stuff | 90's Throwback

Awaken at 6 am by post-Thanksgiving hunger pangs, I had two callings: mashed potatoes and Pink's Behind the Music. Well I got my fixing and heard an old favorite (apparently, it was Pink's jam back in her angsty-ridden high school days).

Songs that played as I napped in the back seat coming from day care, Mama blasting the one and only Z100:



And while we're at it:

style | And They Said The Only Good Thing Out of Sweden Was ABBA

So I'm a bit ashamed, but what really had prompted this post was some indulgent eye candy:



Dancing is Polynesian reminiscent (not to mention overtly homoerotic), but Freddie Stroma can hula where ever he likes. (side note -- he plays Cormac McLaggen in the new Harry Potter movie)


Regardless of its eccentric soft core porn dance videos, Acne is a great brand. Hailing from Sweden, it's Scandinavian in every sense -- sleek, well-proportioned, and just plain beautiful. A lot of their ready-to-wear pieces drape really well and give this 1950's-Pony-Boy-meets-West-Village-Bohemian look that I love. I wish I could be more edgy.

tube | Madly in Love: Mad Men

So I know I'm late on the bandwagon -- but look yonder over the great American television horizon: Mad Men!

I spent a good amount buying the two seasons on iTunes, which I regret after realizing that I was in Asia, the center of forged DVDs. But if that means that the show will sustain a longer life because of my monetary contribution, then so be it.

I'm two seasons late and two seasons regretful: Mad Men is sheer genius. This is what America television has hope for after Hollywood lost its golden sheen and the great 90's sitcom went down the drain. Mad Men was described in the perfect manner by its New York Times review -- not overly nostalgic but still retaining a 60's romanticism.


These men are, how you say, baller (I swear I do not use this word; it just encapsulates the Don Juan Draper so well). Chiseled faced and broad shouldered, they're the raw capitalist superman, ready to pump out slogans and lure in profit. They dine at the finest establishments. They smoke every other moment. And they drink until their gray flannel suits exude flammable vapors.

And, they're oh smooth with the words. Our American James Bond.

Yet, they're so flawed -- affairs, health failure, existential loss of self, dirty pasts. It's dramatic and studio lit, but understated enough to be convincing. But before analyzing too deeply the deep discontent psyche of these men, I'll stop and just say you'll fall in love -- a sick disgusting love -- with these men and their women.

So just take a look; the first episode is online for free:

stuff | Apologies and Architecture

So a good man hasn't been found since last March, but I guess it's better now than ever to get off my lazy tv-show-laden, summer-fed ass and start writing again.

I apologize greatly to all of my eight readers that I have not written in a while. As with most things needing daily attention -- like a normal sleep cycle -- I push it off for another day. But enough with excuses: I found a great article and a great piece of architecture that really galvanized me to start writing again.

The New York Times featured Kisho Kurokawa's Nakagin Capsule Tower today and its imminent destruction. Falling into disrepair in recent years, the Tower was the physical apogee of the Japanese Metabolism Movement (no, not a sashimi filled diet, but a futuristic leaning architectural ideal). In the 70's, it was all about movement and flexibility, innovation and design in Japan's technology driven society, and Kurokawa wanted Japan's buildings like that too.


Each capsule was built in a factory and attached to the two central concrete pillars that form the foundation of the tower. Like the K'NEX set you unwrapped at Christmas, the capusle pop in and out, able to form new building configurations. But, unfortunately, like the K'NEX set you unwrapped at Christmas and eventually had your dad build because the pieces were so damn hard to snap together, Kurokawa's vision was less than practical.

Now, to be honest, I don't find most post-war architecture appealing. It's mostly the bane of the New York skyline -- gaudy buildings put out of style ten years after they've been constructed and look like they belong in Epcot rather than a city. I've always been a big advocate of architectural preservation, especially with many of New York's neo-classical pieces from the 1900's, because that's really what gives the city much of its allure and its tradition.

But, the article brought up an interesting question: How old does a building have to be in order for it to be culturally valuable? Kurokawa's piece has really charmed me; I'm in love. It's flashy, dynamic, and most importantly a cultural monument of a bygone era. It's like a living Transformer (minus Shia LeBeouf thank god), what you wish Japan would still imagine the future to be like.

Hopefully, a good man will be found more often -- I'm in Hong Kong with nothing to do and ideas in my head, so I'm guessing he will be.

style | Check Your Inven.tory

Edgy, Indie Designer Clothing. Four words many shoppers dread to hear; the phrase is basically a euphemism for apathetic service and overpriced clothing.

But on a recent weekend excursion to the ever-packed shopping district of Soho we found some refuge (oddly) in a warehouse full of Edgy Indie Designer Clothing.


Inven.tory -- a Nolita native -- just opened up their Soho warehouse branch on Lafayette. It has, appropriately, a warehouse feel without losing a botique intimacy. Racks of clothing are strategically placed throughout the store, giving it a nice flow. And, the staff is just amazing. A man in skinny jeans and a fedora commented on a pair of trousers I was looking at and told me he loved them in navy (who ever thought the fedora-donning type could be so enthusiastic!).

But, the atmosphere and friendly staff are only outshone by the price and selection of their clothing. They get Indie designer clothing wholesale, bringing it to us for 50%-90% off the original price.

That's not to say it's your new Old Navy -- but it's definitely a place where you can find some great lasting pieces. I tried on a pair of $90 Idol Radec skinny chinos (something that I've been looking for) -- apparently I'm not a size 28, though.

food | Di Best From Di Palo

Like a fearless cultural George Washington, I crossed the Hudson to oh-so wonderfully hip Brooklyn. My uncle lives in the trendy neighborhood of DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass) which falls somewhere between a more desolate Meatpacking district and a bustling shantytown. It still has the beautiful block-sized, red-brick buildings and the cobblestone roads, giving it that Gangs of New York feel.

Any ways, he cooked and the food was simple but great. Classic tomato, fresh basil, and mozzarella, but his secret? Di Palo Select.



Located on 200 Grand St (nr. North St.), it has some of the best cured meat and cheeses around. The mozzarella really rounded out the simple tomatoes and Trader Joe's balsamic. The pasta wasn't bad either -- heartier than most.


But crack out the Citibank card because some of their meats -- like their Sweet Soppressata -- will set you back about 15 bucks a pound.

style | Brooklyn Aristocrat

So, I'm trying out this hipster ascot.

(cheap bandana + unbeatable tying skills = hipster ascot)




A look of surprise at this new -- or perhaps old -- discovery.

style | Suit Up

GQ did a great series on suits. And, with us college folk and those internship interviews coming up (or at least we hope they're coming up), everyone needs to know how to suit up.

Listen and listen carefully:

1.



2.



3.

style | Vest Up

So with sun on its way, the transition calls for a winter retrospective.

I was never a nylon vest person, even though I had been moving in a more "Work Wear" direction in my style. It was just too chunky for me. And as a slender-man, I didn't feel like becoming a top-heavy marshmallow. Plus, the leaving of your arms bear just didn't seem ergonomic -- waste, much?

But, with Fall and Winter collections on the sales rack, I thought it might be something worth looking at.

Like this Hickey nylon vest, on sale right now for $177 down from $400:

We'll see if I make my vest conversion, but I'll certainly have to find its cheaper sibling hiding somewhere.

stuff | As Much As I Don't Want To Be A Hipster

I'm totally using this Yashica Electro 35 that my pops found in the closet. Don't know how, don't know if it has residual carcinogenic chemicals circa 1974, but, by golly, I'm determined to whip this 10 pound camera out on a sunny day at Riverside Park.

writing | Grandma Flannery

So, the grandmother of this blog is none other than Flannery O'Connor, who begot one of my favorite short stories -- A Good Man is Hard to Find. After she birthed the story 54 years ago, I picked up the child, decided to write a 12 page paper on it, went a little crazy from sleep-deprivation, and then created my own idea baby, this blog.

(Sorry for the prolonged child analogy. I thought that would go somewhere.)

Anyways, there's a new biography out on her life and I spotted a woman on the subway reading a review of it in the New York Times; I thought it only right to mention it here.

And, it's not out of grandmotherly guilt that I make a Flannery shout out; the biography looks really good -- 30 bucks and 488 pages of really goodness. I'm pretty sure that it's interesting mostly because of its subject (the review of the biography reads more like a biography itself), but from what the reviewer reveals, Brad Gooch has poured over her life.

But I mean, look at her. An excerpt from the review and presumably from the book:

Flannery. She liked to drink Coca-Cola mixed with coffee. She gave her mother, Regina, a mule for Mother’s Day. She went to bed at 9 and said she was always glad to get there. After ­Kennedy’s ­assassination she said: “I am sad about the president. But I like the new one.” As a child she sewed outfits for her chickens and wanted to be a ­cartoonist.

<3

She's quirky, odd, downright weird, and all the same, lovable (in a morbid, prickly sort of way).

(I'm on this new posting kick -- let's see if we can keep this up.)

art | Folk – It’s of the People or Something Like That

So, I’m obsessed with the American Folk Art Museum (AFAM) – the loudest, over-the-top museums that is still quietly under the radar of most New Yorkers. Who thought the Shakers could ever be so interesting?

Relatively empty for a Friday but mostly populated with aging Baby Boomers and skinny-jean clad art students, the AFAM is a serene, intimate space that makes the most of its tiny property. It’s right next to the monolith MoMA, but MoMA’s large area hardly overshadows the architectural masterpiece of the AFAM. Built in 2001 and designed by Tod Williams and Billy Tsien, the building’s façade resembles a granite Trojan Horse –its simplicity makes it unassuming and mysterious yet you know there is more inside.

And there was. 4th Floor, Henry Darger– a social recluse who wrote a 15,000 page book entitled The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion. The pictures that parallel this mouthful of a title are grotesque and mesmerizing. Hermaphrodite, doll-like girls run around a fantasy garden resembling Eden while adult cowboys try to capture these girls and hang them from trees. Yet, his use of bright watercolor is disturbingly beautiful. 3rd Floor, Martin Ramirez – a catatonic schizophrenic who drew while in an insane asylum. Abstract, minimalist, and just down right beautiful, his crayon drawings are filled with tunnels, caballeros, and bold lines.





Bottom Line: Visit AFAM and bask in Shaker-Darger glory. An aesthetic journey, I promise you.

stuff | 100 Days of Excess

I am the worst (at keeping up with posting).

On the other hand, this is the best (at making you happy).

BOOMBOX from Ely Kim on Vimeo.

21 is worth your while.

food | Interests Include: Scathing Restaurant Reviews

So two things: I am back in the city and I KNOW I have not posted in a while. I'm sure all of my 3 fans have been in constant distress.

But, as you may all know, Restaurant Week has arrived: prime time for palates with plebeian pockets. Though, be warned, you may not always "eat famously"; many second-rate establishments loom the list.

Japonais, for example, provided some Schadenfraude-esque enjoyment when I was reading over some of NYMag's Adam Platt's restaurant reviews:

As I sat at Japonais, sipping my Floating Orchid Martini, groping for new ways to describe the latest glossy, Pan-Asian disco palace to land in our midst, a dish appeared that was so msiconceived, so ecentric, so downright flat-footed, that it did the job for me. The Wagyu beef "Toban Yaki" style is not to be confused with the Wagyu rib eye or the Wagyu-brisket ravioli. No, the Wagyu Toban Yaki comes to the table in a steaming clay vessel. The lid is then lifted, with some ceremony to reveal a dank melange of peppers, mushrooms, and the beef itself, simmered to a kind of dull-gray nothingness in a broth described as a Kirin Light beer Fondue. I took one hesitant bite, then another. Then I scribble the following cosmic question in my notebook: "What am I doing here?"

To finish, he scribbles in his scratch-pad: For a real dinner, go somewhere else.

Wow, culinary bitch-slap.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Town and next week Del Posto. Others I'd definitely would want to try, though hardly have the savings for, are Blue Smoke, Cafe Boulud, and Dovetail. The Jean Georges conglomerates are available all winter, so perhaps Matsugen or Jojo another time?

P.S. I went to Milk Bar and David Chang's recent endeavor deserves a post of its own, but, needless to say, I will be back. Innovative deserts that always combine the right balance of sweet and salty: Graham Cracker soft serve that transports you back to days of snack time at camp (except now you're 20 and sophisticated and can demand Maple Candy, Charred Marshmallows, and Peanut Butter Halva on top).

beginnings | New Resolutions and Age Retributions

First off, a very merry New Years to you all. After countless department stores, innumerable wooden shrines, and a lifetime's worth of panko-coated delicacies, I have completed my Japanese journey.

But, one JAL flight and three hours later, I am completing the last leg of my Asia trip in Taiwan - low key, low glamour, yet nonetheless wonderful.

New Years has already passed on this side of the globe, but, like everywhere, resolutions are still teeming with vitality and hope that you will actually make it to the gym every day. This year I will turn two decades old. Two. And, while every woman with botox and mid-life crisis in hand might want to pounce at that statement, I feel old.

I have a lot to think about and a lot of discovering to do this year. So Cheers to all and Godspeed!

Go wild. I know these people will.