Irascible Petrus Stuyvesant–Old Silver Leg–working his peg. The bravado, buckles, bows, the booty of it all… The nickname derives from the stick of wood studded with silver nails that was his ill-fitting artificial limb. That would make me cranky too. Below: New Amsterdam! I think I can make out the Woolworth Building from here…
A day spent walking and talking. click to expand.
The indigenous and fickle tree shoe caught in a moment of vagrancy amidst its annual winter migration.
After a decade of living here its odd to see New York through new eyes. Kinda like a chance encounter with an ex you consider for a fleeting moment getting back together with, as in “why did we ever break up again?” No doubt in a week or so I’ll be having the “oh right, […]
Swankin it up at the Boom Boom Room. Later we learned there is a turn-you-away-at-the-door-on-a-whim policy, but in our jetlagged and hoodied state, we experienced no such thing. The band, the Hudson, the champagne, the ladies room view….
Off the red-eye, awake for well over 24 hours, delirious with a head cold, pulled off my fainting couch and over to Astor Hair: so egalitarian, so butch. This clandestine photo barely nicks the stubbly surface: the dueling radios (In the Air Tonight, Phil Collins, say no more), the clipper buzz, the gossip, the autographed […]
Short jaunt to Sonoma to enjoy the fruits of my writing labors…