On… anniversaries

So, every year, more or less on our anniversary, Fox and I head back to the place in downtown Manhattan where we got married, give a passerby our camera and ask them to take our photo.

Now that we’ve done it four times, I think we can call it a THING. (We skipped 2011 as we hadn’t move to NYC yet. It was a long way to go for a thing that wasn’t even a thing yet, to paraphrase Sixteen Candles.)


outside town hall

2010 – Gem and Fox


2012 – Gem, Fox and Errol (eight months)


2013 (Gem, Fox and Errol, 1year8months)


2014 (Gem, Fox, Errol, nearly 3, and Ned, nearly 6m)

These photos make me insanely happy. (I know. I’m so square.) Babies, man. They might just catch on.


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On… Rob Cantor

Not usually my bag but this is pretty damn great.

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Well THIS is amazing.

I slip an OK GO reference into every book I write. I know. It’s totally lame and annoying. What can I say? I like that damn band. (Actually, note to self: is it in LOVE & CHAOS? I should check. Well, obviously I’m not going to check. I can’t read my own book, it’s horrific, like watching a video of yourself walking naked: all I see are flaws. If anyone out there can tell me if there is an OK GO reference in it, please do. Or just ignore me and go about your day. That’s fine too. I need to find somewhere to hide it in the third book in the Brooklyn Girls series, which is called THE WILD ONE. Yah. Good title huh? Okay I need to end this parentheses already. No you hang up first. No you! YOU! Okay. Going now. Seriously. For serious.)

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On… You Rascal You


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On… a Bollywood song

I don’t understand it but I really, really like it.



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On… a new uniform


You’re wearing that again?


I’m very emotionally comfortable in this outfit.


You know, you look like a homeless person.


A SEXY homeless person.


Not so much.


Yes. So. Much.


A Zara tweedy coat that makes me feel like an old man driving a car in 1968.


Current Elliott Boyfriend Jeans.


Uniqlo pale blue shirts. I have like five of these. I will probably buy five more.


NARS Heat Wave. Because it makes me look like I’ve made an effort when I almost never have.


My trusty sequined Converses. These were also my wedding shoes. But that’s a different story.


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On… working with a baby

Working with a baby isn’t that hard for anyone who has worked in advertising.

I mean, I spent years surrounded by screaming infants.

And a baby only ever wants to feed, burp or sleep. It’s not exactly hard to manage. It’s far easier to manage than the average creative in advertising, who wants to bitch about a client / play Rihanna on the pan flute they just bought on a trip to Romania / bitch about an account manager / throw a whiffle ball the entire length of the creative studio over and over again / bitch about a job they’ve been given 29 rounds of amends on / organize a cake and dance-off for someone’s birthday and crack open the beer and then gossip loudly about who picked up at the pub last night and then draw a penis and write the account director’s name on it and then put on John Denver’s Greatest Hits very, very loudly.

Advertising was damn fun, now that I think about it.

But in advertising, I never had a work break that looked like this.

photo-27 3

Maybe I would have stayed a copywriter if I had.

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On… Delia Ephron

I just read the most delicious book. SISTER MOTHER HUSBAND DOG (ETC) by Delia Ephron. She has a lovely chapter on – well, actually, they’re all lovely chapters.


Here’s one paragraph that I thought you guys might like:

“If New York is for you, nothing else will do. The beauty, the excitement, the friction. The thrill of mastery – not simply navigating the subway system, for instance, but knowing exactly where to get on a train so that, when you reach your destination and get off, you are exactly opposite the exit. I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel, that I know something that no one else knows except another New Yorker. Mostly, however, loving New York is personal: the validation of identity. New Yorkers are born all over the country and then they come to the city and it strikes them: “Oh, this is who I am.”




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