Didn't your mama ever tell you not to eat a glowing apple?

Let this be a lesson to ya, kids: stick to the candy on Halloween. At least it comes individually wrapped. (via BoingBoing)

"You forgot to get skim milk in my coffee??"

Dear Julian,

I know we’ve never met, but since you live across the street from me, I feel as if I know you. I don’t mean to seem stalker-ish, but it’s hard not to pay attention to you since I hear your name every other day. Remember that time a few weeks ago when you and your dad went out to a café early Saturday morning while I was trying to sleep? No? Well, I do. Your mommy decided to yell her order to you and your daddy even though you were both halfway down the block. Why she didn’t do this while you were still inside is beyond me. Did you make sure to pick up that iced coffee?

But seriously, it must be nice having the run of a whole brownstone as a five-year-old. I understand it must suck not having a full yard to play in, but you are just a few blocks away from the largest park in Brooklyn. You should ask your mom to take you there sometime. By the way, is she scared of leaving the stoop? I can’t quite figure out why she screams at you from the front door all the time. You should tell her that in Park Slope, people don’t get mugged just because they’re out on the sidewalk. And unfortunately, this isn’t the suburbs. Our buildings are not separated by full yards, so, yes, everything she shouts outside the apartment becomes all of our business.

It seems like your little sister is growing up quickly too! I see and hear her running around more and more these days. Since your mother hasn’t quite mastered the concept of the “indoor voice,” you should become a big brother role model and teach her that when she is outside, she shouldn’t shriek and disturb the whole street. I know how exciting is it to take out the trash with daddy, but I’d prefer not to hear about while I’m catching up on “Mad Men.”

Anyways, I hope you had a nice Labor Day weekend! Are you starting school soon? You must be excited. I’m sure I’ll hear about it if you ever leave your lunch on the counter.

Ever cordial,

Your friendly neighbor

I'z supozed to rite somthing?

I know the internets never sleep or go on vacation, but I guess I got swept up in the only month of summer we had in New York. Would you want to spend 80 degree and sunny days cooped up inside tapping away on your decrepit laptop? I think not. So, without further ado, welcome to autumn and a renewed commitment to bloggity blog blog.

…there’s always this crocheted hamburger dress. Who knew lettuce, tomato, cheese, and a patty could be so slimming? Plus if a friend gets a Hamburgler costume, you’ll be all set for Halloween this year.

I promise this will be the last food-related fashion item I post. Scout’s honor! (via Jezebel)

SJP + PPW = SATC 2.0 (BK)

After the needless brouhaha of Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick having twins through a surrogate died down, rumors surfaced that the power couple might have purchased a hand-me-down townhouse on Prospect Park West. Rumors are just rumors (hey kids, not everything you hear is true), but there appears to be confirmation that Parker’s production company just optioned the television rights to Amy Sohn’s book Prospect Park West. Basically, it’s Sex and the City after they have kids and move to Brooklyn. Oh wait. They already did that.

If Prospect Park West the HBO show does for Park Slope what Sex and the City did for Manhattan, we might all be forced into Queens just to escape the TV wannabes. It’s bad enough that the neighborhood is already overrun with drooling toddlers and the inconsiderate, aloof parents who take them absolutely everywhere. The only thing worse would be an invasion of bestrollered Scary Sadshaws. Right now, it is possible that an oversized stroller will run into you on 7th Avenue at any given moment of the day. Pretty unpleasant. The upside is that you can scream some Rated R obscenities at Mommy and Junior and then head back on your merry way. Once this show airs, not only could you potentially be hit by the stroller, but then you likely will be spiked by the mother’s Manolo stiletto, which will require a complete about face to the Methodist Hospital for treatment of a puncture wound. All of a sudden, you’re getting stitches and wishing for the good ol’ days when the Park Slope moms were all granola and wore fashionably ugly wooden clogs.

Then there’s issue of whether or not the show serves any type of novel purpose. The trials of motherhood, keeping up with the Joneses, and the shit-tastic lives of modern day urban nannies have all been well exploited in contemporary media (and probably all at once in a Lifetime Original Movie). So the real question is: will anybody even watch the show? Would you?

These features are not for kids.

The awesome people at Rooftop Films kicked off the annual Animation Block Party last night on the buggy lawn of the Automotive High School in Williamsburg. The films, which ranged in theme from a woman who tries to get over her ex by buying a dog to a kindly industrial plant that inadvertantly sends everything in its path to a polutted grave, are anything but your standard Disney G rated crap. Each short averages 3 minutes, so they’re guaranteed to keep the attention of even the most ADD adult.

The block party continues through the weekend at BAM, so go out and give the filmmakers some love.

* Since when do books have trailers? And don’t you kind of wish this were a real movie?

Fireworks: why are they so damn appealing? (Photo by FlySi/Flickr)

I didn’t intend on seeing the New York Phiharmonic play in Prospect Park as part of the free Celebrate Brooklyn concert series since I had seen the same program the night before at the disgustingly crowded Central Park show. But when my evening plans in Greenpoint ended on the early side, I decided to make use of the (incredible) new G stop at 7th Avenue and meet up with my friends, who had staked out a grassy patch in the park. I missed the Mozart entirely but arrived in time for the Beethoven, my favorite crazy composer. The Philharmonic was superb, the air was warm but not humid, the bugs were greedily feasting on my legs, and the crowd was refreshingly mature (and if there were some young’uns around, the music was loud enough to block out their chatter); in short, everyone had something to be happy about.

But the best part of the evening came after the brief Mendelssohn encore…

…when the fireworks went off.

(photo by arock75/flickr)

Despite the fact that they singe eyebrows, blow off fingers, and sound like gunshots, there’s something inexplicably magical about fireworks. As my loudmouth friends and I all gaped at the starbursts like two-year-olds, drool pooling in our open (and, for once, silent) mouths, I realized that fireworks appeal to the little-kid ADD in all of us. Bright, shiny, and colorful objects never get old…just ask the women who stare transfixed at their oversized engagement rings or the men who are lulled by their new computer’s LED screens. They are the Great Equalizer. It was a short display, but they easily made up for the firecrackers I saw in Bushwick on the 4th of July, which looked like sputtering matches in comparison.

The rain has stopped, we’ve finally gotten off the ark, and the legal (and illegal) fireworks are out. Summer has officially arrived!

This Bugaboo stroller retails for $950.00 (photo by Design Public/flickr)

Before I moved to Brooklyn, I thought there was only one type of baby stroller that had any name-brand appeal: Maclaren. These colorfully accented carriages, brandishing the company logo down the handle or on the seat, appeared everywhere on the Upper West Side.

And then I moved to Park Slope, where I soon became acquainted with the 3-wheeled “jogging” stroller, the stroller that can seat not two, but three (!) whiny children, and modern takes on the uppity pram. Now I know that the ones with the squiggled circle logo and massive back wheels – the same type carriage that once ran over my foot (hence the name of this blog) – is a Bugaboo, Gucci to a Maclaren’s H&M.

The most galling thing? These tricked-out rides, soon to be covered in spittle and crushed organic Cheerios, cost more than what I make in my entire paycheck. So pardon me, New York Times, for not wanting to run over and congratulate any of my neighbors for finally hitting upon this shockingly new concept of acquiring goods for their oblivious infants secondhand.

The Times seems to think that the concept of getting things secondhand for babies is novel.

The recession, it seems, has catalyzed a moment of reflection among the formerly free-spending new-parent set: used is good; free is best. New purchases have become more considered, less spontaneous.

And yet when I was growing up in, yes, an affluent New York City suburb way before the recession gave used goods their current cache, my parents realized that their three young children had no concept of luxury items and would total anything and everything given to us, including clothes, toys, furniture, and baby carriages. When I was old enough to realize that the endless shopping bags that kept appearing in our living room were stocked not with new, shiny loot but rather with my aunt and uncles’ castaways, I put my tiny foot down and demanded nothing but things I purchased myself (with my mom’s guidance, of course). But before then, I can only imagine how much of what surrounded my early youth was donated or bought on the cheap. I was too young to appreciate anything anyway and suffered not at all from the deficiency of finer things on my everyday life. And as far as I can tell, my family was just a small part of the enormous secondhand circle.

While I love the New York Times and read it almost exclusively for news, it has never been attuned to what it means to really live on the cheap, (see this previous article on supposedly broke college grads who think deprivation means forgoing Peter Luger or paying $1,500 for an East Village apartment), this article is particularly insensitive right now, when so many people are without jobs and struggling financially. I did a quick Craigslist search to get an idea of how much these people paid for their coveted used Bugaboos, and $400 does not seem like such a frugal steal, even if it’s a “fraction” of the original price. I’m already offended by this article; I can only imagine how parents who are having actual difficulties providing for their children must feel.

People today are railing against conspicuous consumption of any kind, and a lot of these folks are coming from progressive, family-friendly Brooklyn neighborhoods. These are people who boo gas guzzling, overpriced Hummers, and yet go out and splurge on a similarly oversized, showy baby stroller. One could point out similar gripes for spending lots of cash at farmer’s markets, but it’s much easier to justify buying $5 pints of organic strawberries. In that case, there’s a payoff for the consumer and the producer. But a luxury stroller for a child who is bound to trash it? That’s just ridiculous.

(via youtube via buzzfeed via jezebel, all because I’m lazy)