Blame the Birds

Two-double-oh-nine.

There's no doubt about it - 2008 was a year most people won't be sad to bid farewell to. Oh-eight was like an obnoxious, licentious relative whose pants don't fit, drinks your beer, and scratches unmentionable places. It was the zombie in C-list slasher films that Would. Not. Die. From economic crisis, the Writer's Strike, horrible, senseless wars, and Sarah Palin, 2008 was what we in the news business like to call a "hum-dinger." Men on Wall Street were reduced to quisling infants who suddenly regretted all those Armani suits hanging delicately in their walk-in closets. Retailers realized that red was a fabulous color to wear, not to have in the books. Yet, out of all of this, some good came.

Barack Obama became the President-Elect. Tina Fey became more ubiquitous in American homes than the Rhoomba. And I learned of my love for olives, Swedish rock, and cardigan sweaters.

It's time for a change. I've been in New York for a good four months now, going on five, and it's time for a change. I think it's just like when I first moved here - on a hope and a prayer, trusting in blind luck, raw talent, and whole bouquets of ambition. I was too comfortable in a place that was wonderful, but was unlikely to lead to anything. Alas. It was ripping the Band-Aid off. It was breaking up with the perfect boyfriend that you're not in love with. Insert any other obsequious metaphor, and that's what I did today.

Today, also, the fellow interns and I decided to go out for one last day of celebratory lunch and the necessary cupcakes at Chelsea Market. And, serendipitously, who walks by? None other than Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel Barker. But that's old hat. His studios are only a few blocks away, so I've seen him many a time, toting equipment to-and-fro, or else in Chelsea Market, patiently waiting at Hale and Hearty Soups, presumably for lobster bisque or perhaps a delicious Italian Wedding Soup.

I think New York, more than most other cities (barring LA, of course) takes its' celebrities in stride. Nowhere else will you see Mary Louise Parker running around in Ugg boots and 83 layers of clothes to grab a cappuccino in the Village. Here, the celebrities are not. It just so happens that the industries they work in put them more in the public eye. Except for Katie Holmes. In my book, she has little talent, little appeal, and little reason to be followed by the paparazzi or my very own Page Six. For goodness sakes, she and I grew up an hour away from each other in Nowhere, Ohio. Anyways. My point being, celebrity sightings here are a non-issue.

But, here's to 2009. Here's to a year of prosperity, of hope, and of dilligent change. Here's to a year of long-fought peace, of introspection, of guarded ambition. Here's to a year without much of Katie Holmes.

Quote of the Day: "TYRA MAIL!"