I saw the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater perform several years ago and never forgot it. The African American dance troupe—which was founded by dance great Alvin Ailey in 1958 and is considered one of the best modern dance companies in the world—was incredible. Its jaw-dropping athleticism, thrilling choreography, and a palpable passion courses through every piece they perform.

So a few weeks ago, in a spring-induced moment of culture craving, I e-mailed a dance-minded friend of mine and told her we were going to see Alvin Ailey. Turns out what I actually got were tickets to Ailey II—the Ailey School’s company of its most promising scholarship students. But let’s just say “promising” is an understatement. These students can dance, and are no doubt headed for very big things.
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If I was able to pluck a rock star out of the ether and call him my own, Chris Cornell would be the one. I loved him in Soundgarden. I loved him in Temple of the Dog. I loved him in Audioslave. I loved him in those incredibly hot John Varvatos ads last year.

My co-worker (who went to the show with me) and I consider “Rusty Cage” the theme song of our shared office. Cornell’s voice is astounding and, if you haven’t caught on already, I find him exceptionally attractive. So when I had the chance to go to his sold out solo show at the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza last week, I was beside myself.
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Counting this past weekend’s ING New York City Marathon, I’ve now completed four of the 26.2-mile beasts and realize that I’ve covered 104.8 miles and 16-plus hours in doing so. It’s a lot of miles and a lot of time and quite frankly looks a little crazy to me on paper. But I have to say that there’s no other place I’d want to run the distance than New York City.

Donald Trump has always oddly fascinated me. The big-time swagger, the gilded living quarters, the hair. So when my friend invited me to the launch party for Trump vodka, I said sure. Wait - did I say Trump vodka? Please, forgive me. It’s actually called Trump Super Premium Vodka. In fact, Trump himself was quoted last year as saying, “[This summer,] I fully expect the most called-for cocktail in America to be the ‘T&T,’ or the Trump and tonic.” Well, not sure if that happened - and, ironically, the Donald doesn’t even drink - but cheers to thinking big.

Last year, two days after my birthday, I got a tattoo. I’d always been intrigued with body art and decided that it was high time I got in the game. Why get a tattoo now and not, say, ten years ago? Because ten years I lived in Minnesota, not New York City, and I figured that if you’re not willing to buck up and take a risk here there’s really no hope.

Alaska was the site of my summer vacation this year—a week with two friends and thirteen other travelers on a fully-supported group trip, organized by Backroads, consisting of hiking, biking, rafting, kayaking, and camping. Yup, camping. Granted it was at very nice campgrounds in very nice tents that we didn’t even need to set up ourselves, but camping nonetheless. I’m not a camper—I spent nights at Girl Scout camp huddled under my sleeping bag with a flashlight and the latest issue of Vogue. But on our first night in Alaska, when one of our guides passed up a tent in favor of sleeping on the ground under a tree, I knew it was time to buck up. Roughing-it (well, pseudo-roughing it) in the 50th state would be fun.