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Perhaps not brilliant in content, but certainly dazzling in its execution.
Strangers in our office leaning against cubicle walls, spitting into walkie-talkies: "Pedro's coming with a truck. Yeah. We'll need about twenty-five dollies and ten carts. Yeah."
The 9th floor halls of 261 Madison Avenue are lined with red dollies and cardboard boxes. Large, iron dumpsters overflowing with magazines, manilla folders, and 3-ring binders are parked into every corner.
IN New York magazine is moving out. Soon, the floor will belong to only us. For awhile — until we move, and the others come — it will be quieter than usual.
According to Sam Anderson, "To the millions of us flitting around the edges of hipness, he is our Geek Bard, our Troubadork."
Ho, a fine sally—or should I say assay?
On this grayest of Fridays, the City's streets are wet with such strange sadness. How could it have happened? I, and many others, wake still stunned. How is it that their season is already complete, without ring, without title?
The New York Mets went down last night, down with the rain, while the St. Louis Cardinals showered themselves in so much champagne. Bah.
But what a game it was. One for the history books. Yet such a shame; such a large part of me believes that the wrong team won. But how could that be? How could the wrong team have won? It's not possible. I…
Maybe it's because of the rain. Maybe it's because of the Mets. There's no reason for me to be thinking of this now, but I am. And so:
I thought we were a good band. I thought we made good music — music that was beautiful and strong, music that was intelligent and true. I thought our music was special. I thought it was important. And maybe it was. To us, it was, indeed.
Maybe I was too close.
I never really wanted anything, but to be taken seriously. To be discussed.
I'm not so sure about the tongue kissing part, but still. Mark Morford, living in the moment:
The point of a healthy lifestyle is not to live longer. It is to live better, right now, in the moment, to breathe deeper and dream more lucidly and step lighter and orgasm stronger and be able to touch your toes and touch your lover's toes and try, just try, to evolve, just a little, while we're here, in fits and spurts and groans and via healthy snifters of Oban 14 and lots of tongue kissing in the street.
Chesky SACD310 hybrid SACD. David Chesky, Charles Carlini, prods.; Nicholas Prout, eng. DDD. 60:00.
David Hazeltine, piano; George Mraz, bass; Billy Drummond, drums.
The day I first met David Chesky, he was pitching Tower Records' national classical buyer on his then-nascent record label. "We're going to make the best sounding recordings that have ever been manufactured," he said. With my almost four years experience as a production manager at a record press and classical label, I chuckled at his naivetè.
With Manhattan: The New York Sessions, Chesky has come…