Eureka!

I may have discovered the fountain of youth (at least for hair) thanks to a brush I found in a Parisian dollar store. It's nothing special to look at, just a generic plastic hair brush made in Taiwan with a simulated wood-grain handle. But after using it for a week or two, I noticed something strange. My normally gray-streaked mane had reverted to the deep russet shades of my salad days.

How this happened I cannot explain. I haven't changed shampoos. I eat the same old foods. The only difference I can think of is the daily ministrations with the damned French brush. I began imagining a potential retail bonanza; my own infomercial: The amazing Brush-your-Way-Back-to-Youth System! Turn back the clock with each stroke! Brush the years away! Only $19.95! And if you order in the next 20 minutes, get his and hers Brushaways for the same low price!

It could happen. I'll get back to you as soon as I've talked with the FTC.

Hive, No Jive

Button Buddies

Two weekends ago I spent a splendid hour gawking at the thousands of buttons in New York's Tender Buttons. The shop is apparently named after a book by Gertrude Stein, a collection of confusing gibberish that's more often written about than actually read. I'm told the book consists of three chapters: "Objects," "Food," and "Rooms" --coincidentally, three things I'm particularly fond of myself.

I think Gertrude would have liked this shop. It reminded me of a sleepy old village store somewhere in the French countryside. Yet its not-so-dusty shelves held an endless variety of buttons that ranged in price from $1.50 to $150 each.

Predictably, I ended up spending $9 on a half dozen colorful plastic types with an irresistibly kid-ly theme. As one of Stein's contemporaries (Oscar Wilde) said, I can resist anything...except temptation.

The Larch

This weekend marked the unofficial peak of fall foliage (natives refer to it as "foilage") around Boston and also the end of a week-long tribute to Monty Python on IFC. In an effort to find a balance between the two, I ambled over to Larch Road in Cambridge. Directly across from Fresh Pond Park, the sleepy little residential street offered a resplendent display of autumn colors as well as conveniently free parking for park-goers without resident parking permits.

There may not be any actual larch trees on Larch Road. Just a neighborhood baseball diamond of the type you might expect to find in a Norman Rockwell painting surrounded by well-groomed single and multi-family homes.


The central feature of the Python sketch in question is a dull-voiced announcer's repetition of the phrase, "And now...the Larch" followed by a still photo of an ordinary-looking tree. Could it be that the larch has gotten a bad rap?

Uptown Girl

It was so cold this past weekend in New York that pickpockets were sticking their hands in strangers' pockets just to keep them warm. Luckily I'm safe from being "dipped," thanks to sister Doun's personal instruction in defeating the Two-Handed Street Grab™ often employed by Manhattan's criminal element. Where she learned such a maneuver, I couldn't say.

Lexington Avenue may be known for its theaters and pastry shops, but this girl's a sucker for fresh cut flowers, so I stopped to smell the roses. Burger Heaven beckoned me from across the street. I pondered visions of a place where ground beef goes when it dies, or at least aspires to go. Perhaps there is even a Burger Hell somewhere. Hell, why not a Burger Purgatory! I couldn't decide. All this thinking about food was making me hungry.

The only place to be was the Fairway Cafe. A jealously guarded secret heretofore known only to seasoned boulevardieres like me, this little gem of a restaurant is perched atop a busy premium supermarket of the same name situated on Broadway at 74th. Encouraged by my well-traveled and generous Mummy, I happily tucked into a meal of sumptuous crab cakes and a platter of onion rings the size of a small ranch house. "Like No Other Market®" proclaims the Fairway's slogan, and I heartily agree.

Splenda in the Grass

A trip to New York this weekend in the midst of a cold snap. Central Park was decked out in stunning fall hues as well as the usual errant cigarette butts and packets of ersatz sugar. My sisters graciously sponsored my attendance at a New Yorker Festival event on West 57th that featured a dozen humorists reading from their works. Calvin Trillin delivered his piece in a low monotone. Woody Allen was appropriately wooden. The rest were variously funny and/or edifying. Courtesy of my beloved M66 bus, I also made a pilgrimage to New York's premiere button store and spent an afternoon enjoying the delights of the Cooper Hewitt museum, both of which I'll tell you about in subsequent blog entries.

Vigilance Propreté

Embarked as I was on a whirlwind of house cleaning this week, my thoughts turned to the green trash bags seen in public places all over Paris. The bags have the words “vigilance” and “propreté” printed on them – placing vigilance before cleanliness. The exact meaning remains mysterious. Perhaps "be mindful of cleanliness" comes closest, although some theorize that since it first appeared shortly after 9/11, the message advises the French public to be vigilant in preventing terrorism as well as strive to keep things spic and span. The bag I'm holding in the photo was located in the garden behind Notre Dame cathedral. Little wonder it was "miraculously" empty.

Honk if you love Cambridge

Once a year the Honk Parade comes honking through my little neighborhood. I don't mind. It's a chance to enjoy the sight of waves of people filling the streets dressed in crazy costumes, tooting on saxophones, plunking banjos, and banging drums.
The participants are highly organized and put a lot of effort into their performances. Wacky props and various paper mache creations are de rigueur.

Themes run the gamut from "Rude Mechanical Orchestra" to "End War In The Middle East." Don't ask me how Honk started or why. All I know is that it begins in Somerville, proceeds up Massachusetts Avenue, and ends in the middle of Harvard Square before first going right by my door.

Full Sale Ahead

I took a quick jaunt to Providence, RI, for the seasonal RISD alumni sale. Although I did not see Seth MacFarlane or David Byrne in the mob of students there, I was assured at least some of the items for sale were made by actual RISD alumni. There were earrings that boasted fragments of advertising, luminous landscapes, ingenious space-dyed knit tops and scarfs, and blown glass with a simple colored rim. It was tough to restrain myself, but I indulged in a felt doll inspired by anime made by an artist called Aomimi. I also bought a delicate ceramic bowl, gracefully inscribed "No. 10" inside with a faint imprint of a fork on the outside made by Asya Palatova. A good day, even though there were many artists whose work remained to be seen.

I stopped at the famed RISD store for lunch and immediately fell head over heels for two chairs that featured my favorite stripe pattern. I was prepared to hunker down until they let me have 'em, but was told they were not for sale. Well, a gal can't be blamed for tryin'.

Is the Fish Fresh?

As some of you may recall from my past adventures battling salmon chiselers, the price of fish is of special interest to me. I was back at H Mart this week to take advantage of their wide selection of seafood, a lot of it selling for under 3 dollars a pound. Is it fresh? You bet.

Buzzin' at the Hive

Today I celebrated Utton Bay's Design Hive debut and my first face to face retail selling experience. My booth was set up and ready by 10 AM, despite some initial mishegas. I was first issued a heavy round table roughly the size of the Titanic. It left no space for my clothes rack or for me. Luckily, I was able to trade this monstrosity for a pair of small school desks that fit the space much better.

DJ Keith Jensen spun funky tracks to get sellers crunkin' and shoppers buyin'. The hands of the clock went round. Hours went by. I got to know my booth neighbors well.

Happy as I am to have seen repeat rounds of friends and neighbors, it was a lighter crowd than regulars tell me they've seen at previous Design Hive dates. As they say in baseball, "Maybe next time." (And a special shoutout to my best customer, Ms. Westerman, and to my dear friend who helped me launch The Bay, Ms. Webster Holmes.)

H is for heavenly

I've confirmed eyewitness reports of unbridled pandemonium coming out of Burlington, MA. Was it a Justin Timberlake sighting? No, just the grand opening of H Mart, a supermarket specializing in Asian foods. Outside, shoppers jockeying for parking spots were directed into overflow lots by private police. Inside, I encountered crowds that put the Superbowl to shame.

The seafood counter featured umpteen varieties of exotic fish and bivalves on ice. A staff of knife-wielding fish cutters stood ready to clean and filet shoppers' selections. There I received advice on how to gut a sea bass from a young salt and chef de cuisine. "Slit from the tail and pull it down the middle," said he.
I pressed on, discovering heavenly heaps of fresh vegetables and fruit at pre-inflation prices. The bakery, however, took the grand prize. Tucked into a corner of H Mart and separately branded Tous les Jours, temptingly exotic breads (many touting a chestnut filling) and pastries exuded fresh, buttery smells. Will I return again soon? My-oh-yes...with a bigger shopping bag!

Reminder: tomorrow (October 4) Utton Bay appears at Design Hive!