On Saturday, after the final day of workshops and the exhibition, we all - Émile, Badoux, Blake, Fanny, Fabrice (the French counsel), and I - have dinner. Then we follow Fanny to a massage parlor she knows, on the sixth floor of the Excel Building. (Massage is big in that part of the world. Real massage, not always that other kind ( Read more... )

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There was a piece recently in the New York Times about Brooklyn's Grand Army Plaza - and it never mentioned the bizarre and wonderful Bailey Fountain! The fountain is so wacky: nothing's more fun than observing people's slack-jawed reactions as they walk by it. For most of the time I've lived in the area, the fountain was a decrepit ruin, but in ( Read more... )

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