Paperblog A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

"Mabel's not crazy... she's unusual."

Photo Post
This article about Bill and Hillary Clinton in Chappaqua, where I grew up, really touches my heart. Because as most people who live in the town know, the Clintons are very visible in the community. Bill goes in for sandwiches at the deli where my little brother worked. Hillary dresses up to vote at my high school. You see them at the movie theater, and at Starbucks. When he was President, they would shut down all of the highways leading into the town, and the media would flock in the thousands to the parking lot of our local grocery store. Today, his presence is quiet, marked by a Suburban at the end of his road. I see them the most walking on the road where my parent’s live, usually hand in hand. People say the Clintons are only married for political reasons, but if you were to catch them in such a state, alone except for the team of Secret Service that trail them no matter where they are, you’d see their affection for one another. My favorite Bill Clinton moments are these: 1. Walking down the driveway with my two adopted sisters when they were babies, and running into Bill Clinton. “Those are some beautiful girls you have there,” he told me. “Thank you, Mr. President,” I said to him. 2. My little brother, only 6-years-old, engaging in a 25 minute conversation with him about tae kwon do competitions at the local fire station.  3. My mother and father walking behind them for awhile one winter morning.  “We saw the Clintons earlier today,” my mother told me later. “Where?” my dad barked. “We were walking behind them for like 10 minutes. You said hi to them,” my mother told him. “That was the Clintons?!” my dad barked. That’s when I knew he was getting old. I hope that they don’t move out of Chappaqua.  (And as a side note, this picture, which I pulled off Google, was taken at a diagonal to my parent’s driveway. The town recently condemned the house behind them, a modern sort of shamble, I assume for being an eyesore.)

This article about Bill and Hillary Clinton in Chappaqua, where I grew up, really touches my heart. Because as most people who live in the town know, the Clintons are very visible in the community. Bill goes in for sandwiches at the deli where my little brother worked. Hillary dresses up to vote at my high school. You see them at the movie theater, and at Starbucks.

When he was President, they would shut down all of the highways leading into the town, and the media would flock in the thousands to the parking lot of our local grocery store. Today, his presence is quiet, marked by a Suburban at the end of his road.

I see them the most walking on the road where my parent’s live, usually hand in hand. People say the Clintons are only married for political reasons, but if you were to catch them in such a state, alone except for the team of Secret Service that trail them no matter where they are, you’d see their affection for one another.

My favorite Bill Clinton moments are these:

1. Walking down the driveway with my two adopted sisters when they were babies, and running into Bill Clinton. “Those are some beautiful girls you have there,” he told me.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” I said to him.

2. My little brother, only 6-years-old, engaging in a 25 minute conversation with him about tae kwon do competitions at the local fire station. 

3. My mother and father walking behind them for awhile one winter morning. 

“We saw the Clintons earlier today,” my mother told me later.

“Where?” my dad barked.

“We were walking behind them for like 10 minutes. You said hi to them,” my mother told him.

“That was the Clintons?!” my dad barked.

That’s when I knew he was getting old.

I hope that they don’t move out of Chappaqua. 

(And as a side note, this picture, which I pulled off Google, was taken at a diagonal to my parent’s driveway. The town recently condemned the house behind them, a modern sort of shamble, I assume for being an eyesore.)

Bill Clinton Chappaqua Hillary Clinton Presidents my life
Comments 21 notes
Photo Post
How cool would it be to have a video camera that recorded over whatever song you were listening to, creating instant homegrown music videos?  (I could have sworn I wasn’t stoned, yet…) Today mine would have been a long shot walking up my parent’s driveway, listening to Alone, Together by The Strokes. Privileged fucking youth and fall foliage. I’m gonna be a indie sensation!

How cool would it be to have a video camera that recorded over whatever song you were listening to, creating instant homegrown music videos? 

(I could have sworn I wasn’t stoned, yet…)

Today mine would have been a long shot walking up my parent’s driveway, listening to Alone, Together by The Strokes. Privileged fucking youth and fall foliage. I’m gonna be a indie sensation!

Alone Together Chappaqua The Strokes my life
Comments 7 notes
Photo Post
We celebrated my grandmother’s 80th birthday this past Saturday night at one of the nicer restaurants in Westchester. My Nana loves when I get dressed up. So I got really dressed up for the party. I lathered, and lotioned, and powered. My aunt set my hair in long, perfect curls. My lips were bright cherry red. I was wearing a vintage Italian silk cocktail dress from the 1950s, which had been refurbished on the inside in such a way that the seams dug into my skin, leaving red welts in a ring around my mid-section. To get the dress on, my aunt had been forced to ply the zipper with WD-40. I suffered, but I looked pretty as a publicity still. “You look absolutely beautiful!” my Nana proclaimed as she emerged from the crowd of well-wishers during the cocktail hour. In her hand was a wine glass full of crushed ice and Miller Lite. “Thanks Nan,” I said, bending down in my gold lamé stiletto sandals to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Let me give you some advice, Brienne,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Whatever, you do, always act like a lady.” I laughed. “I’m serious!” she said, shaking my arm. “Always act like a lady!” I looked down at my cocktail attire. At the Diet Coke in my hand. At the beer cooler in hers. “I’m gonna need something with alcohol in it,” I said to the bartender. Then I kissed my Nana on the cheek, again, and enjoyed the rest of the night.

We celebrated my grandmother’s 80th birthday this past Saturday night at one of the nicer restaurants in Westchester.

My Nana loves when I get dressed up. So I got really dressed up for the party.

I lathered, and lotioned, and powered. My aunt set my hair in long, perfect curls. My lips were bright cherry red. I was wearing a vintage Italian silk cocktail dress from the 1950s, which had been refurbished on the inside in such a way that the seams dug into my skin, leaving red welts in a ring around my mid-section. To get the dress on, my aunt had been forced to ply the zipper with WD-40.

I suffered, but I looked pretty as a publicity still.

“You look absolutely beautiful!” my Nana proclaimed as she emerged from the crowd of well-wishers during the cocktail hour. In her hand was a wine glass full of crushed ice and Miller Lite.

“Thanks Nan,” I said, bending down in my gold lamé stiletto sandals to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Let me give you some advice, Brienne,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Whatever, you do, always act like a lady.”

I laughed.

“I’m serious!” she said, shaking my arm. “Always act like a lady!”

I looked down at my cocktail attire. At the Diet Coke in my hand. At the beer cooler in hers. “I’m gonna need something with alcohol in it,” I said to the bartender.

Then I kissed my Nana on the cheek, again, and enjoyed the rest of the night.

Chappaqua Nana my life
Comments 4 notes
Photo Post
The train from Chappaqua to New York was almost an hour late this morning. “What happened?” I asked the conductor when he came to collect my ticket. “Someone got hit by a train.” “Oh, that’s awful.” “It was their choice though,” he said, unsympathetically. “Did they…” He made a cutting motion across his throat with his hand. From the seat in front of me, a toddler wearing rainbow stripes watched him. I caught her eye, and she smiled shyly. “So much stress these days,” her mother sighed. The conductor shrugged, and continued on with his business.

The train from Chappaqua to New York was almost an hour late this morning.

“What happened?” I asked the conductor when he came to collect my ticket.

“Someone got hit by a train.”

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“It was their choice though,” he said, unsympathetically.

“Did they…”

He made a cutting motion across his throat with his hand. From the seat in front of me, a toddler wearing rainbow stripes watched him. I caught her eye, and she smiled shyly.

“So much stress these days,” her mother sighed.

The conductor shrugged, and continued on with his business.

Chappaqua Weegee my life
Comments 5 notes
Text Post

Nell: A Photo Album

They always say that a dog resembles their owner. In my family’s case, that means that our dogs are totally fucking insane.

There was the albino boxer with epilepsy, and another boxer who had no control over her bladder. There was the bulldog who was allergic to grass. Incidentally, he also liked to eat other people’s cats. There were the dogs who ran away, and the dogs who ate hair, and the dogs who were so hyper that if they sat still, their bodies shook uncontrollably.

Our dogs, if they are male, are always named after famous Irish boxers (Dempsey, McGee). And if they’re female, they’re named Molly or Nell. Neither a Molly nor Nell has ever lasted more than a week in my family before they’re returned to the breeder, usually because of some debilitating inherited disease.


That is, besides the Nell who currently resides in a gigantic crate in the front hallway of our house. She is an English Mastiff. She has a snaggle tooth. She’s afraid of everything, but mostly people, dogs, inanimate objects, ghosts, the world, food, water and if they approach her too fast, basically any member of my family.

Read More

Chappaqua Nell my life
Comments 4 notes