(noun) nonchalant absurdity with a dash of embarrassment.

(verb) to be shark bitten.

(adverb) in a manner that is nonchalantly absurd and embarrassing.


06 January 2011

NEW YORK TIMES: YEAR IN PICTURES

The photos listed below are my favorite of the New York Times "Year in Pictures."

I left out the description because I find something very beautiful about looking at a piece of art for its face value. However, if you are interested in the photographers and subject matter of the photos you can visit HERE.

Enjoy!

bumblebee. xx.
















05 January 2011

"The Origins of Sharkbite" by Gabrielle Fishman

It was one of the first sticky-hot days of our NYC summer; one of those “partied my ass off the night before”... waking up, drinking coffee at Roasting Plant--sitting out front for far too long--kind of days.

Due to a track fire on my beloved F line, I had been fired from my swank job on Madison Ave and, in turn, decided to swear off the use of trains during these summer months. I bought a bike: basket, bell, the whole damn thing. Nattie was impressed by my new vehicle; therefore, she decided that if we're going to spend our summer partying and bullshitting she felt it was a necessity to require a bike as well. It was our mission: WE WILL FIND NATTIE A BLUE BIKE AND THERE WAS NOTHING THAT WAS GOING TO STOP US.

We strolled over to 6th + A to this adorable little bike shoppe with a wide array of vintage + new bikes. It was love at first sight when she saw the Tate Blue Vintage Schwinn. The boys at the shop were so sweet and wonderful that we pulled up a couple of beach chairs and watched them work on her bike all the while flirting, joking, and listening to Bad Brains and Op Ivy on their sound system.

A couple of hours rolled by and our tummies were a-rumblin' ...we figured we'd go up to Veselka while they added the finishing touches to Nattie’s bike.

We walked up 1st Avenue in the bike lane..there's no way we were going back to the sidewalks with all the non-bike owning, stinky pedestrians. No fucking way.

Naturally, the first thing that happens to me when I see a dog is I immediately turn to a pile of mush and say "aWwww" and gawk and make a complete ass of myself befriending my new four-legged buddy. This day, I barely noticed the monster-headed pitbull as Nattie maneuvered in a ballerina-like manner around the creature. In this same moment the creature leapt into the air like a Great White shark and attached its monster teeth onto the crotch fabric of some random dude. We looked at one another. Did that really just happen? WHOA.

It is truly a miracle that in the same moment that Nattie avoided the bite; the chomp that was meant for her; that this man had managed to, by a few centimeters of fabric, avoid having his manhood completely destroyed and mangled in the jaws of this crotch-beast.

Somehow, the man was completely unphased as he shook the dog off and went off on his business. He must be a mailman or something.

We were left in a laughing fit of shock and amusement that we shared with a fellow stranger as we continued off to Veselka.

What a fucking sharkbite.


































































bumblebee. xx.

Introduction to the "Slap Slap Slap Pound Up Down Snap" Handshake




bumblebee xx.

The Lovely Hat Collection of Rachel Shortt

While wandering around the lobby (post So So Glos) of the Rock & Roll Circus at Lincoln Center on Monday night (dubbed the infamous "riot night" by the NYPOST) I ran into Rachel Shortt and her beautiful hats. Hand made and reasonably priced for the exquisite craftsmanship, her designs recall the delicately sexy 1930s and 40s combined with the contemporary elements of urban fashionista swag.


The red, felt Chapeau is my favorite (below). Get mine, get yours.


Peep her website for more info and photos: RACHEL SHORTT















































































bumblebee xx.

02 January 2011

NEW YEARS EVE IN CELL PHONE PHOTOS.

the night started with a bottle of champagne at the treehouse accompanied by treats provided by uncle norm. in a manic dash for a cab we finally found one on allen as gub could not brace the snow with the shoes she was wearing. once we arrived at the party we realized no one we knew yet had arrived. because of this, we hung out by the meat dish and champagne. our friends finally showed up. we drank, we danced, and smoked cigarettes by the corner window with a dead on view of the williamsburg bridge facing brooklyn from the corner of kenmare and bowery. about an hour after the ball dropped we decided we were hungry. after a hefty trek and some lurk action we found ourselves at remedy diner. the manager tried to seat us at this bogus table near the door. we demanded the booth in the back corner. we got it. our waiter dave looked at me strange as i ordered grilled cheese with swiss and jalepenos on rye; as did gabby. in the amount of time we were there the table next to us had been sat and resat several times. jonny joined us around 2:30. he was drinking stella mixed with coffee. the waiter came over to us around 4 telling us that it was last call. then we realized we should leave. trekked back to the treehouse and ended the night the same way we started it: with uncle norm's treats.