Invasion of the Bulgarian
Okay, you all know about my Bulgaria fetish by now, specifically my obsession with one family. And for any of you who doubted how absolutely adorable they are, let me enter the following evidence for your perusal:
Zack, Silvia and daughter Sara
So Zack got to come to NYC (without my beloved Sara and Silvia, which totally sucks…but Sara is coming on her own over Thanksgiving which will be a total blast and completely documented here…and I WILL get Silvia here eventually)
So let me just say, Zack is the most charming man in the world and could probably get in the white house by just asking nicely. And double that power with the fact that his friend just opened the Bulgarian wing of VICE magazine and Zack has a new PRESS PASS (and got ME one too! I am now the official Bulgarian VICE Magazine New York correspondent. This doesn’t entail any actual journalistic endeavors, but is an excuse to try and worm my way into free shows and parties at which I don’t belong):
and yes, I will wear it with pride!!!!!
So Zack and I went to the east village, and saw some kickass looking party in a fancy redone apartment on St. Marks (gotta say, I miss the nasty dirty St. Marks Emily and I used to frequent in our youth – I loved the St. Marks bar especially…. it was so trashy and gross. Now it has strobe lights and weird images projected on the wall and $40 drinks). Anyway, The partiers were hanging on the balcony of this fancy building, and Zack said, “Let’s see if this press pass works!” Next thing you know, we snuck in the locked building when someone went out to take their dog for a walk. We went from floor to floor following the noise… then we were in this 80’s themed party with a bunch kids:
Note: Here’s the thing about 80′s parties…I wore these clothes when they weren’t RETRO. I am SO OLD.
Word spreads quick about the PRESS PASS, and soon we were the most popular people at the party. They thought we were doing a STORY. And I guess they thought I was the PHOTOGRAPHER.
i guess everyone wants to be in a magazine.
And everyone kept posing for us and showing us this crazy ice concoctoion they are using to do shots (Best quote of the night: “Yeah, man, we got it totally imported from New Jersey”)…
And of course I had to dance for a minute…’cause it was 80’s music, and besides Zack, I was the only one there who actually remembered when these songs came out:
And most surreal moment… went on the porch to smoke and looked across the street and there it was: 55 St. Marks.
For a long time I’ve wanted to write a novel about my family, specifically my Grandfather. He was born and raised in New York City. And I’ve been doing bits of research for years, but I know it will take much more time (I figure this book will be a longterm project). But recently, my dad and I went to see my agent (yeah, that’s right. My agent. I love saying that. Went to see my agent) at 55 5th Avenue, and on our way back to the subway , not one minute away from the agent’s office, my father stopped in his tracks. 51 5th Avenue is where my family had their dental practices, and many of them lived:
We even went in the lobby (much to the annoyance of the concierge), and all the original detailing on the ceilings are still there. And that’s when my pops told me about 55 St. Marks, where my Grandmother grew up. And here I am, at this silly party I crashed, with Bon Jovi blaring behind me, smoking a cigarette and looking at the apartment where my Great Grandmother and Grandfather lived. Surreal. A sign? Maybe. I’m not sure quite of what, but for a moment it took my breath away. I never knew my Grandfather (either one, actually)…and for some crazy reason, this New York legacy (me) ended up an Okie born and raised. For that I am thankful for many, many reasons…but I want to find my history. And one day I will.
