Drove back from NYC yesterday. Had a ball. Watched a Manchester United soccer match
here (I know, I know...a bit of a NYU dump but big
Marty behind the sticks pours a perfect, slow pint of the black and takes no shit) knocked around the lower West Side and trolled bookstores, eclectic music haunts, and cheese shops. Drank a lot of coffee. Visited old friends living over in Brooklyn and dined
here (have the meatloaf sandwich if you ever go--a duck and veal combination with tasty side pickles, crispy angel cut onions on a toasted ciabatta roll--
awesome) and slummed the palate some more
here (what can I say? East coasters don't dig the ono grinds and it's the only plate lunch joint on the eastern seaboard where you can get
loco moco). Main event was Frank Bill's appearance at the GQ thing in the previous blog post. Not what any of us were expecting, but publicity is publicity, right? And Frank handled everything with grace and his usual soft-spoken aplomb. Saw
my agent Stacia, Todd R.,
Reed and the
Pluckster.
There was a
Megan Abbott sighting, but she blew out of the event when it turned into a unplugged hipster-fest. Before I caught my train back to the dirty Jerz the next day, I had the distinct pleasure to meet all of the wonderful, lovely sirens at the
Donald Maass brain trust and they gave me free books. Cool. Back to work. NHL go-for-broke season starts tomorrow and I'm stoked. Onward.
