Taking pictures was not allowed inside the monolithic church at St. Emilion. I thought I did not mind this because while I was gobstruck by sheer effort of building this cathedral into — and out of — solid rock, there was actually not very much to see. But then I turned around and underneath one …
There’s a pause because I couldn’t remember the next chord. It’s one take, only, the first only, no sheet music. Sing along, why doncha?
Or: In which a prestigious publisher makes me feel like a jerk, I am mad about it, and as a result, I set a bridge on fire. Heads up: Inside baseball. Want out? I really liked this piece about reclaiming summer on Miss Expatria. I recently received an offer to contribute on a regular basis …
Jim Abernethy, Ed Viars, Mark Bader, Pete Harris, and our private chef, Thierry Rautureau, at the Madison Valley Bastille Bash. Theirry sat in with the percussion section, adding some serious depth to the beat with the kitchen tongs and Weber grill. This is what I’m doing when I’m not writing. I think my expression tells …
At a press dinner a few weeks ago I meet a 20 something from Shanghai. He had terrific slang choked English and bleached hair and a lot of bracelets strung up his wrists. He’d been to New York and LA and loved them both. He was crazy for American television — he mentioned True Blood …
Two things I did not buy from an antique store in Castle Rock, Washington. A piece of French sheet music that included an add for ukulele lessons. “Learn in 10 minutes thanks to the Francis Salabert Method!” A Blickendorfer typewriter, with carrying case, from the late 1800s. I regret leaving both of those things behind.