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Jillian Anthony is a California girl in New York—writing, reading, seeing, eating, drinking, and obsessing about things.

May 27, 2014 at 1:47pm
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When Women Refuse →

You can scroll through this blog endlessly, and that’s the terrible truth of how often women are harmed just for saying no. Every day. 

May 24, 2014 at 12:00pm
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Reblogged from pleatedjeans
Blowin up on Caturday

Blowin up on Caturday

(Source: pleatedjeans, via brbnightmares)

May 22, 2014 at 3:25pm
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Last night I rode my bike through the part of Williamsburg largely populated by Hasidic Jews, a culture that fascinates me and one I still know little about. I was on my way to a writers’ meeting for, a website I have wanted to write for for years, and I was pretty much lost along the way to a part of Bed-Stuy I’m not familiar with.

In the evenings the Hasidic families are always out taking a brisk walk, girls in long skirts and sweaters and boys in white button-downs and black pants chasing each other down the sidewalk; women with their similarly-shaped-and-colored wigs, some outfits adorned with a panel of leather or patch of leopard-print just slightly more flashy than the others; men with their curling payot and beards any Williamsburg hipster would kill for. Everyone is speaking Yiddish or Hebrew, the same languages written all over the store fronts, school buses, and high schools. When I’m heading back from a bar somewhere late on Saturday nights, it seems their entire community is out socializing with a battalion of brand-new sleeping babies in an endless sea of strollers, freed from rest after Shabbat. I often look at them and think they are quite stylish, dressed in many different shades of the same delicate crayon. It feels just like walking into a foreign time, one I read about in a Chaim Potok book.

Though faith isn’t a part of my life today, I grew up entirely in Lutheran or Catholic schools. I even went to a Catholic college. I didn’t go to a single bar or bat mitzvah growing up, because I don’t think I had a single Jewish friend. The earliest introduction I had to Jewish culture was Fiddler on the Roof. One of my best friends, Greg, who I met while on Semester at Sea during college, is probably the first Jewish person I was ever really close to. He took me to Shabbat services onboard the ship, and I ate matzo for the first time. He introduced me to a culture I probably should have been familiar with much earlier in life, no matter what my spiritual upbringing.

If there is a single reason I’ll never regret moving to New York City far away from the comforts of family and the sunshine of California, it’s the extraordinary teacher the city has been for my somewhat sheltered, homogenous, naive soul. When I moved to Bushwick, I was a minority for the first time in my life in a neighborhood of mostly low-income black and Hispanic families. I may be Hispanic, but I can easily pass for a white girl, a privilege I recognize more and more as I age. Living in Bushwick for a year, struggling to pay my bills for the first time in my life, helped me recognize how immense my privilege really is. Bartending at The Duck in Harlem in the midst of a very mixed neighborhood, listening to heated conversations between varying ethnicities about Trayvon Martin and stop-and-frisk laws, helped me see firsthand how racial tensions play a part in everyday life in a way I never experienced in my suburban upbringing. More privilege.

In New York City, we all sit right next to each other on train, and we hear each other participating in private activities like eating a family dinner, singing in the shower, taking off your bra at the end of a long day, having sex. There’s no way to sit inside your Los Angeles suburban rowhouse and shut out your neighbors.

Every day in New York City brings me into contact with thousands of different communities, ethnicities, and identities, each with labels that don’t fully encompass their experiences—LGBT, homeless, immigrant, mentally ill, student, single mother, single father, busker, Puerto Rican, Taiwanese, artist, actor, singer, activist, writer, Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx… All of these people and many, many more have touched my life since I’ve been in New York and taught me so much more about the real world. It’s not always pretty, but I’m so appreciative that my small-town bubble gets burst a little more every day. It makes me smarter, more compassionate, and better able to assess my problems for what they are. I’ve had it easy, and I’m aware I still know next to nothing, so I’ve got a long way to go and a lot more people to sit next to on the subway.

I know none of those Hasids want to hang out with a goy on a bike invading their solitary neighborhood, but I wish they would. I have a lot of questions to ask them, especially those young mothers.

May 21, 2014 at 5:51pm
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NY Train Project →


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Enjoying a free root beer float at my three-screen desk at CNN. And I got an insane sandwich for lunch from Whole Foods. There are certainly things to miss about corporate life.

Enjoying a free root beer float at my three-screen desk at CNN. And I got an insane sandwich for lunch from Whole Foods. There are certainly things to miss about corporate life.

7 notes

I went to a Drag Race finale party at Etsy today, otherwise known as the Glitter Ball. It was thrown by the man I moved to New York with, Shadi, who started working at Etsy a couple months ago. Everyone donned neon wigs and drank champagne as we rooted for our favorite queens, and after Bianca del Rio was crowned the Next Drag Queen Superstar, we sissied that walk down our homemade runway, next to the giant blowup of Ru Paul’s face. Everyone drew a drag name from the Pink Furry Box, and I got Rhea Publican. Shadi planned the whole thing and did a fabulous job, and seeing his office full of yarn-bombed pipes and vertical gardens makes me want to work at Etsy, too. 

I’ll be heading into CNN off and on for the next few weeks to do some freelance work and I’m excited to be in an office setting again. This procrastinator can use some structure.

May 19, 2014 at 5:46pm
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Reblogged from musicbloge


The Cranberries - Linger

All the feels

(Source: musicbloge)

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Reblogged from inothernews

What’s next for me? I don’t know, so I’m in the same boat as you!


Former New York Times executive editor JILL ABRAMSON, during commencement remarks at Wake Forest University; Abramson had been fired by the newspaper last week.

(via CNN)

(Source: inothernews, via laughterkey)

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Reblogged from giannishamari


All 11 cars of an entire train on the No. 7  line will be fully wrapped on both interior and exterior, transforming it into the show’s  Monk’s Café, complete with Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer in their preferred hangout.

Train’s probably filled with low talkers and Soup Nazis and I want to be on it.

(via laughterkey)

May 18, 2014 at 12:20am
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An afternoon in Prospect Park