Constance Jablonski’s Summer Road Trip

By  Via intothegloss.com

This week in Instagram voyeurism, we check in with old friend Constance Jablonski, who just got back from a road trip in Portugal and Spain. Some photos and thoughts, straight from her iPhone to yours:

Hi guys!

For my summer trip this year, I did a road trip from Lisbon all the way down south to Sevilla in Spain. After Lisbon, we stopped in Comporta, Quinta do Lago, and Faro, before finishing up in Sevilla. It was awesome—Portugal is such a hidden jem, and Portuguese people are so nice, so generous, and fun! Here a few more pictures in attachment 😉

When you’re on the road, you can’t bring too much. All I had with me was Christophe Robin Moisturizing Hair Oil, Avène Ultra-Light Hydrating Sunscreen Lotion Spray For The Body, Estée Lauder Daywear SPF 50, and Estée Lauder Bronze Goddess Body Creme. Beyond that, you need your iPhone car charger, water, sunglasses, and good music. Very simple. We listened to a lot ofLost Frequences Are You With Me.

For the trip, I rented a small Citroën C3—not the best car but I never reserve in advance so there weren’t many choices…But my little French car was perfect for the week!

Xx Constance

Sent from my iPhone. Read more here

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Where to Eat When…

By Leandra Medine Via manrepeller.com

Amelia was right: picking a place to eat in New York City can be more challenging than picking a mate with which to procreate for life. There are so many! They all look so cute! If I eat at the one with the decorative tins full of flowers, will I regret the missed mason-jar-full-of-tequila across the street?

But as is often the case with abundant choice and the anxiety it incurs: if you can narrow down the pool from which to pick, you can quell the panic that comes with it. And if you can quell the panic, you can make a decision based not on distortion but rather, on merit. Like it is a basketball team, my friends. And you? You are the referee. (What?)

Enter this: a 4-part series chronicling five restaurants across the four corners of New York City (plus two beyond the bridges and tunnels that demarcate our rent fees!) to trust as your personal, handpicked-and-tried (Drinks were drunk! Taquitos were consumed!) Zagat guide-in-theme. Today, we tackle a portion of lower Manhattan east of Broadway.

So you’re having dinner with a whole bunch of girlfriends, don’t want to make a reservation, see anyone you know outside of the inner circle or get judged for asking, “Extra guac, please?

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Try La Palapa at 77 St. Marks Place. And the cool thing about this place, which can be pretty dark inside but offers solid half-in-half-outdoor seating at the front end, is that the guacamole dish is so big you probably won’t have to ask for extra. The margarita pitchers are not exorbitantly sized, which is either a downfall or win depending on whether you’re comfortable ordering one for just yourself. And, the fish tacos taste like zesty grilled fluff rolled into an ocean of carefree gluten. Don’t get dessert, but only because you are in the East Village and Big Gay Ice Cream Shop is one block east while DF Mavens, a coconut-based ice cream shop, is one block west.#Blessed.

Your parents are in town, you haven’t seen them in three months, you’re not paying for dinner and you want to prove that you’re 10 degrees cooler than them, solely because of your impeccable new restaurant knowledge and choice.

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Try Seamore’s at 390 Broome Street, brought to you by the kind folks who bequeathed to us The Meatball Shop. If you’re into ceviche, appreciate the notion of a gin mojito, don’t mind — and in fact relish — communal seating and like the idea of sitting in a restaurant that looks like a curated Instagram account, you will shit yourself on immediate contact. And then you will feel great about that bile release because the food is that good. There is also a daily soft serve on tap for dinner, which comes in a cone to you at your table. Eat that while your mom is picking up the bill.

It’s been a long week, you’ve had four dinners at Jack’s Wife Freda and you’re ready to try something different. Something that will either blow you away or suck you the F in.

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Try Noreetuh at 128 First Avenue. If I’m being really honest with you, I have not tried this place but accordingly to Cristina, our ad sales wizard, it is “really funky.” According to the Internet, it is Hawaiian — sorry, elevated Hawaiian — cuisine. I don’t know what that means other than maybe bbq’d pineapples, but if that’s all, that’s enough. Let’s head there together?

You have just one task to complete on your evening agenda and it is to get wasted.

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If you’re wearing high waist linen shorts with a striped shirt, leather jacket, clogs and a topknot above your head, try Leadbelly at 14 Orchard Street. Ask for the cucumber martini but substitute the vodka for tequila and shed your layers of self consciousness because the people populating this bar are so cool you feel like a fraud. Also! There’s popcorn. #Blessed x 2.

If you’re wearing anything else, try Sweet and Vicious at 5 Spring Street (by Elizabeth St.): drinks in mason jars, happy hour specials and a backyard garden that feels like home. Once you’re wasted, you will invariably realize that the other thing on your agenda was dessert. Morgenstern’s is but a mere block away, friends.

You’re leaning in like any good female aged 24-36 in 2015 does and choosing a first date spot for a one-on-one you have planned tonight. You anticipate that your choice will reflect ​whether or not you are a suitable partner and in thinking through the character traits that make you special, you decide spontaneity, willingness-to-get-down and how well you can eat (waffles!) on your feet are key factors.

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Try a food truck…any food truck. I did this once and poof! Three years later: married.

Read more here.

 

Have You Ever Gone on a Road Trip With Your Coworker?

by Leandra Medine via manrepeller.com

“A week following the road trip, I have just this to say: no matter how much you love Larry David, he is not the person with whom you want to spend three days in a car. And seeing as Amelia’s Repressed Larry David Syndromehas become a case of Full-Blown Psycho David syndrome, I must admit there were at least two moments where I honestly feared for my life. The first time was when we were leaving Manhattan. She kept saying Manhattanites are like city-dwelling pigeons, because just like these pigeons don’t see humans as predators, the Manhattanites don’t see moving cars as a threat. One might argue they hope to get hit: “Come at me, luxury car,” she muttered, doing her best pedestrian impersonation. “I could use the cash settlement.” Read more here

 

The chicest way to stay sunburn-free on the beach

By Jamie McKillop Via Well & Good

Say goodbye to the half-broken beach umbrella that haunts your closet like the ghost of sandy summers past. Aussie brand Lovin’ Summer wants to up your sun-protection game with totally chic new beach “tents” in which to apply your SPF 30 and actually read a book.

The brand just launched stateside, offering four tent styles, in fashionable patterns and colors, each named after an iconic beach from around the world. They all have UPF 40 fabric, and come neatly packaged with a matching carryall bag.

It also meets an important criteria in the things-you-lug-to-the-beach department: the company swears the tents are easily assembled by one person, so you don’t have to be the maniac wrestling with your shade-lending accessory for hours, only to give up and risk a burn.

At $169 a pop, they don’t come cheap. But can you really put a price on sun protection (that doesn’t divert attention from the chic new suit you’ve been waiting to wear)?

For more information, visit www.lovinsummer.com

(Photo: Lovin’ Summer)

 

What a 107-year-old poet can teach you about mindfulness

by Lisa Elaine Held Via Well & Good Magizine

It’s a special kind of person who can find meaning in the seemingly pointless, never-ceasing task of daily bed-making.

Peggy Freydberg does just that in the first pages of Poems from the Pond, a recently published collection of her poems, all of which she wrote between the ages of 90 and 106.

“It’s the ultimate lesson in mindfulness,” says author and producer Laurie David, who edited the book. “I now look at the task of making your bed as a gift the day is giving to you. That’s how she did. Making the bed is no longer something you do out of drudgery, it’s something you do out of celebration of waking up.” (With every crease and fluff.)

David discovered Freydberg after writer-educator and NPR commentator Nancy Aronie organized a small reading of her poems on Martha’s Vineyard last year. Freydberg was 106 at the time, and when David heard her read, she decided the words needed to be shared with the world. “I knew I had to put it together really fast because my dream was to be able to hand it to her,” she says.

Seven months laterPoems from the Pond was published, and while Freydberg didn’t make it to the official publication date, David did get to show her a copy of the finished pages before she passed away at 107. Since then, the book sold out a first printing almost right away (a second just hit shelves) and has been endorsed and read from by people like U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins and actress Meg Ryan.

I picked it up and read it cover to cover in days, dogearing pages as I found verse after verse that spoke to me. “We’re all struggling with these issues of loss and aging and anxiety and fear, and she addresses all these things in her poems,” David says. She does it by spotting beauty in the mundane and big truths in life’s smallest struggles in a visionary way. A poem about a lost hair comb, for instance, is also a treatise on attachment and searching for answers. And, of course, the bed-making.

Inspired to stop complaining about crumpled sheets? Read “Chorus of Cells,” here. —Lisa Elaine Held

Chorus of Cells
Excerpted from Poems from the Pond, by Peggy Freydberg

Every morning,
even being very old,
(or perhaps because of it),
I like to make my bed.
In fact, the starting of each day
unhelplessly,
is the biggest thing I ever do.
I smooth away the dreams disclosed by tangled sheets,
I smack the dented pillow’s revelations to oblivion,
I finish with the pattern of the spread exactly centered.
The night is won.
And now the day can open.

All this I like to do,
mastering the making of my bed
with hands that trust beginnings.
All this I need to do,
directed by the silent message
of the luxury of my breathing.

And every night,
I like to fold the covers back,
and get in bed,
and live the dark, wise poetry of the night’s dreaming,
dreading the extent of its improbabilities,
but surrendering to the truth it knows and I do not;
even though its technicolor cruelties,
or the music of its myths,
feels like someone else’s experience,
not mine.

I know that I could no more cease
to want to make my bed each morning,
and fold the covers back at night,
than I could cease
to want to put one foot before the other.

Being very old and so because of it,
all this I am compelled to do,
day after day,
night after night,
directed by the silent message
of the constancy of my breathing,
that bears the news I am alive.

(Photo: Eli Dagostino)

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