My doormen, my family
The movers are here, swarming my apartment with paper and tape, packing up every tangible memory I have. I’m heading back to LA and I’m kinda freaking out about it. NYC is home, moved here five years and two months ago. I love my neighborhood and my building. The...
Selling Kenwood
I always called it Kenwood, my own post-war Tara in a “transitional” neighborhood. Not a terribly clever name, really, given it was simply the name of the street. And to me, Kenwood was that older stout woman with too much jewelry alone at a diner for the early bird...
Cab ride
I grabbed the cab that was stopped at the light, a block from the restaurant in the East Village where I’d just had dinner with two old friends. I threw my gym bag, which weighs as much as a toddler, ahead of me onto the back seat, closed the door, and told the driver...
Joe Schmo
Within an hour of meeting Joe Franciosi, he took his glass right eye out and showed me. There wasn’t a lot of filter with Joe, one of his most endearing qualities. Kid-like in the best possible way, he was also a programming genius who was the first (only?) guy to put...