"That Brooklyn bullshit, we on it."

On Sunday Samantha and I went to the Brooklyn Flea to kill a couple hours and inspire ourselves. 

Saturday at the Flea.

On Saturday I joined Kate at the Fort Greene flea market. A strong easterly wind rent tents asunder and shattered at least one china set, but the stalls were crowded, the sky blue, and autumn all around. I knew the moment I arrived that it would be a successful trip, that everything I could ever want was hiding amid racks of vintage furs and old cedar boxes filled with locks and keys. All I had to do was dig.

One of my favorite finds ever, this life preserver was pulled up from the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Alas, I could not take it home with me. You can find it and other fun sea-faring trinkets at Three Potato Four.

Keeping with the nautical theme I present a fresh label on old plaid. This buffalo check was made in the U.S. of A. by Old Ironsides. I should have bought it for the schooner logo alone.

This flag, made by Valley Forge Bunting, measures five by nine feet and is made of 100% cotton canvas. It came home with me, of course.

A camera and a Canal.

Today I took a trip to New York's most dazzling strand, the Gowanus Canal. While currently an eyesore that drives a wedge between the more family- and yuppie-friendly Carroll Gardens and Park Slope, Gowanus is beginning to show hints of gentrification. Mark my words: In five years this "waterfront" neighborhood will be filled with hipsters-come-lately, thousand-dollar McLaren strollers, and that wild scene that currently keeps Bedford Avenue buzzing. (I'm already mourning the loss of the soon-to-be-defunct Yacht Club on President and Smith Streets.)

But what Gowanus lacks in polish it makes up for in character and a great view of the sky. While crossing the canal into Carroll Gardens I took the opportunity to play with my new iPhone photography filter Camerabag, which I discovered through Foster Huntington's project A Restless Transplant.

Camerabag lets you alter iPhone photos with a slew of different retro filters. At first I couldn't really tell them apart, but after a snap-happy weekend I feel like an old pro. My favorites are Helga and Instant. To experience the phenomenon that is Camerabag, see below.

This is the Gowanus Canal as seen through the Helga filter.

And this is the same shot, but with the Instant filter.

I always love to play Capture the Flag with my camera. Here's Old Glory through the Helga.

And the same Stars and Stripes behind the Instant filter.

To throw the two in starker light, here they are side-by-side.

Same Canal, two camera techniques.

Which filter do you prefer?

Eschewing a fancy DSLR for my iPhone may never win me a Pulitzer Prize, but with apps and iPhoto, patience and spontaneity, I have managed to patch together what I think is a pretty rich photo essay of my life on the East Coast. (And of course, a DSLR will never fit inside my evening bag nor survive a debaucherous night on the Lower East Side).

Another beautiful day in Brooklyn.

For this Missourian "brewery" is usually synonymous with Anheuser-Busch, and when it's beer-thirty, I'll make mine a Bud Light, thankyouverymuch. Yesterday afternoon, however, I felt adventurous. We braved the downtown downpour and sloshed all the way to the Brooklyn Brewery deep in the heart o' Williamsburg, where a rowdy crowd converged over Scrabble boards, pepperoni pies, and all the Weisse our little hearts could ask for.

To round out this makeshift Oktoberfest I donned a Laura Ashley dress, cranberry tights, and Frye boots. Back home these shoes are called "shit kickers". I bought mine (somewhat paradoxically) at Bloomingdale's on December 23, 2001. They got me through high school, college, and many, many county fairs.

Back to the beer. I started with East India Pale Ale, which boasts (according to their website) hints of lemongrass and ginger and a "robust bitterness". In other words EIPA tastes like Midtown street food.

A verdict is still out on the seasonal Pumpkin brew. Some considered it a little too faithful to the spicy gourd. I liked it for the same reason.

You can buy six beer tokens for twenty dollars, but I advise going halvesies with a buddy. Otherwise this will happen. We gave a couple Brown Ales to lucky strangers. Then we took the three o'clock brewery tour.

I don't remember much said by our tour guide. (Bear in mind that I'd just polished off three Pilsners in an hour.) I do remember learning that the reason nothing else tastes like beer is because no other food or beverage uses hops. Hops give beer its flavor. And if you don't know, now you know!

I might have retained more brewery knowledge if I hadn't been poking around what looked like Frankenstein's lab. Beakers and hoses and strangely colored fluids gave the room a very timely Halloween vibe.

Pumpkins, hay bales, and a surprise visit by a gloomy kitty only confirmed what I had previously feared: Indian summer is over. Not even I can raise a glass to that sad state of affairs. But that doesn't mean I'll never try. Prost!

"Spread love. It's the Brooklyn way."

When you wake up to “Juicy”, you know it’s a BK day. Brisk breezes and long afternoons are just right for running around the county of Kings. And as yesterday's pictures suggest, small adventures are par for the course.

A little stretch of Union Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues boasts some of the prettiest homes in the ‘hood. I liked this one best. It has a turret and balconies just perfect for clandestine rendezvous and swooning sighs.

I can never quite “get” that uniquely Brooklyn hipster look, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try. Exhibit A: my somber black leggings. But more importantly…

Every girl needs a couple Jacks in her arsenal: Jack Rogers and Jack Purcell. Now that sandal weather is behind us, I choose the latter for easy escapes. They’re currently on sale at J. Crew.

B.F. Goodrich named this kick after Canadian National Badminton Champion John Edward Purcell. He hung on to the title in 1929 and 1930 and in 1933 was declared world champion. His namesake sneaker was born two years later and, now owned by Converse, continues to look so fresh and so clean against the dirtiest subway floors.

Enough about shoes.

I wasted wiled away the afternoon at Union Street’s Tea Lounge, home of Brooklyn’s most dedicated laptop-laden loafers and baristas with a Midas touch. They gave our mochaccinos some short-lived flair.

All that caffeine and chocolate jump-started my infamous appetite. I met one of my best friends at AOC Bistro for a late lunch/early dinner. (Dunch? Linner?) Their ratatouille reminded me of my mom’s recipe and served as a launch pad for conversation about the fickle, messy nature of the boys we tend to date. Nothing pairs better than food, love, and long talks. On each table perched a fresh cut fleur. (For dessert I polished my high school level French.)

After devouring feuille brique et salade, we wandered back to the Tea Lounge and didn’t leave until after dark! Naturally we got lost. Also naturally, I didn’t really mind. I love stepping off the 3 train at the Grand Army Plaza stop, and trying to relocate felt equally inspired. Nothing says “Welcome to Brooklyn!” like a massive, baroque arc comme la Triomphe.

Another field trip across the East River commences this afternoon, when my usual suspects and I hit the Brooklyn Brewery. Word on street says it isn’t worth it, but that only stokes my interest.