As Husband and I lunched at the Second Street Cafe, I overheard two women talking and figured out right away that one of them was the woman whose house and family were featured in an article called: "When A House is Not Exactly a Home" in the Habitats column of the Sunday Time’s real estate section.
I spotted her three kids and handsome, hip-looking husband sitting a a table; I knew right away it was them having just seen their pictures in the New York Times.
She was telling her friend that she’d gotten a lot of e-mails since the article was printed; a few were quite nasty.
"Sorry to interupt but I recognize you," I said. "I really liked your story." She smiled and seemed to appreciate my saying that.
"I get some really unpleasant comments on my blog when people disagree with me," I told her, adding that I write Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn. "Oh you’re Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn," she said. I definitely appreciated that she knew the blog. "I’ve been called entitled, stereotypical, stupid, idiotic, and worse," I said.
Aside from the fact that the article evoked volcanic rivers of envy *in me for a limestone in Park Slope, a Litchfield County second home AND the ability to afford $7000 a month for anything, I thought she came across as extremely likable in the article and in the restaurant.
To me, the article was really about mid-life restlessness
I don’t think the volcanic emotions are about envy… More about annoyance that the NYT would print such a fluffy piece about these folks. It wasn’t a very well-written article. Its point/theme/reason for being was buried under the unvavoidably opulent details of this family’s life. Enviable? Perhaps. Worthy of printing a story about. Doubtful.
It didn’t sound like a “bit” of ennui, but a whole lot of a mess, to me. I mean, the husband drops out of work, the family moves, he then goes off to Denmark for a year, then they move back – TO THE SAME NEIGHBORHOOD, and they’re still not settled.
They don’t need a realtor, they need a family therapist.