Best Saturday Evening Discussion

Saturday evening I went to a screening of the soon-to-be-released film adaptation of David Foster Wallace's short story collection "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men" directed by John Krasinski. The screening, if you didn't figure it out from the above posted photo, was followed by a Q&A with Mr. Krasinski.

The movie itself wasn't all that good, but hearing Mr. Krasinski talk about it, I at least admired what appeared to be a very sincere effort to do well. Now, maybe the room was full of DFW fans, maybe it wasn't, I'm not going to jump to any conclusions BUT when I got to the show and was walking to my place at the end of the line outside of the theater, I quite literally passed about 15 feet of females before I passed my first fellow male and, if at least some of these young ladies came to see if John were as charming as his coaxial alter-ego, they got what they were hoping for. Krasinski came off as quite humble and enthusiastic and treated the room like a gathering of friends, making asides here and there hinting that we were his buddies, privy to private thoughts on the state of the film industry or his future on Broadway. It was a pretty interesting and open chat and I think it lasted 15 or 20 minutes, which seemed rather generous. Again, can't say that I really recommend the film, but if you have a chance to talk with Jim, why not?

Best I Traveled Beneath Two Rivers

Thursday night I took the N train underneath the East River to celebrate Duane's birthday at a fine Greek establishment in Queens. Duane served his mission in Greece and has done his due diligence on Astoria Greek restaurants so I know what we had was good.

Lots of dear people were in attendance to honor Duane.


No Pictures! No Pictures!

The cake! Happy Birthday to Duane! Thanks for being so awesome!

One of the candles was musical, but you had to hold it close to your ear to hear its song. I'm not kidding, that's what's really happening here.

Friday night I took the PATH train beneath the Hudson to help rescue Brittany's bicycle from Newark. What? Don't worry, there's a complicated explanation. Brittany spent the summer in Denmark and had a bicycle when she was there, but she could not take it home with her. Cheryl was in Copenhagen recently (because she can go wherever she wants whenever she wants) and picked up Brittany's bike for her and took it to her crash pad in Newark. Brittany was up from DC on Friday and, so, yes, a trip to Newark was taken to get that bicycle!

Cheryl met up with us at Newark Penn Station and we went and had some "Brazilian" food in the Ironbound (that's the name of a neighborhood in Newark, you uneducated animal). Brittany served her mission in Brazil, but I didn't need her help to know that what we were eating wasn't exactly Brazilian. The chicken hearts I ate were definitely prepared in the Portuguese style, that I am sure of.

Then it was over to the crash pad to get the bicycle. Yes, this is a bicycle. A bicycle prepared for travel and prepared to entertain the drunks on the PATH train. As you can see, its airplane-suitable protective packaging sort of eliminated the most bicycleish elements of the vehicle. It turns out that a bike that does not roll is actually a fairly cumbersome thing to lug about. Not that I couldn't handle it. Excuse me. Not that we couldn't handle it.

The Day the LOLing Died

Best Placeholder

Just close your eyes and imagine...Thursday night: Duane's Birthday Dinner at a Greek Restaurant in Queens.

Sounds amazing, right?

Someday you might see a picture or two from it.

Mejores Caras de Domingo

Remember what I had none of last week? Pictures. This week: Pretty much just pictures.

Please click!

Best This is What We're all Forwarding Each Other This Morning

From the Brooklyn Paper

Californians are Creatures of the Night: The Conclusion

Sunday! Major surprise: Californians in sunlight! Turns out Broek and Claire are Daywalkers.

Here I explain that my camera is manually focused with the thumb and forefinger.

After church we hit the High Line, this time I saw the whole thing.

Just because you're on an old elevated traintrack doesn't mean you have to do without smoothies or cupcakes. (but these guys only sold smoothies, not cupcakes)

Someone nearby loudly explained: "That's the Carnival Miracle! (or Dream?)" New York offers thrills to every side for at least someone.

Thoughts turn to tacos (click photo to understand why I said this). Turns out that even though we live on opposite coasts we aren't so different. Oh, wait. I forgot. I'm pretty much a Californian too, resident of Alhambra from age 2 to 8.


Emerald City.


I worked on my daylight candid stranger photography.


Amigas! Amigas para siempre!


Busted! Three people looking right at me!


Checking the score of the big game, I presume.

Descending to streetlevel, we investigated the Standard Hotel scene.


Broek y Yo, gracias a Claire.

And, easing our way East, checked out my old buddy Adam Bateman's little solo show.



And that's what I've got to show for that weekend. Well, that and a bedroom full of boxes I'm still meaning to unpack.

Californians are Creatures of the Night

Last weekend, not the one that just happened (you know how it is) Broek, Claire and a gang of Californians descended upon New York like a swarm of party locusts. I did not realize it until that weekend, but these denizens of the Golden State are no strangers to the obsidian black of night.

Friday night caught up with old Broek at the Noodle Bar and prepared myself for the weekend to come.

Along with Californians, plenty of Claire's college friends and high school friends and siblings of such friends turned out to honor her.

Saturday night we celebrated Claire's birthday with dinner at the Shake Shack and then clubbin' down on the Lower East Side.

Like total ballers we took a cab to Madison Square Park.

You know, I'm always saying this, but blogger just doesn't treat my pictures right. Please, please, click on them to get an idea of how acceptable they actually are. Also, maybe turn up your monitor's brightness?

Approaching the Netherworld...

So, like I said, we went to the Shake Shack and that's where all the reuniting and meeting took place.

Also happening to be in the park that night? My high school buddy Pete, no longer keeping a critic's deep cover. Go Huskies.

Reyn: Californian turned New Yorker.


Do you know what's in that plastic covered box? Those are Shake Shack mushroom bombs, pre-deep frying.

Chris. New Yorker. (Brooklynite, even)

Chris. Californian.



So much beautiful catching up.

Mr. and Mrs. Reyn.

Camille, Californian.




Down to the Subway to find our way to the Lower East Side.

Rice Architecture School-related Pals of Claire's.

Friends sharing giggles on the F train.


I think I spy another dear Californian but no, it is just a blurry phantom of fashion.

Heading down Orchard street, nearly at our destination.

Here time passes in a space too dark for photographs.

...More time passes...

And then...

Like a total wimp I split the club early and walked myself through the LES and Village.

I worked at my night time candid stranger photography, mostly trying to guess distances for focusing and shooting from the hip. Sometimes it went better than others.


Some might say Gates of Hell.


Moss window.




Made some friends on Mac Dougal.

Considered the trucks, wound up passing. My burger was enough.

Home Sweet Home.

I got home around 2. Californians laugh at this sort of early arrival.