Gimme Shelter

Just when I thought I was going to have to sleep under my cubicle, disperse my clothes amongst my various friends, and purchase a gym membership so I could shower (and workout, naturally), I found an apartment. This time next week I will not be homeless. 

Another bright spot in my week: I scored presale tickets to the June shows of my favorites, the Avett Brothers, at the Fillmore at Irving Plaza. 2 nights, and I'm going to both. (I've taken to signing up for as many mailing lists for my favorite bands, stores, etc. so I am notified of any promotions and coupons. Worked well this time- the presale was sold out by the end of the day.)

{my personal photo from this}

Short Cuts...

...sounds like the name of a kitschy hair salon that employs gum-smacking beauticians with heavily lacquered talons, am I right? Comforting, but it also kind of smacks of risky cheapness, in which you come in with a picture of Leighton Meester's waves and come out looking like Jessie Spano on caffeine pills. Not a good look. Sometimes it's worth the higher cost so you look more Ashley and less Mary Kate. 

But to save money, there are always good short cuts, particularly in the beauty department. Not all interns have the monetary and material disposal a la Lauren Conrad at their disposal so you have to scrimp on some things when a major TV network isn't footing the bill. 

Case in point:

-Although manicures and pedicures are fairly cheap in NYC, I opt to instead think about finding my next apartment, ergo conjure up a strong visual of squatting in Alphabet City and making a living at the Cat Scratch Club, and then bite my nails ragged. To prevent the next round of furious chewing, I use some polish for around $1 a bottle. Saved: $15. Note: Hand sanitize and wash hands frequently; it is cold season and the poles on the subway no doubt carry a long-dormant form of ebola. 

-I'm not always near Bloomingdale's or a Sephora to pop in and freshen up with a spritz of luxury perfume before heading out. So instead of slamming down upwards of $45 for a lovely bottle of Daisy Marc Jacobs, take a 20% coupon to Bed Bath & Beyond  (sign up online for emails and mailers, or tear out of magazines; the expiration dates don't matter) and buy some Febreeze. Spray on your pulse points and go. Saved: $42 plus 

-Paying a professional to wax your eyebrows is money that you don't have down the drain. A pair of tweezers does the trick.  Or better yet, that vitamin deficiency you've acquired on account of eating nothing but pink lemonade and Odwalla bars thins the eyebrows naturally so time and money saved.                                         

                                          

Happy to help as always. 

Rest in Peace, Domino

Domino, a Condé Nast publication, shuttered today after suffering the economic blow currently afflicting many other magazines and newspapers. A decorating how-to for established party planning mavens and aspiring aesthetes alike, the shelter magazine is the latest fatality in a line of similar publications in recent months.

Just shy of its 4th birthday, Domino leaves behind its founding editor-in-chief, Deborah Needleman, and numerous other staffers now left to ride out the virulent financial crisis elsewhere. The website will also perish; although the date is still unclear, the site will presumably close nearer to the release of the final issue, in March.

"This decision to cease publication of the magazine and its website is driven entirely by the economy," Charles Townsend, CEO and President of Condé Nast, consoled concerned readers in a press release Wednesday. 

Economic strategists and politicians, after much deliberation, have yet to attribute the spreading depression to any one cause nor have they been able to satisfactorily remedy any diseased journalistic ventures.

In lieu of flowers, Domino staffers ask for job leads instead.

Condé Nast Folds Domino [Mediaweek]

Freezing to Death

On 30 Rock, Liz Lemon repeatedly settles into dating her beeper salesman ex, Dennis Duffy, a less-than-stellar boyfriend candidate. Her coworker, Jenna, asks here why she keeps going back to him. Liz says, "If you give into it then you just start to feel kind of numb and warm and then you just get sleepy." She barely has to work at the relationship, doesn't have to keep up appearances, and can continue to munch on her favorite Sabor de Soledad chips. "That's exactly what they say it's like to freeze to death," Jenna counters maternally. Cut to a montage of Liz falling asleep in the snow a la the poor little match girl with her one remaining candle blown out.

I myself thought I was nearing the Great Beyond the past week with the subzero wind chill my long down coat could barely stifle. My joints began to stiffen, and I grew concerned when I realized I couldn't bend my pinky, only to remember the zebra-print bandage tightened around the slice on my knuckle sustained from an unwieldy letter opener. Frostbite averted, I do consider myself like Liz Lemon (oh! count the reasons!) but in so much as our fear of settling. I adore my job, work with fantastic people, and am privileged enough to be paid to work for a successful publication, even if it doesn't involve me writing. But I'm in this industry to write, and to write well, better than I would if left to my own devices (and blogging), and although this is temporal, I know, it's so easy for me to become complacent and forget what I'm in this for. I keep saying I'm going to "freelance" just like I'm going to "take up running" or "give up sugar" or "stop biting my nails," but my career goals aren't flash-in-the-pan whims of self-improvement. So instead of my own aspirations being snuffed out, it's high time a candle got lit under my long-underweared bottom. It's likely that might take some more time, what with the ever-present snow and well, what my sunlight-loving friends and I like to refer to as SAD. Nothing some Mexican cheese puffs and 30 Rock reruns can't fix.

No Job? No Apartment? No Problem!

A little over 3 months ago, I packed 2 suitcases and headed to the Memphis airport to fly to Manhattan on a 1-way ticket. 'The rats, the gossip girls, the mad men- this will be brilliant fodder for my no-doubt soon illustrious journalism career! Hand me my beret and call me Mary Tyler Moore!'

Yep, I moved to New York a few days before the stock market took a serious dip, without any reliable employment or a place to live, only a few kindly friends who offered me an air mattress as a temporal home. I luckily found my current internship within 36 hours of landing, but the apartment came later...much later. After countless days of inaudible sobbing on the streets and serious consideration of sleeping at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I found a sublet- for now.

I haven't had to sleep on the subway, and my parents still have a probable chance of having grandchildren since I haven't yet made good on my promise to sell my eggs. But I've ralphed for the first time since 1995, and Tina Fey has yet to offer me a full-time position as her protege. 

Cupcake by cupcake, things can only go up from here. Right?