jokingly referring to it as Dave and my first child, and feeling genuinely positive about the prospect of photography as a theory and/or practice. I remember snapping that shutter all across India, Ecuador, Philadelphia, Connecticut. And then I just…stopped?

This might sound silly, but have you ever felt like you’re actually getting worse at something, the longer you stick at it, the harder you try? You look back on the stuff you did when you were first starting out – that first blog post about your boyfriend’s brother’s perfect girlfriend, that first shot you got of a child batting around a giant yellow balloon in a garden in Delhi – and you think, man, that was actually decent. What happened to me? You search for proof your skills haven’t totally degraded and come up empty-handed. True or not, you start to psych yourself out.

That’s how I started feeling about photography. I got frustrated. I kind of gave up.

Looking at these photos, my first thought is, um, maybe you feel this way for good reason, Rach. The pictures kind of suck. They don’t  have the right composition, the right use of light, the right focus. They don’t pull me in, don’t make me recall how hot it actually was or how happy we were to be together in the city after so long or how good that pulled pork sandwich (and the DuMont slider and the bahn-mi style hot dog and the Blue Marble cones, not pictured because, um, we ate them too fast) actually tasted. They don’t capture how the long slats of the pier in North Williamsburg felt endless if you looked at them from a certain angle or the repetitive symmetry of the benches that line Brooklyn Bridge park or how cool the perspective shift of seeing the island of Manhattan for a ferry is.

My first thought is, this is not what photography is supposed to be. Give it up, girlfriend.

My second thought is, keep going. You always put yourself down for the count far too fast.

hitched.
June 19, 2012

Our wedding was shockingly perfect.

Image

I know that sounds strange, and I don’t want to make it seem like I didn’t suspect that marrying that boy I chose five years ago was going to be a good call, and maybe even a little fun. But still, somehow, it all caught me off guard.

The joy and the love, without pretense. The way you can put on a pile of tulle and fake eyelashes and lip gloss and still feel just like yourself. All the little moments woven in between the big ones — because, as it turns out, that’s all you’ll remember. The celebrated traditions, the bits and pieces when all eyes are on you, the epic embraces captured on camera – your memory will be wiped clean of all those, but you’ll be able to call up, with vivid clarity, the feeling of writing out the names of everyone you love on those silly little escort cards. Of letting your best friend read your vows on Thursday night and watching her cry and thinking: passing that index card to her was a good decision (it was) and, you’re totally going to blow his vows out of the water (you’re actually not, how hilarious is that?) Of lying on Jon’s bed before the rehearsal dinner, passing around a pack of pastel macaroons, and deciding that even though they fly them in daily from Paris to the Upper East Side now, it’s still somehow better when he brings them. Of collapsing in a fit of laughter when the rabbi — the rabbi! — interrupts your yichud, and sneaking in a second one on the terrace after dinner to compensate. Of how opening nearly every single card, in your same old living room that somehow looked different in the weird vortex that is the hours after eating scrambled eggs with all your (moderately hungover) family and friends but before you jet off the Hawaii for two weeks, made you cry.

And of that party.

Man, it was a great party.

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I didn’t chronicle it in detail here (because, let’s be honest, I haven’t chronicled much of anything in detail here in quite some time), but it was a bit of a rough winter, as the past few have tended to be. I lost someone close to me and I screamed myself hoarse and I said things I didn’t mean and I struggled with being the bride and growing up and being a grown up in this city. One stretch in particular was marked by a bedside visit where I shared a photo of my wedding dress with someone I knew wasn’t going to be alive to see it in person, looming biopsy results that unfolded like the worst kind of dejavu and then, finally, a guest list war that brought me to tears (ok, and to inappropriate text messages.)

There was a flash in those weeks when I didn’t even think this whole wedding thing was worth it. The ensuing flip-out involved many profanities but the general sentiment was this: why can’t we just go to the courthouse?

I’ll give you a response to that question that involves lots of words and photos and jokes and stories, just as soon as I get all of our pictures back from our photographer. But for now, I’ll just leave you with the short answer, which is that, apparently, even the day that everyone tells you is going to be the most important of your life, the day you’ve spent so long planning and waiting for that you’re positively sure you’re already jaded and a little skeptical and just oh so ready to tackle everything you’ve sized up in your head, can still manage to surprise you in the most wonderful way.

*All photos by the incredible Elisabeth Millay. A sneak peak of the day through her lens can be seen here.

it’s that time of year again
April 6, 2012

Reading about the wicked child and thinking of you!

-My brother Jacob texting to wish me a happy Passover

P.S. Maybe if we just pretended this was a tumblr, I would post something every so often?

Nora Ephron on this big city
April 6, 2012

New Yorkers are born all over the country, and then they come to New York City and it hits them: Oh, that’s who I am. 

via NY Mag

spring 2012.
March 17, 2012

So you’re saying I get to cover a Supreme Court case, get married, spend two weeks in Hawaii and then have my best friend move in down the street? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.