Music Monday - The Other Guys - St Andrean Skies

Favorites The Other Guys perform the original commission by Oscar Foxley for St Andrews 600th Anniversary, "St Andrean Skies." 

I was never a fresher, or an undergrad at St Andrews at all, but I remember those first few lit-on-fire days there. The wind whipped up every possibility I'd ever considered for myself. I remember my friends, knocking on my door, calling me out from within myself, to new places. I remember frolicking on steep hillside slopes with my hair blowing everywhere, my wellies sinking in the sand, beneath a huge Northern moon and ripped open, flood lit, St Andrean skies. Even at midnight. Even in Autumn. You could see everything. And nothing.

I often wonder if I'll ever have a year as happy as that. But the seeds of that time continue to crop up every day. Even here in Los Angeles. 

What I'd give to relive the days spent 'neath those St Andrean skies...

New York Views 360

Someone get my check book! I'll take one of these, please. For only 18 mil, you can have the 360 degree amazing views from the Penthouse of the Brooklyn Clock Tour. Ooooh, it's pretty. I've been fighting off the flu. I wouldn't mind recuperating somewhere like here.

Downton Abbey Christmas Special...in Scotland!

While The Hour has been thirst-quenching for basic British television watching needs, nothing can fill the gaping hole that is always left by Downton Abbey when it goes. Luckily, it's almost time for the Christmas special! 

Smartly, Julian Fellowes finally decided there needed to be an episode in Scotland. So this year, we see the Crawleys packing up and heading north to what is actually Inverary Castle (or In-a-ray-ra as you apparently pronounce it.) , seat of Clan Campbell and home to the Duke of Argyll. It is also my favorite castle-- one of the top 3 most beautiful places I've ever seen. 

Who knows what Inverary will be standing in for according to the Downton world. My guess is its to do with the parents of libertine cousin Lady Rose. For those of you Americans who haven't yet watched season 3, you'll find out who she is soon enough. 

I also loved this great article in the Scotsman recalling Scotland's place as the swank vacation destination of the day. I'm only sad this was not written by my pal Sandy or any one of his various pseudonyms-- Tibby Redfern, et al. 

The special is feature length, too. So two whole hours of Lady Edith embracing her new freedom as a lady journalist, Branson getting a little somethin-somethin, and whatever dramatic miscommunication they've (surely) drummed up for Lady Mary and Matthew. I just hope no one dies. :)

Click here for an extended preview. Thanks as always to Period Movies for the head's up!

Lincoln Center Inside Out

Described as a "children's book for nerdy adults," Diller Scofidio + Renfro's new book Lincoln Center Inside Out, documents the eight year redesign our nation's premiere performing arts complex. I obsessively love Lincoln Center. It's the pinnacle. For me, and probably many performing arts folks, it's at least as good a symbol of NYC as the Chrysler Building. 

This book (I'll admit, pricey at $53 discounted on amazon. $85 on art books) is a kind of inside out pop up book and was conceived as "a cross between an art book, a scholarly record, and an architectural diary." It's comprised entirely of gatefolds or inside out centerfolds and tucked beneath those are backstory photos. I think coffee table books should be interactive. Seems like this one is the mother of all interactive coffee table books. Would make a pretty great Christmas Present for the art or architecture lover in your life, no?

This past year, Steven and I were lucky enough to have our work featured at Lincoln Center as part of the Broadway's Future Series. It was beyond an honor. When you sit down to map out some career milestones, Lincoln Center is one hell of a weighty milestone. It's one hell of a beautiful building complex too. Nice to have a little piece of that in your own home. A tangible objection for appreciation. Oh, books....

The Truth.

This is on the side of a building in NYC and I've never read anything truer. Also, you're being watched, apparently. Nice video cam. 

 I'm driving to Vegas today for some belated holiday mingling and car maintenance. I can't wait to meet Baby June, the littlest Woffinden. Not to mention, Tiger Time. I feel like I should eat at Honey Salt. Not a day goes by when some Vegas person isn't raving about it. Hope you're having a fabulous Sunday!

A Nomad Finds a Home in Historic Hollywood

You guys. After nearly six months of this year spent living out of a suitcase, schlepping via over night bus, etc etc, on Tuesday, I will move into my very own adorable vintage Hollywood one bedroom. Complete with original 1920's fixtures and all the charm of Old Hollywood, I could not be more excited than I am to get in some space of my own and feel truly settled. 

The view from my front door is the Hollywood sign. And I'm six blocks from Paramount, where my little townhouse was built in 1923 for Paramount workers. In addition to some original period features, it's been suped up with a bit of history, such as doors from the famed Ambassador Hotel: former home of the Cocoanut Grove Nightclub, the 2nd & 12th Annual Academy Awards (Where Gone with the Wind won 10 awards including Best Picture !!!), and tragically, the 1968 Assassination of RFK. It was demolished in 2005, and one of the room doors is now my front door. On top of all that, it's light and airy and even has a dishwasher. I didn't think I could afford to live alone, but sometimes, you just get lucky. 

And! And! I'm feeling even more lucky because the fabulous Dena is so very generously helping me decorate, so I can pimp the place out in the Hollywood splendor it deserves. Lots of whites and beiges and metallics and mirrors. A big cream Chaise and a mirrored desk. A regal upholstered bed-- the only thing that will end up fitting in my cubby bedroom. Even all my belongings from London will be delivered right to my doorstep next week! Happy girl right up over here.

Woof.

Via. 

Citizenship - While My Favorite City is Underwater

It's strange to see your favorite city dark and underwater. I'm not sorry I'm missing this business, but I do miss the collective way New Yorkers behave when the chips are down. It goes back to that word I like so much, "Citizenship." 

I remember very vividly the spirit of camaraderie during the MTA strike of 2005. Everyone got so scrappy. While harboring McC as a fugitive from Queens, we super bonded in my 4th & B womb room. That's probably when we subconsciously became friends forever. I'm wondering what 4th and B looks like today. 

Thinking about citizenship, and what we all do for each other, I have to say I'm terribly sorry so many people have such a Darwinian attitude about what happens to America's cities after natural disasters. That the country would pull together to help another city in time of need seems like the opposite of immoral to me, Mitt. 

Sorry that people don't think climate crisis is any way involved in the increase of storms like this. The most sorry that there seem to always be insane extremists who'd--rather than look to science-- look to bigotry and blame this on gays and Muslims. There's no sigh in the world big enough to express my feelings. 

Mostly, I am terribly sorry it's caused so much damage to my favorite place. I like the optimist who said that maybe all the severe subway flooding would wash away the smell of pee. I hope they're right. But aside from that, I hope nothing else has been irreparably washed away from New York. 

Time Traveling - Hollywood Tower

Radio people have always been my people. Makes me think of a time before television. Before I moved to NYC, I used to spend hours in the studio laughing maniacally with DJs from Mix 94.1, most especially, my darling Kade. We talked about Buddhism and life and had funny alter egos I'm sure no one found as funny as we did. I'm so happy to be reunited with him here in Los Angeles. His radio station, 98.7, permanently occupies the rooftop penthouse at the Hollywood Tower, and last night, we partook of its splendor for some Saint Motel and The Walking Dead. All of that was fun (minus the blase LA crowd-- whatelseisnew?) but I was mostly just happy to be surrounded by art decor on all sides. 

Hollywood Tower was built in 1929 with an eye towards entertainment type inhabitants. Or, as the plaque on the door says, "Sophisticated Living for film luminaries during the Golden Era of Hollywood." The bathrooms, the elevators alone... le sigh. I'd live there, that's for sure. 

One day, I want to make a coffee table book consisting of nothing other than dreamy photos of me draped with the ennui of the aristocracy on fabulous couches all over the world. You'd be amazed at how many I already have....

Haw River Ballroom & My Future Artist Colony

After our awesome lunch at the Saxapahaw General Store, we walked the one one road in the town down towards the river. I fell a bit in love with this little condensed compound: a very British style pub called The Eddy, a coffee shop/arts/events ballroom, and the most amazing Sawmill-turned-exposed brick condos EVER. 

I'm dreaming of a next next summer spent living in a two bedroom exposed brick splendor for like $400 a piece and me and Steven finishing Tercio de Muerte or whatever else strikes our fancy. We'll sit outside in the mornings with coffee and strategize the day's writing. We'll write all day. One our days off, we'll go to the art gallery. At night, we'll hit up the ballroom for whatever band is has come to to this small spot on the map. 

The balance between being right in the middle of it all and being right in the middle of nowhere has become a key component of the overall balance of my life, I gotta tell ya. I wouldn't mind spending the whole summer with Lucie right up the street too. 

Everything about this area of North Carolina makes me want to sit outside and make things. Everything about it whispers in your ear how easy it is to be happy. Everything smells like cedar. Everything sounds like cicadas. The whole day, I just kept thinking, "Yep, this is what life is supposed to feel like...."

Your Local 5 Star Gas Station - Saxapahaw General Store

Since my return from abroad, I've been working a lot on retaining that British/European sensibility I genuinely identify with now that I'm back in the States (for now). But I also recognized that it's important to be where you are and love where you are. So I've been on a bit of a mission to fall in love with America again. I got a little answer to my prayers on a five day road trip through some of my favorite parts of the South (largely the hippie parts) with my family. 

Some of the best time I ever spend I spend with my Godmother Lucie-- wherever we are, but especially in North Carolina. Saxpahaw is close enough to university towns to have that feel, but out of the way enough to have small Southern town charm with a hippie soft edge. 

Saxapahaw might be the middle of nowhere, but it is the nexus of all things to love about small hippie Southern artists' towns. Our first stop was the SXPHW General Store where we feasted on brisket sandwiches and local grown vegetables, local cheeses and beers. If I had been travelling with anything more than a small backback, I would have taken a whole lot of that home (Home? Where?) with me. 

We sat in the sunshine while the vegetable garden grew all around us. There, Lucie and I plotted the artist colony in repurposed mill condos we'll start next summer... To Be Continued...

Downters 3.0 - Now With New Yorkers in Every Episode

Because I've never been a big fan of rules, waiting in line (queue)...that kind of thing, I have a method of watching Downton on my prefered, British, schedule as opposed to sitting it out until the American round. (Because Americans can't have nice things, right McC?) And so, tonight, Series 3 of Downton kicked off and I think it's going to be the best season ever. 

Are there still limp turkey lines courtesy of Julian Fellowes? You bet. ("My dear, I am so happy, I am so happy, that I fear my chest might explode.")

Are there still terribly inconvenient tragedies and far-too-convenient work arounds to those problems? You bet. Is Fellowes still using obstinance from ALL characters as a primary source of dramatic drive? Oh, you know it. What would Downton even BE without people making their lives harder unnecessarily? But that's what makes it so wonderful!

I don't want to give too many spoilers in here, but I think the MVPs of the premiere were Matthew (duh) specifically for the solidarity he showed in making Branson his Best Man, Branson for getting accidentally drugged and for talking Matthew out of yet another idiotic snafu in his relationship with Mary. Sleeper MVP: Sir Anthony Strallen. Way to come to Branson's aid. 

Before I roll out on Downton until next week, let's address the big ticket draw of this season: the Maclaine. I was looking forward to Miss Shirley's arrival as much as the next gal/gay/etc. I loved her lines, but her delivery left something to be desired por moi. LOVED her costumes though and her high maintenance, modern needs-- goat cheese! nothing in the marrow family! Brills! 

Here's my question. While the real Maclaine is of Scottish (well, Nova Scotian!) extraction on her mother's side and her father was Jewish, her character is  Martha Levinson...I've sort of avoided bringing it up until now, but apparently I'm not the only one to raise an eyebrow. While I can believe an Earl at the time might marry one of my American brethren (Esp. the beauteous Elizabeth McGovern-- forever seared on my impressionable child psyche as Snow White from the Shelley Duvall Fairy Tale Theatre of my youth. Vanessa Redgrave was the evil queen. Vincent Price is the narrator/mirror! I am still deeply scarred in a fabulous way from this.  [PS- Iona, you look like a young Shelley Duvall. Finally figured that out. Amazing.])  I have a much (read: impossible) time believing he would (or Violet would LET HIM) marry a Jewish American. 


But apparently, the whole shpiel is based on the real life wife of Lord Curzon, so there's a precedent, and you'll hear no complaints from me about having a few more of my fave New York Jews around the Downters. There's a reason why when people do their impersonation of me, it pretty much always includes a "Mazel Tov" (and also, L'shanah tovah, people!) in there.

And in a way, it's nice. It feels like it's bringing my two worlds together: the New Yorkers and poshy Brits. It makes the missing of these last two years of my life a little easier. And a little harder too. Welcome Back, Downters. Keep the hits on comin'.

Positively Fourth Street, Always.

Fourth Street. Start on Avenue C. Losaida. Walk all the way from Avenue C to West 4th. Recalling every in and out, every short cut through a garden. Past my first apartment with no lock where I made my best friends, and Perbacco--  the best Italian restaurant in New York. Past the housing project where we watched that man look up at the sun and then die. Watching a group of friends help each other move a mattress. Remembering when my friends helped me carry my things west from 4th & B to 4th & 2nd, which burned down, but has now been rebuilt. 

Some things, I remember the old: the new bar, Dorian Gray, that once used to be the tribal jewelry store (no surprise that disappeared) and others, I only remember used to be something else. Some place else I never frequented. 

The same guys still work in the bodega. Belcourt looks exactly the same and I bet still serves amazing Bloody Marys, but it's called Caliope now. Past what was once Cuppa Cuppa, where a mean middle aged New York lady named Jenny eventually became my friend after about a year of me wearing her down with smiles when I bought my iced-coffee everyday. (Just proving every hardened New Yorker still wants a friend.) I wonder if the FAB center bought her out, or if she had to close anyhow. I hope she's happy and retired somewhere and not lonely. 

Past all the places along 4th and Washington Square Park where Steven and I dumped pieces of our set after VOTE! at Minetta Lane closed. We were so stealth. We didn't want to get arrested. We were high on margaritas. We had crowbars. It was one of the funnest nights ever. Who doesn't like being in league with someone? Being part of a low-stakes conspiracy? 

I'm in league with New York City. She's like my big sister who keeps my secrets from our parents. 

New York, in many ways,  is like that older sister. She taught you everything you know, She's cooler than you, She often pretends to be indifferent to you, or even annoyed by your presence, but actually, she loves you. And you love her. I may not always choose to live here in New York City, choose to live my life the way she does, but I'll always love her, conspire with her and look up to her best. 

Adventures in Babysitting

All this week, I'm babysitting a family of three kids-- an American family, living in India (Dad is one of the original Silicon Valley Tech magnates), in London for the Olympics. Other than attempting to meet the wide-ranging needs and attention demands of an 11, 8, and 5 year old simultaneously, it's great fun. 


The weather is ideal, and we're camped out in their family home: a sprawling, four-storey townhouse in Georgian Connaught Square near Marble Arch. We're sharing the square with former Prime Minister Tony Blair & fam and DJ Paul Oakenfold. The gated garden in the center of the Square is immaculately well-kept, but apparently, it was the one-time site of the Tyburn Tree-- London's public execution site. 


I'm trying recall another time when I've been responsible for this many children. I don't think I have. But it's funny because... until I realized I'd waited too long to have such a big family... I had wanted four kids. Twelve hours a day with three certainly has its challenges, but being around them really brings out certain instincts in me. How freely they took me in, dispensed their affection all over me. It sure is nice.  And I have a pretty good idea of what kind of mother I'll be: calmer and much less of pushover than I am in regular life. Anyhow, enough of the hypothetics. Felix, Nora, Lulu (interesting, since that was my mother's nickname for me when I was a kid) and I have a big day ahead in Hyde Park, so I'm off. Hope you have a great day. 

Love Is Won - Lia Ices

It's no secret how much I miss the 90s. Not that I felt at home in my own life then. Just that I was too raw and too green to know that I would always feel that way. And something about Lia Ices reminds me of every 90s lady singer I cried to in my mountain view, periwinkle-hand-print-painted bedroom. (With some Weepies Deb Talan for good measure. )


And if you want your mind to be messed with in an odd, dreamy, creatures-of-the-forest-fairy-tale kind of way, go read the bio/short story someone wrote about her life on her facebook page. Alien. So, she's obviously based in Brooklyn. 


Her actual bio...where she's actually from...who knows. I was having a discussion about that this weekend. Bios. The Origin. Home. (I have this discussion frequently. Because people ask me where I'm from and I have a very difficult time answering.) We agreed, Erich and I, (that's who I was talking to) that we don't really feel like we're from anywhere. Up to and including this planet. No where is necessarily home. And no where necessarily isn't home. Just a couple of twentieth century nomads.


But I think it's an idea that is won in reverse, not by building, but by eroding. It's an idea that is, rather, nibbled away at, in sugar-cube sized increments, by eroding the need to control, by putting no parameters on a place, not asking it to fall in line, giving no time limits. The same as all important things: committing and being. Waiting and seeing. 


O love is won when we are not bound by time
O love is won when we don't need free to grow

Scenes from Paradise - The Wynn Las Vegas

McC and I have a special knack for excellent decision making. One of the things I love about hanging out with my pal of ten years is that we find a way to congratulate ourselves and be enthusiastic about even the simplest decisions. (This philosophy is kind of parallel to the ground-breaking epiphany I had when I was about fifteen that the key to having a good birthday is simply to go around joyously reminding yourself and everyone around you that... it's your birthday! Turns out, most people like having a reason to celebrate. Anything. Anything at all. The joy is contagious. Promise.)


So thanks to old pal Flintie, Sara and I got walked in to the Wynn pools on Saturday and spent a lovely five hours or so lounging, laughing, and making excellent decisions about sunscreen application, reading materials, storytelling, drink ordering and meal splitting. (Throw back: hey, do you want to split my twix??) God, we're good. 


While I take the UK hands down on a lot of topics, on the topic of sunshine, I will always feel a twinge of longing for my West Coast, USA origins. I mean, not everyday, because then it's not special. But man, I could use a little more sunshine. The March we had in London this year would do just fine. But I feel like I've been spoiled and that it surely can't last. 


And of course, our perfect, still (meaning: windless. Super rare for Vegas Spring.) sunshiney day had to come to a close too. But it will ge written down in the annals of the amazing McC/Ferg Friendship Chronicles. 


If you're ever in Vegas, I highly recommend greasing your way into that pool. Or at least taking a stroll through the Wynn with all it's Alice in Wonderland topiaries and waterwall-feature cocktail experiences. Despite its vibrant decor scheme (designed especially for Vegas Uber-Mogul Steve Wynn's long-serving and loyal wife Elaine-- who he very shortly thereafter divorced... ???.....[Rather ironic too then that the themes for the hotel are "Life imitating art" and "Imperfect Dream") I still find the Wynn one of the chic-est spots in Vegas. 

Coveting my Annual Coffee Table Book

Pretty much every year, as soon as I get even a whiff of spring, I end up coveting some beautiful coffee table book. A lot of the time, my friend McC is a big enabler of this addiction. She used to always be sending me links to gorgeous, weighty, tomes that cost like $50. Case in point, Tartan: Romancing the Plaid. You know I had to own that. 


So that was 2009. Or maybe 2008? And Amy Sedaris's hilarious I Like You was 2009? In any case, in 2010 it was the beautiful Grace Kelly pictorial retrospective. Then, in 2011, right as I was hauling my stuff to Edinburgh (one suit case at a time... by bus) it was definitely Inside Edinburgh-- all about E'burgh's classic interior spaces.


And while I've changed cities, my mood is still in the same place re: coffee table books. So at the mo, I'm lusting after Chloe Grimshaw's New London Style. She's gone through by postcode (postcode is much more used here than in the US. It makes everything feel very 90210-- but only with respects to actually using postcode to determine anything. ) and documented some of the most creative artists, designers, architects, etc etc. Originally published in 2008, they updated it in 2010. While I think it's unwise for me to be blowing my extremely limited wad of cash at the moment on coffee table books, (especially since, as of right now, I don't have a coffee table) I make a point of leafing through some of the colorful pages whenever I go into a bookstore that has a copy. 


While I might be enjoying the idea of white walls for the first time in my entire life, I'm not about to stop admiring anyone willing to paint a whole room turquoise. Or mauve. Or slate grey. Or.... 


What about you? What's your favorite coffee table book? Hope you're having a great Monday!

The Good Mews... I Mean News & The Bad News

Well, so there's a lot of good news. As of Friday, I'll be a resident of lovely Ovanna Mews in Dalston! I'll have my own bathroom in a three floor flat with tons of light, etc etc. More good news: had a lovely time back up in Crieff for some hiking, friend making, relaxing and general merriment-making. We petted highland cows, drank good wine, played whist, visited Glen Turret Distillery/ Famous Grouse Experience. Back in London,  I'm preparing for my second interview at a place I'd absolutely love to work, but I'm also trying to be open about what my professional future might look like. Not to mention, it is straight up Spring already. Bring it. 


The less than good news.... slash bad news... is that move-in costs in London are higher than even a New Yorker like me had expected. And my in-person visa renewal meeting is at 8:30 Friday morning. Everything should be fine, but it's stressful. I feel like I'm drowning in logistics at the moment-- from visas to flats to jobs to coordinating getting all my belongings down from Edinburgh in a van (which I have to get some kind soul to drive considering I have no drivers license.) 


Of course, these are all princess problems and problems I'm fortunate to be able to have to solve. All that was put perfectly in perspective last night when just thirty minutes outside of London, when we were enjoying ourselves on the train-- just like I mentioned in my post yesterday-- we felt a jolt and then smelled a terrible burning smell. The train came to a stop and we received the announcement that the train would be held while they investigated what the train had hit. Eventually, we learned it was a body and we waited for two hours while emergency services investigated, etc. It was very sad. And further still disturbing, when we arrived at King's Cross, and saw the gore on the front of the train. How people were taking pictures of it with their iphones.  


There's always going to be a lot to feel overwhelmed by, to make you feel out of your depth. The only thing I can always always go back to is this. Always this. And training the way you think to stop seeing the obstacles. "It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out." But it is the only objective that matters. And that's the good news. 

Last Friday in Edinburgh Links

An eventful week comes to a close and I'm surrounded by boxes and trash bags full of my stuff. I'm kind of in denial about everything I still have to do before I leave, especially when I'd just to chill out and enjoy. 


It wasn't just my blog's birthday this week, it also would have been the most wonderful David Foster Wallace's birthday. I wish he were still with us, but there's lots to celebrate right now. Here are some links for my last Friday as an Edinburgh resident. I'll miss you Auld Reekie!


- But I'll miss you less if I live in a flat converted from Alfred Hitchcock's old movie studio. No seriously.
- Then again, if we want to kind of go overboard, what if I lived here? (first one: practical. this one: not.)
- 46 things to read/see in celebration of DFW's 50th Birthday
- DFW's letter to Don DeLillo
- This, THIS is exciting!
- What a beautiful video! The Optimist. 
- I miss old Molly Lambert. This comes close. 
- You mean my insomnia might be good for me?
- A fun way to appreciate facebook's "new" timeline feature. 
- Paul Rudd on the Daily Show. You would throw candy into the audience, you doll... and you love Bottlecaps...just like me.... I lovehimIlovehimIlovehim. 


- My love of TED talks is no secret. Here is my boss-mentor giving this awesome TEDxBroadway talk

A New York Magazine for London?

One of the first things I investigated when I decided I was moving to London was "What is the London equivalent to New York Magazine." I am not ashamed to admit my enormous love for NYMag, with its deliberately over simplified guide to life, the Approval Matrix and the way it's smarter and more engaged than Time Out, but doesn't require the brain power of, say, The New Yorker. (Not that I don't love you, New Yorker. I do. Eternally.)


From the intricate steps for getting and/or finding the perfect Reuben Sandwich to to the real estate guides, to the fights they would sort of instigate between various NY Celebs, I'm not sure I would have survived NYC without it. Yep, I love NYMag so much, I still subscribe to it. So imagine my dismay when I learned... there IS no London equivalent. I'm not alone in my quest to find such a magazine. But Time Out is hardly a magazine. It's full of list-icles. There is little to no commentary on the events or features on key aspects of what it means to live in London. 


Oddly, one of the best things I've found in my quest (and remember from when I read it in my hard copy of the original issue back in 2007) was this article comparing London to New York. The article is less of a fight and more of an honest look at the differences for people expecting one thing or another. Which is valid, and useful for people like me who still (and most likely always) will use the New York experience for the basis of comparison on any other experience. 


Some of the valid points:
- Dinner parties. Gwyneth Paltrow finds them more interesting in London. And one good reason for that is people don't have dinner parties in NYC. They eat out. Normally in very small groups.
- There should be an affordable unlimited tube pass. Bottom line. 
- You can't get a bar/restaurant job and really support yourself the way you can in NYC because of that whole no tips thing. The bartender I dated in New York made twice what I made. 


But comparisons aside, I'm excited for London to be a city for my 30s. It's just too bad there's not a delightful guide for us, like NYMag. LDNMag perhaps? I'm thinking someone should solve this problem. Maybe even me. 

Photo: Paola Kudacki for New York Magazine