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Here is a tribute to our favorite e.e. esq. Put on your prettypants; it’s gonna be a long one!

It all started two and a half years ago, when I took forty pictures of e.e. for the good of mankind. This was one of them.

Then she came to New York, and other things happened.

Good luck at law school, come back soon, and remember: NO DISPOSABLE CAMERAS. You’re prettier than that.



After two years, six rooftop photo shoots, a few mice given the same name, a fennec fox blog launch party, one trip to The Edge and back (the bar on the corner, not suicide), and two untouched bottles of Manischewitz, it is time to pack up our humble abode and scatter elsewhere in the city.  For me, that means moving just a few blocks up the street.  For Sylvie, however, that means setting up camp in a new neighborhood with a new zip code.  Considering I have only recently begun to feel confident about the number of zeros in my zip code, I’m glad it’s her battle and not mine.

I’ve done quite a bit of complaining, what with the paper thin walls and eccentric neighbors, but as I take down photos, seal boxes, and pour the final bottles of wine, I’m reminded of all that I will miss.

Favorite Store.  I will certainly miss that.  The inspiration for this blog, Favorite Store has never let us down.  Well, except for that time we were in search of hot fudge, although I’m writing that off as a fluke.  The delivery truck must have been stuck on the FDR.  My new apartment is not far from Favorite Store, but there is another deli in its way: More Favorite Store.  I have never seen so many kinds of hummus.  Sorry Favorite Store, you may have my heart, but More Favorite Store has single Tootsie Roll Pops.

I will miss the comments from the quirky people on my street.  Being told that one hopes you get punched in the face when you turn the corner never gets old.  Luckily I am gaining a new cast of characters.  The other day on the walk to my new apartment I was told I have an “onion head.”  Onions…layers…depth…genius…I’m taking that as a compliment.

Despite the fact that the members of the Hells Angels motorcycle gang prefer most activities to smiling, occasionally stumble out of their headquarters and narrowly avoid killing me on the sidewalk, and they’ve been known to throw people out of windows, I get a strange feeling of comfort knowing they are close by.  I think I’m beginning to understand them.  Just last week I learned that not only do they dislike people outside of their group, but they also dislike each other!  This was visible in their interest in ramming into each other’s motorcycles while impatiently waiting at stoplights.

I will miss the Super’s son’s inexplicable dislike for Sylvie.  He likes everyone else, and will even ask everyone else out on dates.  But not if Sylvie is present.  Her presence invites glares, coldness, and most often, complete avoidance.

It is really incredible how Sylvie’s room adapts effortlessly to the change of seasons.  Her window remains open year round, and one can never tell by looking out it what season or time of day it really is.

We own a signed photo from the Irish Tenors’s 2000 Christmas Show.  You probably don’t.


It has been Chanukah for two years. Opening dresser drawers yields a bounty of small dreidels, and the windows are adorned with menorahs and star decals.  The freezer houses three boxes of frozen latkes which are just fifteen minutes away from complementing a joyous occasion. I’d venture to guess that there are very few other apartments so equipped for spontaneous Chanukah celebrations.

At any given moment there are more dead flowers in our apartment than there are real ones.

There is a dog on our floor named Baby.  This is a clever name for him though, because he is old.  Baby and I occasionally meet on the stairs, and he stops to let me ascend or descend first, as my legs usually move faster.  He is the only considerate baby I’ve ever met.

We live above a Hookah bar and still do not know its name.  We are also continually surprised when it isn’t empty.

No matter the level of political unrest, there is a constant war raging in our building.  It is a war that usually starts around 11 PM and really picks up by 1 AM.  It is a war whose proper name is either Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare or Gears of War.  We’re not quite sure which.

I must now learn to live without the luxury of whispering through poorly constructed walls. I estimate that it will take several months to bring my voice back to normal speaking volume, as I’ve grown accustomed to imitating the cast members of Felicity.

Lots of other things happened here; the projector exploded and I thought I got shot, we watched every episode of MTV True Life, we cooked vegan meals with names like “Christmas Dish” and “Little Italy,” we fooled many visitors with decorative paper that looks like a Magic Eye but really isn’t, and we broke a whole lot of glasses as well as one toe.

Apartment, you were good to us.  I can only hope the next tenants will appreciate you and your quirks as much as we did.


I can’t stop looking through small magazine. Because they have a lot of gorgeous, simple photos (polaroids!) and styling…

…but also a lot of the outfits are so hipster and ridiculous that they absolutely don’t jibe with what that adorable small fall spread.

But mostly, I love it unconditionally and forever for this:

Oh yes, there will be a post about Catherine’s Animals soon. GET READY.


{animals catherine’s animals, via small magazine}

people love to blog about fennec foxes! in fact, they’ve even taken woot by storm! check out this shot from wednesday’s deal on a sony vaio:

“how much for the dog?” someone posted on a message board thread about the computer. ha! you WISH that wondrous little creature were so easily described by simple words like “dog” or “cat.” but it isn’t, and I know I’ve already posted my previous favorite fennec fox photo, but bear with me, because I’ve got an even better one.

first, though, a few words about fennec foxes. known for their floppy ears and sandy fur, fennec foxes are nocturnal omnivores indigenous to the sahara desert, as well as the only species of fox that can be kept as a pet! and the little fellows are so hardy that they can survive for YEARS without water if they have to!

of course, if you manage to secure one as a pet, and–even more difficult–to get yours housebroken, remember that he’s a quick little fox, and you’ll have to keep an eye on your active friend to make sure he doesn’t escape! I recommend building some sandy dunes in your apartment–good for climbing, AND for ambiance!

are you sold yet? no? why the hell not? check out the whiskers on this guy!

it’s only a matter of time, I know, before I have one of my own. I’ve already got a name picked out: Teff!  yeah, it’s perfect.

it’s a FENNEC FOX!

just about the cutest, via the inimitable cute overload.