The internet is for funsies and made up words, which is a dignified way of avoiding the truth that if it weren't for the taboo of pornography, there would be no internet as we know it--the hyperactive information sharing imaginatorium of sex.
I imagine the internet a bit like the chapter in Hitchhiker's Guide when Slartibartfast gives us the guided tour to Magrathea, with vast staging areas devoted to adorable kittens and 633k 5p34k (geek speak, if you have to ask).
I like the parts of the internet that don't include Comic Sans and believe in a dictionary, or at the very least, little red dots that second guess your aptitude as a good speller.
In homage to hypertext and what hypertext was nonce, the interwebz is good for bopping around like Mario on little clouds of knowledge and bonking your against bricks for extra points.
So, while I was doing some research on Travesties by Tom Stoppard, I bounced around between some Dadaist, Leninist and Marxist Websites, I found a literate blog that had a meme that looked like funsies.
Thusly,
Hardback, trade paperback or mass market paperback?
Hardcovers are excellent collector's items. They collect lots of dust.
(I'm sure serious readers amass plenty of each.)
Waterstones, Borders or Amazon?
Whiskeytangofoxtrot is Waterstones? If it is an independent bookseller, I'm into it.
Bookmark or dog-ear?
I dog-ear galleys and bookmark editions in print, out of print or not belonging to me.
Alphabetize by author, or alphabetize by title, or random?
The progeny of philosophers and booksellers, I first put my books in sections and rearrange the flow between shelves according to my humor. The alphabet is only necessary until the books come home with me.
Keep, throw away, or sell?
And give away. And steal from friends.
Keep dust jacket or toss it?
Screw top or flip cap?
Read with dust jacket or remove it?
Am I reading on the train? Is it a big art book? Does it belong to the library?
Short story or novel?
Both please?
Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Wiz kid.
Buy or borrow?
Just as long as you're not one of those assholes who confuses bookstores with a library where you can sit and take up space sipping your latte, making notes and cracking the spine.
Tidy ending or cliffhanger?
What is this? Amateur hour?
Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?
I envy the fact that some people can actually schedule parts of their days for reading. I tend to do it in my twenty-first century version of "spare" time.
Favourite series?
I found this meme on a stranger twenty-something's blog and she is apparently Canadian, which has me wondering, if it's pronounced "aboot" why not "fave-oo-rit?"
And I bet she missed out on some serious Sweet Valley High action.
Favourite YA book?
I wish Judy Blume could re-write Are You There God? It's Me Margaret with cell phones so that these impressionable young things wouldn't have to rely on Twilight for the prelude to their nascent sexual awakenings.
Favourite book no one has heard of?
I hate this question. If no one has heard of the book, then how the hell are there printed copies floating around?
Favourite books read last year?
Richard Feynman.
Favourite book to re-read?
I haven't re-read much since I was 12.
Do you ever smell books?
You don't?
What are you reading right now?
1921 about New York City baseball, but I can't read just one.
What are you reading next?
New Yorker perhaps.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Book man
On Friday, after a late closing, I went to an art auction fundraiser for the next Swimming Cities expedition. I ran into some of the folks who helped build Greenlight, and was able to procure a couple of free tickets to the Armory Show, which ran until this evening.
The exposition was huge, taking place at Pier 94 along the Hudson. The area itself is a bit subway-challenged, but getting there wasn't difficult. I arrived a bit too late to see everything, but I stuck to the Modern Art galleries, which I think are more fun to think about.
If you've grown up with an understanding of religion, it isn't hard to appreciate the driving force behind much Western art. I could spend ages looking at paintings of Maria and her nino, the same basic elements reworked thousands of different ways, brought into the world of artifice by so many consciousnesses.
But when you're at an intimidatingly large art show all by yourself, it is way more fun (and perhaps slightly less pretentious) to peruse a few key booths and wonder not only what gave the artist cause to cast aluminum and steel into a cylindrical shape and varnish it with candy-colored enamel, but how the gallery decided that someone might want to spend $20,000 on a stack of said shapes.
My favorite exhibit was a collection of mens' faces carved out of old Bybels and other black leather-bound books stacked into an appropriate medium.
It was just something to do after a lovely brunch with some lady friends, but any chance I get to pound the pavement down the big blocks in Manhattan, I hop into my comfortable walking shoes and do it. There's an aspect of Manhattan that is hardly appealing--the rampant entitlement to materialism leaves a funny aftertaste (although for parts of Brooklyn to find itself above smacks of hypocrisy). Still, there is a thrill I get from the steel giant, a pulse that is hard to read. I suppose that's what I love most of all, walking out of time with the center of the universe.
The exposition was huge, taking place at Pier 94 along the Hudson. The area itself is a bit subway-challenged, but getting there wasn't difficult. I arrived a bit too late to see everything, but I stuck to the Modern Art galleries, which I think are more fun to think about.
If you've grown up with an understanding of religion, it isn't hard to appreciate the driving force behind much Western art. I could spend ages looking at paintings of Maria and her nino, the same basic elements reworked thousands of different ways, brought into the world of artifice by so many consciousnesses.
But when you're at an intimidatingly large art show all by yourself, it is way more fun (and perhaps slightly less pretentious) to peruse a few key booths and wonder not only what gave the artist cause to cast aluminum and steel into a cylindrical shape and varnish it with candy-colored enamel, but how the gallery decided that someone might want to spend $20,000 on a stack of said shapes.
My favorite exhibit was a collection of mens' faces carved out of old Bybels and other black leather-bound books stacked into an appropriate medium.
It was just something to do after a lovely brunch with some lady friends, but any chance I get to pound the pavement down the big blocks in Manhattan, I hop into my comfortable walking shoes and do it. There's an aspect of Manhattan that is hardly appealing--the rampant entitlement to materialism leaves a funny aftertaste (although for parts of Brooklyn to find itself above smacks of hypocrisy). Still, there is a thrill I get from the steel giant, a pulse that is hard to read. I suppose that's what I love most of all, walking out of time with the center of the universe.
70 Million by Hold Your Horses ! from L'Ogre on Vimeo.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Author event
I just returned from a dinner on the UES with an emerging young author who has written a young readers' novel that might remind readers of Gaiman's Coraline, where a young girl travels into a different world while living within the realm of a strange house belonging to a strange family. Of course, there is an adversary in the world within, and this particular brand of magic gave me a serious case of the heebie jeebies as I rode the train to the dinner hosted by Penguin Group for Young Readers. It was good company, and the author is a former teacher who worked in one of the smallest school districts in Wisconsin, although I bet most of her students can spell Wisconsin (maybe even Massachusetts or Connecticut).
She was quite kind and flattered, having done a week-long whirl of dinners in L.A., Chicago, NYC tonight--to meet her agent face to face for the first time (and schmooze with us and Pengy.) Tomorrow morning, it's South Carolina and then back to her hometown. There is a lot of work going into the marketing of the book, and it's interesting because unlike most of what I've looked at in the past two months or so of pulling Y.A. novels out of the box--this is a book by strong writer that paints a Pieta of sorts--Young Readers see this trope with C.S. Lewis et al., only the delight is in the terror she brings with antique ghosts.
Tomorrow night, Ted Conover is reading at the Strand. His new book on roads, Routes of Man drives me through some country I've never considered while watching all of America out the window of Poppa's white Dodge van. Right now, I'm with him on a frozen river that is literally a rite of passage for a gang of forty teenagers that have grown up in a Himalayan valley almost 12,000 feet above sea level and who have all "maxed out on the education in Reru, their medieval hamlet, and were taking advantage of the cold to get out of Dodge." Conover is not so swift on the ice, while these kids have grown up tested by and testing the river that runs off the Indus. Cradle of civilization be damned, I've already been deep into Peru, where the "uncontacted" are still considered. The nuggets of knowledge are plentiful, although at times I think the writing gets a little tangential, but maybe that's just New York City commuting with me--funnily enough, DJ Random Play (itunes) is bringing me Fela Kuti's "He Miss Road."
I can never remember which imitates what, art or life.
She was quite kind and flattered, having done a week-long whirl of dinners in L.A., Chicago, NYC tonight--to meet her agent face to face for the first time (and schmooze with us and Pengy.) Tomorrow morning, it's South Carolina and then back to her hometown. There is a lot of work going into the marketing of the book, and it's interesting because unlike most of what I've looked at in the past two months or so of pulling Y.A. novels out of the box--this is a book by strong writer that paints a Pieta of sorts--Young Readers see this trope with C.S. Lewis et al., only the delight is in the terror she brings with antique ghosts.
Tomorrow night, Ted Conover is reading at the Strand. His new book on roads, Routes of Man drives me through some country I've never considered while watching all of America out the window of Poppa's white Dodge van. Right now, I'm with him on a frozen river that is literally a rite of passage for a gang of forty teenagers that have grown up in a Himalayan valley almost 12,000 feet above sea level and who have all "maxed out on the education in Reru, their medieval hamlet, and were taking advantage of the cold to get out of Dodge." Conover is not so swift on the ice, while these kids have grown up tested by and testing the river that runs off the Indus. Cradle of civilization be damned, I've already been deep into Peru, where the "uncontacted" are still considered. The nuggets of knowledge are plentiful, although at times I think the writing gets a little tangential, but maybe that's just New York City commuting with me--funnily enough, DJ Random Play (itunes) is bringing me Fela Kuti's "He Miss Road."
I can never remember which imitates what, art or life.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Story hour
I'm with my cousins and visiting the grandparents in Aspen. Thankfully, we were all able to fly in on the same day (despite the snow). My flight from LGA went fine, even though my cab driver dropped me off at the terminal for US Air instead of United forcing me to use my New York walk in Queens so that I could get to the terminal in time (I was early).
The first few days of sitting for Adena (Baby turned 1 year old on Monday) were a bit harried. Like most infants, she cries the second her mother is out of sight. I've been getting her out of the house, into the stroller and making tracks around the neighborhood, but it's hard for her otherwise. I had been trying to convince Grandma that it's okay to take a baby and a stroller on the bus, so that I could get Adena to the library for some board books (which, go figure, are in short supply at this house).
Arguments why I can't/shan't:
-Nobody takes strollers on the bus
-I don't know where the library is
-I won't be able to get home.
But I had already done my research (Google Maps is the best!), and refuted Grandma's thoughtful points.
Today, I managed to hitch a ride with Mary Norma while she went to City Market, but I left the stroller at home thinking it might not fit on the bus. Adena and I arrived at the library about an hour before it was open, but I kept her busy with a walk towards the Nature Center, a quick stop in Clark's supermarket (where I let her help me with self-checkout and press buttons). I was beginning to regret not bringing the stroller, she's 17 pounds and I am not used to maternal duties, but I was not about to call and bother Grandma.
When the library opened it was story hour, so we sat for a few about bears and hibernation.
Then we picked out a few board books and one picture book, and hit the road. I guess I'm used to walking the big blocks, because we were at the other end of town/bus depot in no time. In other awesome timing, we arrived just as our bus did-- I realized I would have been able to bring the stroller-- and baby fell asleep on the ride home. Since I didn't have the stroller, I figured it'd be fine to get off at the short-cut/hospital and hike the hill over to Meadowood, she napped until I started to pull off her snowsuit.
Tomorrow, there are even more cousins coming to visit, which will make Friday's day off totally sweet. I've been reading and watching plenty of movies in the time between.
It's a shame about Howard Zinn, but I guess this leaves a vacancy for a new historian. I'm glad I took the chance to hear him speak a while back.
Speaking of departures, a coworker is leaving the bookstore. He resigned in poem form, so I responded in kind. He'll be gone when I get back to Greenlight.
This one's called,
"Re: Pre-meditated Resignation for the Kindly Folks, Yes....ah, well!"
Lifting her coat off the wary hook,
beneath her breath
chuckling,
though the evidence is long gone
as with the help which reached high
or updated clues in creation,
she spots a stain on the shelf
where the broth or stew
once brimming with ambition,
reached the consummation
of containment and
left a smile.
The first few days of sitting for Adena (Baby turned 1 year old on Monday) were a bit harried. Like most infants, she cries the second her mother is out of sight. I've been getting her out of the house, into the stroller and making tracks around the neighborhood, but it's hard for her otherwise. I had been trying to convince Grandma that it's okay to take a baby and a stroller on the bus, so that I could get Adena to the library for some board books (which, go figure, are in short supply at this house).
Arguments why I can't/shan't:
-Nobody takes strollers on the bus
-I don't know where the library is
-I won't be able to get home.
But I had already done my research (Google Maps is the best!), and refuted Grandma's thoughtful points.
Today, I managed to hitch a ride with Mary Norma while she went to City Market, but I left the stroller at home thinking it might not fit on the bus. Adena and I arrived at the library about an hour before it was open, but I kept her busy with a walk towards the Nature Center, a quick stop in Clark's supermarket (where I let her help me with self-checkout and press buttons). I was beginning to regret not bringing the stroller, she's 17 pounds and I am not used to maternal duties, but I was not about to call and bother Grandma.
When the library opened it was story hour, so we sat for a few about bears and hibernation.
Then we picked out a few board books and one picture book, and hit the road. I guess I'm used to walking the big blocks, because we were at the other end of town/bus depot in no time. In other awesome timing, we arrived just as our bus did-- I realized I would have been able to bring the stroller-- and baby fell asleep on the ride home. Since I didn't have the stroller, I figured it'd be fine to get off at the short-cut/hospital and hike the hill over to Meadowood, she napped until I started to pull off her snowsuit.
Tomorrow, there are even more cousins coming to visit, which will make Friday's day off totally sweet. I've been reading and watching plenty of movies in the time between.
It's a shame about Howard Zinn, but I guess this leaves a vacancy for a new historian. I'm glad I took the chance to hear him speak a while back.
Speaking of departures, a coworker is leaving the bookstore. He resigned in poem form, so I responded in kind. He'll be gone when I get back to Greenlight.
This one's called,
"Re: Pre-meditated Resignation for the Kindly Folks, Yes....ah, well!"
Lifting her coat off the wary hook,
beneath her breath
chuckling,
though the evidence is long gone
as with the help which reached high
or updated clues in creation,
she spots a stain on the shelf
where the broth or stew
once brimming with ambition,
reached the consummation
of containment and
left a smile.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Overdue
I guess I've always had a problem with procrastinating, which is why I've let way too much time pass since my last real update.
For the sake of being succinct, I'll have to gloss over the goings-on since--oof, before Thanksgiving?
I spent what felt like five minutes in Miami, and then drove up to Amelia Island with Daena to spend some QT with the Weinkles. 'Twas a lovely visit and the little cousins are now getting to be bigger little cousins.
Which reminds me of my stokifying news, I am off to spend two weeks watching the little cousins and hanging out with Mary Norma and Julian. I'm excited to have the time off from receiving at the store, which has been doing well in the post-holiday-madness lull.
Greenlight's Team Awesome kicked butt over the gift-giving madness, mostly because of our staff's perspicacious handselling. If you'll allow me to play my own piano, I am the resident YA expert. Customers looking for young adult literature find themselves at the register with armfuls of my recommendations. Most of what I suggest are titles I read when I was a youngin'. I tip my proverbial hat to Mom and Pops on that one.
Despite the popularity of the e-readers (namely Amazon's Kindle), I'm pretty sure the codex format has staying power. Kind of like vinyl hasn't ever lost it's value. Cassettes and CDs are out, mostly because they don't last in the long run. Even DVDs are something of the past as more and more tune in online. As technology is ever moving forward, it's clear the e-readers will evolve. Certainly, there are issues with the proprietary nature of Amazon's monopoly on certain titles (and who's to say the publishing industry won't experience it's own version of illegal downloads?) But I know some of my customers are Kindle users, and they still like the feel of turning pages, so they're happy to visit the brick and mortar and friendly faces.
Speaking of turning pages, I've had some delicious texts in the past couple of weeks.
Amy Hempel's Collected Stories were remarkable. A truly gifted teller, she made me laugh and made me cry.
Dave Thomas's Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell is a rather engaging account of the business relationship between David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Lou Reed.
Katherine Dunn's Geek Love is simply a full meal (and a unputdownable tale of geeks and freaks).
I'm reading Melanie Watt's new novel Alice I Have Been a fictional/history of the real-life Alice Liddell, and it is positively fascinating, to the point that I missed my subway stop the other night.
I also picked up Chris Moore's new novel Bite Me: A love story, which picks up the saga of Abby Normal, everyone's favorite adolescent goth who gets into some sticky situations when Chet, the vampire cat unleashes his undead fury on San Francisco. 'Twas cute, a good Chris Moore novel.
One thing I did not care for was Jonathan Dee's new book The Priveleges. He wishes he were Tom Perotta. Unfortunately, there was nothing about Dee's hideously wealthy characters in a financial setting similar to this one, that stuck with me. Reviews say each of the characters must come to term with their personal ethics, but I found nothing redeeming or tragic in their lives, it seemed rather trite to me. The only good thing about the book is the first chapter, in which Dee's writing is a strong demonstration and description of a "typical wedding." I'm not sure who The Privelegesis written for, and maybe that's part of the reason I didn't like it.
That's all for now. Tonight is Asian Film Fest with some pals. We're watching Wild Zero and Riki-Oh: The Story of Riki.
For the sake of being succinct, I'll have to gloss over the goings-on since--oof, before Thanksgiving?
I spent what felt like five minutes in Miami, and then drove up to Amelia Island with Daena to spend some QT with the Weinkles. 'Twas a lovely visit and the little cousins are now getting to be bigger little cousins.
Which reminds me of my stokifying news, I am off to spend two weeks watching the little cousins and hanging out with Mary Norma and Julian. I'm excited to have the time off from receiving at the store, which has been doing well in the post-holiday-madness lull.
Greenlight's Team Awesome kicked butt over the gift-giving madness, mostly because of our staff's perspicacious handselling. If you'll allow me to play my own piano, I am the resident YA expert. Customers looking for young adult literature find themselves at the register with armfuls of my recommendations. Most of what I suggest are titles I read when I was a youngin'. I tip my proverbial hat to Mom and Pops on that one.
Despite the popularity of the e-readers (namely Amazon's Kindle), I'm pretty sure the codex format has staying power. Kind of like vinyl hasn't ever lost it's value. Cassettes and CDs are out, mostly because they don't last in the long run. Even DVDs are something of the past as more and more tune in online. As technology is ever moving forward, it's clear the e-readers will evolve. Certainly, there are issues with the proprietary nature of Amazon's monopoly on certain titles (and who's to say the publishing industry won't experience it's own version of illegal downloads?) But I know some of my customers are Kindle users, and they still like the feel of turning pages, so they're happy to visit the brick and mortar and friendly faces.
Speaking of turning pages, I've had some delicious texts in the past couple of weeks.
Amy Hempel's Collected Stories were remarkable. A truly gifted teller, she made me laugh and made me cry.
Dave Thomas's Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell is a rather engaging account of the business relationship between David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Lou Reed.
Katherine Dunn's Geek Love is simply a full meal (and a unputdownable tale of geeks and freaks).
I'm reading Melanie Watt's new novel Alice I Have Been a fictional/history of the real-life Alice Liddell, and it is positively fascinating, to the point that I missed my subway stop the other night.
I also picked up Chris Moore's new novel Bite Me: A love story, which picks up the saga of Abby Normal, everyone's favorite adolescent goth who gets into some sticky situations when Chet, the vampire cat unleashes his undead fury on San Francisco. 'Twas cute, a good Chris Moore novel.
One thing I did not care for was Jonathan Dee's new book The Priveleges. He wishes he were Tom Perotta. Unfortunately, there was nothing about Dee's hideously wealthy characters in a financial setting similar to this one, that stuck with me. Reviews say each of the characters must come to term with their personal ethics, but I found nothing redeeming or tragic in their lives, it seemed rather trite to me. The only good thing about the book is the first chapter, in which Dee's writing is a strong demonstration and description of a "typical wedding." I'm not sure who The Privelegesis written for, and maybe that's part of the reason I didn't like it.
That's all for now. Tonight is Asian Film Fest with some pals. We're watching Wild Zero and Riki-Oh: The Story of Riki.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
First Snow
Well I finally got a new computer, after having my faulty door locks replaced.
I've been tuning it into my personal settings but there's still quite a ways to go.
Other than that and the added violation of losing two new sweaters and a pair of gray tights out of the dryer I was using at the laundromat across the street, I am very happy here.
Now, les temps have granted me a 10 inch blanket over all the grime, and my window is frosted with clean white snow. Mahi Mahi and I were out on the town when it began to come down and had an all around great day around Madison Square Gardens.
I've really enjoyed work at the bookstore, and this season gets me pumped about the success we face as a business. It doesn't hurt that I'm on a full weekday schedule now, either, as the Mistress of Receiving. Since we only get deliveries on Monday through Friday, I have taken advantage of three whole weekends since coming back from Thanksgiving.
I know I need to write more, but until then, I'm signing off to watch the "7th Voyage of Sinbad."
"Hungry men don't ask, they take."
I've been tuning it into my personal settings but there's still quite a ways to go.
Other than that and the added violation of losing two new sweaters and a pair of gray tights out of the dryer I was using at the laundromat across the street, I am very happy here.
Now, les temps have granted me a 10 inch blanket over all the grime, and my window is frosted with clean white snow. Mahi Mahi and I were out on the town when it began to come down and had an all around great day around Madison Square Gardens.
I've really enjoyed work at the bookstore, and this season gets me pumped about the success we face as a business. It doesn't hurt that I'm on a full weekday schedule now, either, as the Mistress of Receiving. Since we only get deliveries on Monday through Friday, I have taken advantage of three whole weekends since coming back from Thanksgiving.
I know I need to write more, but until then, I'm signing off to watch the "7th Voyage of Sinbad."
"Hungry men don't ask, they take."
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Even MORE Writer's (Building) Blocks
Nu. The first and second loads in a bunch of blogging I have neglected are dripping and pinned to the line.
I've stopped taking the subway so much, and it seems to me that I feel better than 90% of the rest of New York right now, sans flu shot. Washing hands that I keep out of my eyes and other points of sinusoidal entry fairly frequently helps too.
In the meantime, I've fallen in love with the buses in Brooklyn. I now have a transfer free commute to work, and I can still walk a decent amount being no more than 10 blocks from work (though my stop runs close).
I've been doing fine getting to work on time, though I was chastised on Halloween for answering the phone while at the cash-wrap. 'Twas an accident, but a careless move, nonetheless. A mistake I shant repeat, since I was up off my swollen knee (which I had sprained the night before) and working on an Purchase Order. When the phone rang towards the end of my shift, I picked it up absentmindedly and was reprimanded rather quickly by my boss. Learning takes reinforcement.
The incident put a little pep in my step, and I've been blowing through receiving cartons and greeting cards. Ah, retail.
MB, or Mahi Mahi, as she'll henceforth be known, and I held a HouseWarmingPotluck this past Sunday, which was well attended by our friends. There were plenty of great dishes, and now our "Bushwhack" fridge is packed with leftovers.
Today was a day off, and I spent it with the family of friends.
One of the best parts of New York City, is that it's fun to do the tourist thing once in a while, and walk from the High Line in Chelsea to Times Square, eat some Halal food, stroll to Grand Central Station, marvel at the structure and big-fuckoff-ness of the new Bank Of America building (a bank holding about 25% of the country's deposits), go up to the Observatory on the Empire State building and still make it back to Brooklyn before rush-hour.
Until next time.
I've stopped taking the subway so much, and it seems to me that I feel better than 90% of the rest of New York right now, sans flu shot. Washing hands that I keep out of my eyes and other points of sinusoidal entry fairly frequently helps too.
In the meantime, I've fallen in love with the buses in Brooklyn. I now have a transfer free commute to work, and I can still walk a decent amount being no more than 10 blocks from work (though my stop runs close).
I've been doing fine getting to work on time, though I was chastised on Halloween for answering the phone while at the cash-wrap. 'Twas an accident, but a careless move, nonetheless. A mistake I shant repeat, since I was up off my swollen knee (which I had sprained the night before) and working on an Purchase Order. When the phone rang towards the end of my shift, I picked it up absentmindedly and was reprimanded rather quickly by my boss. Learning takes reinforcement.
The incident put a little pep in my step, and I've been blowing through receiving cartons and greeting cards. Ah, retail.
MB, or Mahi Mahi, as she'll henceforth be known, and I held a HouseWarmingPotluck this past Sunday, which was well attended by our friends. There were plenty of great dishes, and now our "Bushwhack" fridge is packed with leftovers.
Today was a day off, and I spent it with the family of friends.
One of the best parts of New York City, is that it's fun to do the tourist thing once in a while, and walk from the High Line in Chelsea to Times Square, eat some Halal food, stroll to Grand Central Station, marvel at the structure and big-fuckoff-ness of the new Bank Of America building (a bank holding about 25% of the country's deposits), go up to the Observatory on the Empire State building and still make it back to Brooklyn before rush-hour.
Until next time.
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