A little bit of a map-tease, and a far more professional job than I could ever pull off.
On the wrong side of a Tony Oursler.
The Tenderloin Geographic Society endorses this message.
When the revolution comes, you better get your nails done, get a pedicure, get your hair did.
On the set of the new Cronenberg film here in Seattle.
Oh, Seattle. I got your number and you got mine.
Dear NYC: your air conditioning won’t work if you open all the windows.
Calatrava’s Samuel Beckett Bridge, Dublin. October 2009.
Incidentally, tomorrow is the only drinking holiday that I can tolerate. This is true until such time as a considerable portion of the populace decides to jump on the bandwagon and make Jameson jello shots and the wearing of beads obligatory.
Until then, it is a quiet evening with a Guinness and a toast: yes I said yes I will Yes.
My dad’s dad was a logger. I don’t think they had lumberjills back then.
Settling into old habits in Chicago.
Does anyone else think it strange that American traditional furniture can be purchased before attending some important American drama?
As luck has it, I’ll be going on a fact-finding mission quite soon. I’ve visited the hog butchers and stackers of wheat once before, but I welcome your recommendations. What’s the good word?
Those were the days.