I am pinching myself this morning in order to make sure the previous week was actual and not part of a digital algorithm implanted in my forehead. It was really one of those weeks and I've just finished checking Mr. K's blog to compare notes on its highpoint which was yesterday's "jazz mass" into which I was drafted at the very end of last week's ( Read more... )

What a beautiful club Bing has. One of those splendid piles of old stone that are within a short walking distance of Grand Central Station. All of those places: the old Algonquin Hotel, the Royalton, the old Williams Club on East 3929th, all seemed designed to give old sots one last toast before boarding the 8:05 to Darien. Even the old, soon-to-be ( Read more... )