Pretty Please, Ms. Rowley, With Sugar on Top

Hi Ms. Cynthia Rowley,

Big fan! Love ya! I was really thrilled when I heard via WWD that you were going to be designing for Target again. I pictured a string of fun summer dresses, all reasonably priced at $70 or less. (To be honest, I used to frequent your shop on Bleecker Street; I couldn't really afford the dresses, but I had a CREDIT CARD! Oh, credit! Well, I don't have a credit card anymore and I'm slightly in debt, so I can't come to Bleecker Street anymore. Anyhow.) Yay, Cynthia at Target! I got really excited. And then I read:

According to sources, Whim [Cynthia's line] will not be part of the Go International initiative, and there will be no apparel. Instead, it will focus on novelty items such as outdoor games and inflatable pools, all given Rowley's irreverent touch.

Come on! It would make perfect sense for you to design clothing for Target. Please? Not that outdoor games and inflatable things don't sound just lovely, but we want dresses!

Sincerely,
Lorem Ipsum

Rowley Roars Back

NY Times: E. Manning Throws Like a Girl

A Famous Father, But Manning Took Cues From Mother

Craigslist Lonelyheart of the Week

I know it's been awhile, but I'm back with the Craigslist Lonelyheart of the Week. This time, we have a female-body-part theme, which means there are some really lonely guys out there. Our runner-up is a guy who knows how to ask for what he wants. He gets right to the point. His personal ad is titled, "May I Borrow Your Vagina?" Dude, it's not like a cup of sugar... He promises that he's not "a creep" and says "pretty please." Still, sometimes you just want to go over to these dudes' apartments and knock them over the head with their computers and scream, "Who the hell raised you?!"

And yet, vagina-boy is not our winner. Our winner this week has a special talent, which is evident from his personal's title: "Breastreader Extraordinaire." That's right, ladies! Have you ever had a relationship or career quandary and not known what to do? Why pay money to a therapist or psychic when this gentleman will read your boobs for free?! He says: "By putting yourself in my hands (Ha! hands! -- ed.), I gather the needed insight, mainly through tactile methods, plus conversation. This costs you nothing, and is also fun!" Worried this guy's not for real? Don't fret -- the anonymous "testimonials" at the bottom of his ad should convince you: "That was extraordinary!" Well, that is why he calls himself a breastreader "extraordinaire."

So, as someone who's kinda fascinated by human behavior and why we do the things we do, here's my question -- do these dudes realize they're being beyond creepy? Do they not care? If they want to get laid so badly, why not just pick up chicks at bars? And, of course, who the hell raised these guys? Can someone call their mothers, stat?

I'll Take This as a Sign of Maturity: Interest in My Neighborhood Garden

I'm sure I've walked by this spot at least a dozen times, but for some reason I noticed this plot of land at the end of my street on Saturday. It's one of the city's Greenstreets areas, which according to the NYC parks Web site, were developed in 1996; there are currently more than 2,000 of them. I know it's hard to see in this picture, but there's garbage strewn all around this one: Its weak fence is no match for the countless cups, paper bags, plastic containers, and even red ribbon that I saw inside the tiny garden yesterday. I also admit that I'm the farthest thing from a green thumb; I love flowers and plants but I suck at taking care of them.

How, then, to help this sad little neighborhood garden? It's in an area with mostly businesses -- there are few residential units in the surrounding blocks, which makes me think that I'm the one who should do something here. Apparently, there's a class on Wednesday called "Caring for Street Trees," in which one can get some tools and a permit, but it's full. Maybe I should just try to clear the garbage on my own, and hope that someone from the parks department comes to care for the plants in the spring? Or I could go back in time and actually pay attention in my college horticulture class.

My New Favorite Brunch Spot in Fort Greene

I'm working from home today, and decided to check out some brunch-to-go at Green Apple Cafe in Fort Greene—I'd heard it was yummy. Apparently, it closed? (Update: If it were a snake, it would've bitten me) So instead, I stumbled upon Caffe e Vino. The staff was beyond friendly (lots of Ciaos! and door opening) and the restaurant was full of doctors in scrubs from the hospital across the street (a good sign, I think, that it's got a chance at success). But what about the food? I ordered egg and cheese on a croissant, expecting to get just that; when I got home, I discovered a neatly packed container with perfectly fluffy eggs mixed with Swiss cheese laid over a croissant, plus a medley of potatoes with onions and tomatoes, plus an awesome salad -- often small salads that people throw in like this suck. (Even Bar Tabac, one of my favorite restaurants ever, could improve on its side salad.) And, they also gave a generous side of bread. All for only $8. And it was amazing! Seriously delicious.

In December the Village Voice reported that Caffe e Vino's menu looked rather bland -- well, the food is anything but. I'm definitely going back for dinner.

Caffe e Vino, 112 DeKalb Avenue, Fort Greene, Brooklyn

Boys Just Wanna Have Fun

Last week I finished up at Martha, and this week I spent time on the research desk of a men's mag. While I love working at Martha and all, boys are so much more fun! Here's a list of some subjects I fact-checked this week:

1. Cannibalism, including a guy who invited a woman over for dinner, shot her, and then ate her boob.
2. Artificial blood, what it is, and what is it good for?
3. Marijuana: I have never been a fan of pot, but I can now tell you the difference between sativa and indica.
4. Porn. Seriously, this was fascinating. Who knew that so many people were making YouTube-style amateur videos on XTube and YouPorn? I mean, duh, people make sex videos all the time (I mean, I assume!), but I didn't realize that it had become so, well, prosaic.

As you can see, it was a fun change from the land of chicken Kiev recipes and closet organization tips. I'm working at the men's mag for another day or two (gonna miss it!), and then I'm off to a weekly city mag for a month. It's somewhere I've applied about 800 times in the last few years, but they're super cliquey so it's hard to get in. Somehow the 801st time was a charm. Wish me luck!

Is It Just Me, Or Are Red-Heart Balloons a Really Odd Way to Advertise a Full-Body Massage?

These made me think of a friend who recently visited his masseuse of many years, and for reasons unknown, got a happy ending that totally freaked him out. It was the first time it had happened. Love must have been in the air. He tipped well and then ran.

Thursday Night at a Boerum Hill Bodega: A Play in One Short Act

I am standing in line behind a guy holding a huge pack of diapers. This is Boerum Hill, former home of such famous babies as Matilda, so of course they're au naturel chlorine-free diapers (who even knew regular diapers contained chlorine!). As the guy is being rung up, I wait behind him, with my purse in one arm, my dog Boo in the other.

Cashier (ringing up diapers): That'll be $18.53.
Guy: Jesus! Nineteen bucks?!
Cashier: Yeah.
The guys looks at me, looks at the diapers, looks at Boo.
Guy: I shoulda just stuck with a dog.

Worst. Ads. Ever.

Gothamist posted this ad today, reportedly run by a publication called Le Point in 1979. Oops! Well, I guess they couldn't predict the future, but, uh, pretty bad. Here's the link to the original site that posted this ad, along with nine of the other worst ads of all time. Frankly, I think the last one -- of a pig chopping himself up to be someone's dinner -- is the most appalling, but as an animal lover, I just didn't have the guts (ha, guts) to post it here. I'm going to alert Suicide Food, though! Update: I should have figured; it's already in their archives.

In Loving Memory of Brandy

Who always hated when I went on vacation. Many thanks to the awesome people at Veterinary Emergency & Referral Group in Cobble Hill, who were super sweet and kind last night. Branner, you will be missed tremendously. Love ya, pumpkin.

This Baby-Namin' Business Is Rough

In case you didn't already know how neurotic I am, here's more evidence! My friend M. in Chicago just asked my advice on what to name her second child, a boy. She has three names on the table: George, Simon, and Henry. I'm a girl, but I have a boy's name, so I'm going to deem myself an expert on this subject. Besides, getting teased about your name sucks (I know), and I want to be thoughtful and provide honest insight. Probably, though, my e-mail response to her (below) doesn't offer any insight as much as it unmasks my fear of schoolyard taunts, possible career failure, and being ridiculed by the other kids:

I like Henry. Do NOT name your kid Simon. B/c there's Simon Cowell, from American Idol, and he's a dick. Or else, it's just too easy a name to make fun of. OK, granted, nothing rhymes with it, but let's imagine this scenario on a playground, circa 2012:

Asshole kid: Give me your lunch money.
Simon: No.
Asshole kid: Simon says, Give me your lunch money.
Simon: What?
Asshole kid: Simon says -- that means you have to do it.
Simon: No?
Asshole kid: Simon says, I'm gonna kick your ass.
FIGHT SCENE.

Actually, Simon also rhymes with Climb On! This is faintly reminiscent of All Aboard!, a term which destines your child to become a train conductor. And it sort of rhymes with diamond. Like Diamond Simon. Next thing you know, kids are calling your kid Diamond Simon, the Rhinestone Cowboy. NOT Cool. Unless, of course, you want a kid who looks like Liberace, and I'm guessing no.

George. Problem with George is, there was that dude George whom you totally LOVED sophomore year of college. This might be a little bit like me naming my first born MikeXXXXXX (name X'ed out to protect former beloved & save self embarrassment). Actually, George is a nice name, but it's a bit tainted because that girl LXXXXX 's dick boyfriend was named George, and they both suck.

Which leaves us with Henry, the obvious choice! Love it! Just don't let anyone start calling him Hank, cause then he'll be Hank the Stank Who Drank. Don't get me started...