JUS by Julie’s Call for Artists: Mural for the Wall Outside the Nassau G

Originally posted on 2/9/16 on Greenpointers.com

JUS by Julie Entrance
JUS by Julie, opening at 629 Manhattan Ave by mid-February. Photo by Rebecca Stevens.

“I get excited every time I drive in – I love it here, and I’m excited to build relationships here,” Danny Laniado, retail project manager at JUS by Julie, commented as he surveyed his shop’s construction.

At the corner of Nassau and Manhattan, JUS by Julie is building its fourth Brooklyn location. “All this was supposed to be a Starbucks,” Laniado continues. “[but] I woke up one morning and I said, ‘this might be something.’ Next stop: Greenpoint.” 

JUS by Julie, opening in about a week, touts 100% vegan, certified kosher, GMO-free, and gluten-free soups, juices, cleanses, and salads made with ingredients from local farms and blended in their central Brooklyn warehouse. “The benefit that we have as a company is that we don’t blend on site, so there’s no noises…we can communicate with customers, and give them a place to relax and enjoy,” Laniado said.

Unlike Greenpoint’s assortment of competing juice bars, JUS by Julie is promoting a blended alternative to cold-press juices with more nutrients staying intact, and a knowledgeable staff that includes a certified nutritionist onsite for consultations. (Psst…they’re also looking to hire more.) “There’s no designated juice bar that can help people understand the health benefits…all our employees have to study [our products] forwards and backwards,” said Laniado.

JUS by Julie Mural Wall
This 16’x21′ Wall outside of the Nassau G stop, will soon be home to Greenpoint’s newest mural. Photo by Rebecca Stevens.

On the building’s exterior, a 16’x21’ wall lines the corner of the intersection, right above the northwest entrance to the G. “I know this is such an artistic community, and I want to be able to give them something…this is your wall,” said Laniado. JUS by Julie makes a point to personalize each store for their individual locations to best reflect the community, both in interior and, now exterior design.

To that end, Laniado and JUS by Julie want to enlist Greenpoint’s artists for a mural. The design is open-ended and the artist is being selected from the Greenpointers.com community of readers. Interested parties should contact Danny Laniado, retail project manager, at danny@jusbyjulie.com with pitches, sketches, and past work with “Greenpoint mural” in the subject line.

JUS by Julie will be opening their fourth store at 629 Manhattan ave. before mid-February, with an exclusive 3-day cleanse (18 juice) promotion for Greenpoint patrons.

JUS by Julie’s Call for Artists: Mural for the Wall Outside the Nassau G

Super Day

After the second day of arriving at work only to notice the resurgence of an insidious eye twitch, I’ve concluded that the cause is one of two things:

  1. My frustration at the ceaselessly growing pile of unimportant and uninspired work has finally manifested physically in what will be the closest I ever come to a sexy wink.
  2. My office building is leaking some sort of radioactive gas, and this twitch is the first sign.

Obviously, I’m leaning toward option two, which only means one thing: super powers for the whole office staff.

Just like Ant-Man, the Micro-Manager is able to shrink to microscopic sizes, but still retains the annoying tendencies of a full-sized human! She can also jump incredible lengths and to various conclusions without anything to support her.

The Invisible Man
This CEO’s invisibility almost works too well. The Invisible Man can never be found when you need him for a project, a consultation, or even to answer a quick question. Good luck finding him on payday.

The Invisible Girl
She does all the work of The Invisible Man, but no one seems to notice her. Sidenote: she also makes just 77% of The Invisible Man’s salary.

Super(Gross) Man
He loves to give shoulder massages, and comment on how nice you look in that new blouse. He uses his x-ray vision for perving instead of for good, and likes to boast how he can guess women’s bra sizes. He is married with a four-month-old at home.

You guessed it. Be careful what you confide in this one, because after reapplying her mauve lipstick, she’s turned around and told the whole office about The Flash’s UTI and Aquagirl’s relationship problems.

On days like today, I have to hope for the power of teleportation, because not much else will help me get through the countdown to six o’clock.

Super Day

Surprising Perks of Long-Distance Romance That’ll Make You Send Your Partner Packing

Whenever I tell someone that I’m in a long-distance relationship, the typical response is a cocktail of sympathy, pity, and skepticism. And as guilty as I am of trying to make lemonade, unless that glass-half-full contains gin, constant optimism can get pretty tough and pretty old.

That being said, as a retired member of the Sisterhood of Single Women and a begrudging shiny, happy, partnered person, I think I’ve tapped into the secret for a perfect balance: the long-distance relationship. And after ten months of being apart-together, I’ve curated the list below of often-undisclosed perks of being in a ldr (spoiler: that stupid abbreviation isn’t one of them).

You Can Be Disgusting All the Time

Mustache hair getting a little overgrown? Have you been walking around all day wearing a shirt that (let’s face it) no longer fits? It’s no problem, because not only is your partner not around to think to themselves oh god. I’m dating that, but you have probably been too busy being in love to notice anyone’s disgust.

Spreading FOMO, and Making Life More Fabulous

This might be a result of my competitive nature, but I refuse to be the more lovesick partner. If we were in a traditional relationship (as traditional as two girls can be), chances are most nights would be another routine evening of Netflix and Chill. Instead, since my long-distance lady plans to move up here, I take every opportunity to go out and do something amazing, and snap a “look what you’re missing” picture.

An Excuse for Wild Romantic Gestures

Whether it’s during visits or between trips, otherwise puke-worthy romantic gestures suddenly don’t seem so bad. Make a mix cd, send flowers, or splurge on an unaffordable event, at a price even native New Yorkers would balk at. Because debt doesn’t exist in the love bubble.

Travel Hacks Become Second Nature

A few trips into a long-distance relationship, you’ll become a veritable travel wizard. And while travel is still a huge pain (still waiting on that teleporter, scientists) at least it’ll be an efficient pain. This could mean anything from finding cheap flights, to packing the perfect carry-on, to learning the best route to the airport. You’ll have prepping for a romantic getaway so refined, you could do it in your sleep (perfect for those discounted 5 am flights).

Trite But True: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Without the day-to-day realities of whose turn it is to do the dishes, hogging the covers, or the story you’ve heard her tell ten times, you’ll find it’s hard to stay angry, and easy to be twitterpated. Plus with apps like Couple and platforms like Skype, you’re still connected across the miles.

And while these perks don’t make up for the couples dinners you have to attend alone, the days spent out of sync, or the overall emotional weariness and damn-near Shakespearean agony of being apart, the distance leads to an appreciation for time spent together, and a deepened intimacy that (on its best days) almost makes up for it.

**Originally published on TwentySomethingNYC.com on September 24, 2015**

Surprising Perks of Long-Distance Romance That’ll Make You Send Your Partner Packing

Feminists Gone Wild: Going Topless for National Equality Day

This past weekend, I delighted in taking part in the annual Go Topless parade, in which dozens of women and men gathered to commemorate and celebrate NYC’s anniversary of topless equality, while advocating for the same privilege to be available on a national scale.

This was an incredible tee up to Women’s Equality Day, which happens to fall on the same day as, and get far less attention than, National Dog Day. Huh.

Which would you pick? The anniversary of the right to vote, or pictures of dogs in pajamas?


If that didn’t hurt to realize, hold onto your topless titties, ladies:

Despite the fact that nearly ten million more women comprised voter turnout in the last election, women make up just over 20% of office-holders, and just 14% of executive positions. That’s right: 95 years after gaining the right to vote, women still severely lag behind in leadership roles spanning from the political representation to leadership roles in the workforce.


When I arrived at the parade on Saturday, the reporters and smartphone-wielding oglers, pervs, and tourists easily outnumbered those marching. The very thing we were out there to de-stigmatize was being captured on camera as somehow being news-worthy, despite far more pressing issues at hand.

More encouraging was the wide range of feminists who turned out. I found myself walking beside a bare-chested, retired lawyer who was facilitating conversations between those marching and those watching about the right to choose. Later, I walked with a taste-of-your-own-medicine vigilante snapping pictures of photographers, in a radical, albeit conversation-halting act.

I also spoke with two reporters, one male and one female, both topless while conducting interviews. And a bullhorn-touting parade leader shouting “Put the ‘tit’ back in constitutional,” as women with chests covered in glitter took pictures with tourists and high-fived the police officers standing by.

It was incredible to see so many people gathered for the same cause, although our reasons were as varied as our bra sizes.

Personally, I marched to honor the women who fought for my right to vote, my right to choose, and my right to feel the breeze on my chest. And for the women still fighting for equal pay, equal rights, and the truly news-worthy, noteworthy, and inspiring rather than the simply provoking, shocking, and titillating.

**Originally published on TwentysomethingNYC.com on August 26, 2015**

Feminists Gone Wild: Going Topless for National Equality Day

On the Hunt for Jobs

I’m just going to go ahead and say what we’re all thinking: LinkedIn is the worst. It’s the social media equivalent of going to the dentist. We all put it off way too long (or just plain forget about it), it can be downright painful, and when it isn’t, it feels like a complete waste of time. But just like the dentist (man, I really need to make an appointment…), you need regular checkups with LinkedIn if you’re going to keep from deteriorating.

Although it’s hard to imagine anyone who thinks, “Oh goodie! Another networking mixer at that overpriced bar!”, it’s time we admit that it’s all about who you know. And in a city that’s constantly evolving , it’s nearly impossible to be professionally complacent, let alone satisfied.

Having just been hired at a new job myself, I’m still scouring the city for my next professional opportunity. This means making use of every occasion to meet new people, pump them for information, and take advantage of their resources.

This also means cross-referencing every application with LinkedIn in the hope that I know someone who knows someone. Enter dream job application #6493. After a quick search, guess who’s daddy turns out to be the CFO of the company? You guessed it: the bass-playing, long-haired, artist-turned-corporate old flame that I’d rather pretend never happened.

By far, the creepiest thing about LinkedIn is being notified about who’s been to your page, and how many times. Compounded with a private message with the subject line, “Hey” sent at 4 a.m., it’s easy to see why networking is such a chore for me and my people: the fabulously charming, accidentally flirtatious, women of the world.

In talking about what makes LinkedIn creepy (seriously man, this isn’t Tinder), let’s not forget what makes it terrible. There’s no act quite as crushing as seeing an old classmate or colleague under “people you may know,” and clicking the link only to discover that they’re thriving professionally, just got promoted, and have a baller headshot.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m absolutely going to meet this slimeball for drinks. And I’m definitely going to reminisce over a cocktail or two until he gives me the contact information I need, at which point I’ll very pointedly drop the word “girlfriend” into conversation.

But hey, I’m not a complete monster. I’ll pick up the check.

**Originally published on TwentysomethingNYC.com on May 6, 2015**

On the Hunt for Jobs

The Five Stages of Grief: Student Debt Edition



I had just graduated, and was still riding the high of not having to spend hours of my day cooped up in a windowless library. Armed with a Master’s degree, I was thrilled just to be able to read for pleasure again, and my loans were the last thing on my mind. But somehow, before my diploma even arrived, that first insidious letter made its way into my mailbox. How did they find me so fast? I had just moved to nyc, and yet my student loans followed me like a relentless storm cloud.

But hey, the first letter was friendly-looking enough. The form letter says things like, “Expect a detailed report on your loan status soon!” and “We look forward to helping you manage your loans.” It felt like the emoji of form letters: it didn’t really say anything or mean anything, but let me know that I was on their radar. So I threw the letter in a drawer, dusted my hands, and forgot about it.

A couple weeks later, another much thicker envelope arrived. But I’m busy. So, I set it aside to deal with later, when I have some real time to focus.

A couple months go by, and the envelope has become a pile. At this point, the text on the envelopes has transitioned to ALL CAPS, BOLD and URGENT. Automated phone calls start, but since I never listen to them all the way through, who can tell how urgent it really is?



At a certain point, the stack got comically high. That didn’t move me out of denial though. What got me were the manifestations of my panic: I had dreams about my debt, started breaking out worse than any middle schooler, and got what my lovely roommate refers to as a “sour stomach” whenever I thought about it too hard.

So I knuckled down, and opened up each and every letter.

That’s when the anger came.

I was angry. Angry at myself for going to a private school and for majoring in something as professionally useless as I did. Angry at my parents for not forcing me to major in something I hated. Angry at Sallie Mae. Angry at how easy it is to pretend that student loans are just like Monopoly money: part of a game, and easy to steal when no one’s paying attention. Above all, I was angry at the fact that a few numbers had the ability to make me feel so angry.



Then, the “if only”s began to creep in. If only I had looked at these letters sooner. If only I had gotten a second opinion. I thought I had more time!

The quick and sudden death of my disposable income hit me hard. I considered making a deal with god, or the devil—really, whoever would take it. In an attempt to postpone the inevitable, I considered just staying in school forever. I could become a double doctor, a useless specialist, the possibilities were endless. But that quickly gave way to the slow, sinking descent into utter devastation.

Depression and Acceptance


Fortunately, I only dipped quickly into debt depression. Yikes, it’s a lot of money. But matching it with tantamount depression won’t make that number go down. At a certain point, there’s nothing to do but grit your teeth, accept your fate, and make lots of lists.

I can see a light at the end of the tunnel, a time when I’m debt-free and my degree might actually be applied to my job. The light may be far off in the distance and the tunnel may be paved with PAST DUE letters and dollar signs, but there’s still a light.

light at the end of the tunnel

**Originally posted on TwentysomethingNYC.com on March 26, 2015**

The Five Stages of Grief: Student Debt Edition

Armory Arts Week in Review

The first weekend in March rang in the seventeenth year of the Armory Show, and brought critics, artists, (and wannabe-critics who are majoring in art history) out into the last of the cold days to gawk, sneer, admirer, and posture.

Piers 94 and 92 were packed with art from different countries, of different mediums, and with varying messages. The idea of the Armory Show is not only to celebrate New York’s distinctive artistic communities, but to have a wide scope of art in concert, to bring together artist on an international scale, and deepen the conversation that so often falls victim to the nepotism of artistry in the city.

Although the main event took place on Piers 94 and 92 for $45, the broke and art-curious are able to head to galleries throughout the five boroughs offering free shows. Armory Arts Week, a step-child of the Army Show, takes advantage of this influx of art enthusiasts every year to showcase the diverse selections of New York’s own artists.

Unlike the Armory show, Armory Arts Week allows lesser-known artists to submit their work: work that often doesn’t quite “fit” with other installations, or with a gallery’s carefully tailored vibe. It’s a time to see artists’ pet projects, half-baked concept art, and the kind of pieces that are done more for fun than to generate income or professionalization.

During Arts Week, you can see (and I did) a massive installation made of thousands of balloons, set as the archway of a certain Hell’s Kitchen gallery, a performance piece in which a man on a ladder inspects some Rocco-style art, and a small closet filled with moss that looks freshly pulled from Fern Gully. At the (Un)scene Arts show, patrons are rewarded with a painted sign reading “Free Ice Cream!” Baffled, the masses waited for someone to make the bold move to see if the Ben and Jerry’s miniatures are really there as snacks, or as art.

But the best part (and ideal illustration) of the surreal and difficult but delightful exhibit is the final room, dimly lit and filled with various photos. Only when the room was full did I realize that the attendant keeping watch had a second task: to close the doors, and turn a giant lever. The room (which we all then realized at that point was an elevator) takes you up a few more floors for the final segment of the installation.

From there, head to Chelsea for the Moving Image event, held in the brilliantly bright waterfront New York Tunnel event space. Tunnel events take place year round, and the space is perfect for drifting from one screen to the next. The people-watching is almost more entertaining that the many multimedia displays, although both the people and the artwork are incredibly wired.

If museum fatigue is starting to sink in, take a cue for the wired art show and make quick pit stop at Blue Bottle around the corner for a cup of siphoned coffee that’s so delicious, you won’t feel like too much of an art and coffee snob. Or at least you won’t care. Re-energized, head to the Clio Art Fair for a bright and invigorating mishmash of work. Here, the artists circulate and chat with you about their methodologies, inspirations, and future projects. At once the most down to earth and bizarre collection, Clio is the perfect spot to end your day.

Although there are almost too many galleries to fit even in all of Armory Arts Week, take advantage of this event, watch some performance art, and get inspired by the city in time for spring and sidewalk chalk.

**Originally published on TwentysomethingNYC.com on March 13, 2015**

Armory Arts Week in Review