Travels with Tinker Bell

Is it really any surprise that a man dedicated to indefinitely prolonging his own childhood should end up living down the road from the Magic Kingdom with a diminutive, non-human companion named Tinker Bell?

I'll admit it, I haven't always had the easiest time making commitments.This is evidenced by the fact that it wasn't until my mid 30's that I got married, and it is only now in my 40's that I've become the newest convert to the religion of dog ownership.

Tinker Bell having a complimentary "puppy sundae" from Leopold's in Savannah, GA

I was reluctant. I hemmed and hawed and kept putting it off, but Jen was insistent. Having grown up with a Shih Tzu named Wonton, she made a compelling and heart-felt case for the necessity of having one here in Florida. For my part, I balked at the cost, at the commitment, at having to wake up at three in the morning to take her out in the middle of a storm, at all of the reasons you can think of not to have a dog. And then, after playing for just five minutes with a spunky, curious little ball of fur that wasn't quite two months old, I melted.

Maybe it's a bit of karmic retribution for having given my mother such a hard time about spending more time and affection on canines than on humans. Her own dogs, Portuguese Water Dogs and Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, have collectively earned more titles and initials following their names than I will ever possess in ten lifetimes. But having now spent nearly two years with Tink, it is no hyperbole to say that her company has flipped my perspective on the matter and also transformed my daily life here in Florida for the better. In short, I get it.

Tinker Bell in front of Castillo de San Marco in St. Augustine, FL

Since leaving corporate america to work for myself, from a home office, nearly ten years ago, it can get a little bit lonely at times. Isolation is a real challenge. But Tink gets me outside, interacting with the world outside my cave/tower. And more recently Jen and I have been taking her on our trips - Initially just within Florida but over the past year also to Savannah and Atlanta, and in the future probably all the way up north to Philadelphia. Our general rule is that anywhere we drive, we take her with.

Traveling with a canine companion (or "your royal fluffiness" as we sometimes refer to her) requires a bit of extra planning in terms of where we stay and what activities we bring her with for. Some hotels charge a pet fee, not typically more than $25, and we scout out doggie day care facilities so that we can give her time to play with friends while we explore museums and other places that aren't dog friendly. And we bring a folder with her medical records as proof that she's up to date on all of her shots. With this little bit proactive planning, the southeast has been surprisingly pet-friendly.

Tinker Bell paying her respects at the grave of Sideways the Dog in Atlanta.

We've even started looking for thematically relevant stops along the way - monuments to famous dogs and such. Tink's a remarkably well-behaved traveler as well. She loves the car - sleeping contentedly on Jen's lap for hours at a time. She's surprisingly adaptable regarding her food, not always the case with Shih Tzus from what I've heard. Jen's previous dog, Wonton, for example, turned her snout up at anything other than boiled chicken served to her on a napkin placed on Jen's parents' bed.

Can it be taken too far? I've read some travel articles that suggest some travelers would prefer that others leave their pets behind, and I understand and respect that point of view (hence the research into pet-friendly hotels and activities). Thankfully Tink isn't "typically" prone to late-night barking fits or other behaviors that would create a disturbance (all the same, we always have plenty of treats and a couple toys on hand for her). If/when bringing a pet impinges on the enjoyment and experience of others, than yes, boarding might be a better option. Should my travels with Tinker Bell ever prohibit Jen and I from exploring any of the items on our adventure lists or deter us from interaction with other humans, then it might be time to rethink things. Lastly, I've informed friends and family that should they see me pushing Tink in a stroller, I invite them to set up folding chairs in a semi-circle in my living room for a "friendly chat."

Tinker Bell visiting Brownie the Town Dog's resting place.

As I write this, Tink is curled up by my feet, waiting for me to finish my post so that I can get on to the day's more pressing matters which include belly rubs, playing with squeak toys and a long walk. Maybe chasing some squirrels and lizards up trees.

On a final note, I should mention that in addition to being my friend and companion, Tinker Bell is also my editor - any misspellings or errors in this post or others are hers entirely.

Tinker Bell and I at DeSoto National Memorial. 

Exploring New York: Shadows of the Original Trial of the Century

The man whose architecture ushered in the American Renaissance would ultimately come to symbolize decadence.

When I mention "the Trial of the Century" people generally assume I'm talking about the OJ Simpson trial, and the name Stanford White doesn't usually mean very much to them. It should though (and if it doesn't anything to you either, I encourage you to read "The Girl on the Velvet Swing"). You see, long before a back Ford Bronco made its famous dash for the border and into our shared consciousness, there was another "Trial of the Century." On the surface these two trials have a lot in common, both featuring the fall of prominent public figures, jealousy, murder and subsequent media frenzies. But scratching the surface reveals very different stories.

Stanford White seems to have had two passions. The first, for architecture, is the one that brought him wealth and fame. The second, for sexual deviance with an emphasis on corrupting young women, is the one that got him murdered - shot three times at point blank range during a play at the old Madison Square Gardens by Harry Thaw, who claimed that White had ruined his wife, model and actress Evelyn Nesbit. Spectators at first applauded, thinking it was one of White's pranks, but after a few moments, once they realized what they had just witnessed, panic erupted.

I'll leave off there, as the purpose of my post isn't to rehash the sordid story, which you are more than welcome to explore elsewhere. Rather, I wanted to see what remnants of White's rise and fall I could find in and around Midtown Manhattan.

I started off by walking to 160 Fifth Avenue, the old offices of McKim, Mead and White. J.P. Morgan, the Astors and the Vanderbilts were just a few of the many prominent clients served by the firm. Other projects included the triumphal arch at Washington Square, the Cable Building, the Bowery Savings Bank, the Judson Memorial Church, the Gould Memorial Library and the same Second Madison Square Garden where White met his end. One can imagine in the days following White's murder, his partners rummaging through his desk full of drafts and documents, seeking out any incriminating evidence that could damage the reputation of the firm and their own careers. Today though, you won't find any traces of the once great firm at what used to be their offices - just a Club Monaco on the first floor.

From there I took a short walk to 22 West 24th Street, which was the site of White's sex crimes. What Nesbit once described as a lavish love nest with heavy re velvet curtains as well as the infamous swing with red velvet ropes and ivy-styled green similax, is today just a gap between buildings.

Not finding any remnants of the seedier side of the story, I turned my attention instead to the higher qualities of White's legacy, with a visit to Washington Square Arch in Greenwich Village. Modeled after the Arc de Triomphe to commemorate the centennial of George Washington's presidential inauguration, it is the structure for which White should be most remembered for, according to his great-grandson.

There's one other physical trace of White's story, which I plan to see in an upcoming visit, not to New York but to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, to see the Golden Gal of Old Madison Square Garden. Once marking the highest point in the city, the nude statue of Diana with her bow drawn, is all that remains of the Beaux Arts masterpiece that White brought to life - and the very same building in which his own life ended violently.

Chihuly Collection

(This piece was edited and published on Atlas Obscura. You can see it here.)

The first custom-designed building to showcase the works of Dale Chihuly is a wonderland of glass and light.

A world-renowned pioneer in the studio glass movement, for more than 40 years Dale Chihuly has created innovative, organic and large-scale glass artworks and installations. In 2017, the collection moved to a new space and the first building custom designed around the artist’s work.

Visitors enter the main body of the 11,000 square foot collection through a hallway of the artist’s works, which is not unlike wandering through a kaleidoscope.

On display are several massive chandeliers that look somewhat like a colony of crystalline giant tube worms decided to celebrate Mardi Gras together. Other works featured include the icy, electric blue Tumbleweeds suspended in its own room, the Macchia Forest of organic bowls and the bright, celebratory Mille Fiori as well as various Ikebana and Niijima Floats.

Also on display are many of the artists’ works on paper, as well as pieces from both his Sea Form and Venetian series. Interestingly, one of those Venetians on display was once stolen from the collection, only to be returned the following day in a crude, taped-up box. The work was unharmed, but it had also been wiped clean of any fingerprints and at the time of this writing, the case remains unsolved.

Know Before You Go
A thirty-seat theater runs a loop of interviews and information about the artist and some of his more well-known installations around the world, and the gift shop has original works available for sale. Tickets for the collection are also good for a free glass blowing demonstration across the street at the Morean Glass Studio & Hotshop.

Rabbit Rabbit

Or sometimes "Rabbit, rabbit rabbit" or "white rabbit" or just "rabbits;" the variations of the superstition are myriad, although its origin has been lost to us. If its the first phrase spoken on the first day of a new month supposedly it brings good luck. I don't know if it being the first words on the first day of a new month of a new year theoretically amplifies that good fortune, but maybe it can tilt the emotional scales in favor of sweet over bitter. Yesterday, December 31st, 2018 my friend Steve would have been 43. Tomorrow, January 2nd would have been my maternal grandmother's birthday. And the 7th would be my maternal grandfather's birthday. All now of blessed memory, or OBM, as they say.

But a new year means a renewal. Fresh calendar, fresh fiscal year for many businesses, fresh start - even if somewhat illusory. And yet, not surprisingly, I'm looking backwards as well as forwards, occupying a temporal limbo between the world that once was and the world that is yet to be.

This year Jen and I stayed in, which was quite pleasant. She worked all day, and Tinker Bell (our shih tzu) doesn't do all that great with fireworks. So we had a nice, quiet night. Watched some TV. Jen was asleep before midnight. Contrast that with last year, when we packed into Duval Street in Key West to witness the drag queen Sushi descend in her ruby slipper to welcome in the new year. That was really something to see.

Over the years I've had a full range of New Years experiences - in Times Square New York, in Philadelphia, in Michigan, Chicago, Seattle - sometimes alone and sometimes with friends and loved ones. My thoughts and feelings about all of these various and diverse experiences shift over time, but the New Years memory that has come most vividly to the forefront as my favorite was the one that I was initially the least excited about.

It's the New Years I spent with my grandparents on my mom's side. Marty and Selma.

I think I was maybe 12 years old - just at the point of being self consciously aware that spending New Years with your grandparents was uncool. I let go of my reluctance, not really having any other options, and resigned myself to an evening of wishing I was elsewhere. I recall bits and pieces rather than the evening in its entirety. I know we played monopoly (monotony, as my mother called it), as we did as part of most of our visits. I also recall that at some point, after an hour or two once all the properties had been acquired and the gave transitioned to making alliances and negotiations, my sister slipped away to tie a bandanna around the lower half of her face, arm herself with a pair of pop cap guns and push through the swinging doors into the 1950's styled kitchen to announce that she was robbing the monopoly bank. This had also become part of our tradition and signaled that it was time to transition to a new activity. I can still hear my grandfather's deep, whole-body laugh, the epicenter of which was somewhere in his belly.

I think it was at that point that we went upstairs to the den that I always think of as the circus room, with its slightly unsettling cubist clown paintings, burgundy carpet and red and white stripped lampshade. We probably watched Johnny Carson and at some point my grandmother brought up a bowl of perfectly roasted chestnuts, made all the more memorable for bucking the trend of her countless kitchen fiascoes (which regularly set of smoke alarms and on at least one occasion required that we all take cover from projectile hard boiled eggs). Just around the stroke of midnight I think I dozed off on the couch with tiny diodes and circuitry in my hands, trying to reconfigure a disassembled old radio that would remain forever mangled.

The following morning we watched the Mummers and the floats parade by on TV, after which I went with my grandfather to synagogue, where we somehow ended up with dozens of balloons which had been left over from a new years celebration the night before. Once we returned home I proceeded to tie them all together and wrap them around the legs of tables and chairs on the lower floor of the house, creating a web-like maze through which my sister and I crawled the rest of the morning.

Somehow, over the course of the stay I'd gone from wishing to be anywhere else to wanting to be nowhere else on earth, and for all the unusual and interesting new years experiences I've had since, not one can hold a candle to that new years eve I spent with my sister, the monopoly bank bandit, and my grandparents.

Jen and I and my grandmother at brunch in Jenkintown.

The Florida Adventure List: Volume I

Given the fun that Jen and I had creating and exploring our Chicago Bucket List, we decided to create a new one upon our arrival in Florida. Even though we initially called it our Tampa Adventure List, it actually took us all over the state, from Key West up to Saint Augustine and plenty of places in between, which has led me to refer to it more broadly now as the first volume of our Florida Adventure List. It was ambitious, but after just over two years, we're down to the last handful of items and have already begun a second volume. Here's how Volume I looked when we started it:

Here's a list of the items we've completed:

• Item #1: The Henry B. Plant Museum - What was once the Tampa Bay Hotel is today part of the University of Tampa and a museum which shows the city's transformation.
• Item #2: Gravity Research Foundation Monument - one of a dozen such markers at college campuses throughout the eastern U.S. highlighting Roger Babson's battle against gravity.
• Item #3: Howl-O-Scream at Busch Gardens
• Item #4: Epcot - did you know that's actually an acronym for "Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow? In terms of iconic Florida images, next to dolphins and palm trees, the golf ball shaped "Spaceship Earth" is probably second only to...
• Item #5: The Magic Kingdom. Or, as I sometimes refer to it, "Shrine of the Mouse God." I'm not complaining though, I've happily paid and prayed at that alter many times since becoming a Florida resident, and I'm sure I will do so a great many times more.
• Item #6: Universal Orlando. We were there just time for their "Halloween Horror Nights," which are impressive enough to warrant the lines.
• Item #7: Airstream Ranch. Essentially RV installation artwork. It has since been removed, but I understand that it may be replaced with an Airstream museum.
• Item #8: Dysfunctional Grace Art Co. Taxidermy, surgical antiquities and occult collectibles. Warning, the stuffed kitten on display might make you cry. I'm not saying that happened to me. I'm just saying that, theoretically, if it did, it would be understandable.
• Item #9: Hong Kong Willie. The beach version of an outsider and recycled art park.
• Item #10: Hindu Temple of Florida. One of Florida's many remarkable architectural sites and, conveniently, the one that happens to be closest to where Jen and I live.
• Item #11: Parque Amigos de Jose Marti. One of Ybor City's lesser known oddities as I'm pretty sure this is the only spot in the United States where you stand on Cuban soil.
• Item #12: Spook Hill. A gravity hill located in Lake Wales.
• Item #13: Bok Tower Gardens. Home to the most stunningly beautiful carillon tower I've ever seen.
• Item #14: Whimzeyland. A home made into a mosaic and outsider artwork.
• Item #15: Clearwater Beach.
• Item #16: Big Bend Power Plant Manatee Viewing Center. On the day we went we must have seen as many as 50 sea cows enjoying the warm water discharged by the power plant.
• Item #17: Gibsonton. A town circus and sideshow performers (go watch the old X-files episode "Humbug" for more detail).
• Item #18: The International Independent Showman's Museum. The place where we discovered that Jen suffers from a rather acute case of coulrophobia, and consequently her absolute least favorite thing on this or any of our lists. I thought it was pretty neat though.
• Item #19: Hand Rolled Cigar. While Ybor City would have been the obvious place for this, I actually had one at Cuban Paradise in Madeira Beach.
• Item #20: Tampa Bay Lightning Game.
• Item #21: Ella's Americana Folk Art Cafe. Great food somehow tastes even better while sitting across from a whole wall of Elvis, Howard Finster artworks and a two-headed alligator.
• Item #22: Weeki Wachee. Nothing says Florida quite like the live mermaid shows.
• Item #23: SS American Victory Mariner's Museum. One of only three still operable Victory class ships in the US.
• Item #24: The Dali Museum. We've been here now a few times, but the Frida Kahlo exhibit has been our favorite.
• Item #25: Cleanse Apothecary. Jen loves apothecaries and frankly, after the International Independent Showman's Museum, she earned it.
• Item #26: Gasparilla Festival. It's pretty much a pirate version of Mardi Gras complete with floats, beads and plenty of rum. For our first experience we had the good fortune of getting an invite to the pirate breakfast at the yacht club before they boarded their ship to "invade" Tampa.
• Item #27: Columbia Restaurant. Florida's oldest restaurant and the largest Spanish restaurant in the world, according to their website. It has become our favorite special occasion dining spot.
• Item #28: Tampa Bay History Center.
• Item #29: Jack Kerouac House. This brought me back to my late teen Beat Generation fixation.
• Item #30: St. Augustine. The oldest continually-occupied city in the United States is so wonderfully weird in all the best ways. There's so much to check out here that we created a St.Augustine Adventure List.
• Item #31: Church by the Sea. Also known as the Chicken Church. You can see my Atlas Obscura entry for more information.
• Item #32: The World's Largest Shuffleboard Club.
• Item #33: The Ringling Museum. Actually, there are multiple museums housed here, each of which is worth a visit.

• Item #34: St. Armands Circle. In recognition of Jen's fond childhood memories of Sarasota.
• Item #35: Plant City Strawberry Festival.
• Item #36: Old Tampa Book Company
• Item #37: Lowry Park Zoo.
• Item #38: Oaklawn Cemetery. Tampa's oldest public cemetery is home to veterans for 14 different wars, pioneer priests, pirates, yellow fever victims, Tampa's first Mayor, and much else.
• Item #39: The Sponge Docks.
• Item #40: Fantasy of Flight. The world's largest private aircraft collection.
• Item #41: Shell Factory and Nature Park.
• Item #42: Venice Beach.
• Item #43: Harry P. Leu Gardens.
• Item #44: Monument of States.
• Item #45: Big Cat Rescue.
• Item #46: Fort De Soto.
• Item #47: Skunk Ape Research Center
• Item #48: Ochopee Post Office. The smallest post office in the US.
• Item #49: Key West. Like St. Augustine, there was so much to see and do that this item also got it's own smaller adventure list.
• Item #50: Key Lime Pie. The Keys seemed the ideal place for this item - we had a slice at Blue Heaven and were not disappointed.
• Item #51: Ed Leedskalnin's Coral Castle.
• Item #52: Toss for the Cross.
• Item #53: Museum of Science and Industry. This one was a bit of a let down - I think the Museum of  Science  and Industry in Chicago has set my expectations perhaps unfairly high.
• Item #54: Tampa Bay Ballet. Just as my former life in Chicago led me to disappointment with Tampa's Museum of Science and Industry, Jen's reaction to this item was "the Joffrey it is not."
• Item #55: De Soto National Memorial. To be clear this is different than Fort De Soto.
• Item #56: The Sea Hagg. You can see my write up on it here.
• Item #57: Sea World.
• Item #58: Phoenix Glass Studio.
• Item #59: Canoe the Hillsborough River. Technically we were in a kayak, but I think it fulfills the spirit of this item.
• Item #60: Angel's Diner. The oldest diner in the state of Florida.
• Item #61: Caladesi Island.
• Item #62: Mote Marine Laboratory & Aquarium.
• Item #63: Cassadaga.
• Item #64: Captain Memo's Pirate Cruise. Cheesy, but fun.
• Item #65: Tupperware World Headquarters Museum.

We've still got six items left on the list, but I think we'll be able to knock them out in 2019:

• Item #66: Wandering Eye Art Gallery. Even though it's closed, from time to time they do have shows.
• Item #67: Daytona Drive-In Church.
• Item #68: Bern's. Tampa's most famous steak house.
• Item #69: Drive-In Movie Theatre
• Item #70: OJ Tour.
• Item #71: Shuttle Launch. Or rocket - I think shuttle implies a manned craft. This is the one that I'm most looking forward to.

Passages Leading Deeper Within

A few half-forgotten lines from a novel can be both a means of transporting us as well as the destination itself. 

That's how it feels sometimes - that the more I immerse myself in the strangeness of where I live and travel now, the closer I get to something I left behind, buried. Like a sudden epiphany that the secret coded message I've been searching for was written in my own genetic sequence all along. And that is the path down which I wish us to travel here.

I mentioned in an earlier post that looking up old adages and sayings had been leading me deeper into the uncharted parts of my own dream gallery / mind palace - to that place where the unlabeled things have been kept since long before I went through the mental effort of visualizing a structure in which to house them. I'm rediscovering passages from books and snippets of stories that once spoke to me - and I'm finding that while some have lost their luster, others now impact me even more powerfully than they did when first I encountered them. Truly, it seems, one cannot step twice into the same river.

One passage in particular, from the book Boy's Life by Robert R. McCammon, which I must have read when I was fourteen or so, apparently resonated so strongly with me at the time that all these years later, in some ways, I've been inadvertently recreating it.

To be clear, I'm not talking about any conscious or malicious act of plagiarism. I'm in no way intentionally rewriting the work of another in order to claim credit for it. It's more like following in the footsteps of someone much more skilled and experienced - the literary equivalent of discovering the remains of Chester Copperpot as a sign that you're on the right path. And whereas McCammon's story was a fictional novel with a fixed destination, this blog is not. But he and I are quite clearly trying to describe the same phenomenon, with similar language - about the ways we lose and (attempt to) reclaim those faint and fleeting traces of childhood wonder. 

Here it is, in his own words:

“You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.

After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.

That’s what I believe.

The truth of life is that every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, some of them not so good. Things happen to us. Loved ones die. People get in wrecks and get crippled. People lose their way, for one reason or another. It’s not hard to do, in this world of crazy mazes. Life itself does its best to take that memory of magic away from us. You don’t know it’s happening until one day you feel you’ve lost something but you’re not sure what it is. It’s like smiling at a pretty girl and she calls you “sir.” It just happens.

These memories of who I was and where I lived are important to me. They make up a large part of who I’m going to be when my journey winds down. I need the memory of magic if I am ever going to conjure magic again. I need to know and remember, and I want to tell you.”

Portals Forever Sealed

"There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain"

Next to recalling absent friends, I can think of no activity more nostalgic than revisiting those places from your younger days which have vanished - like surveying craters where once stood the capitol city of self. Finding padlocks on the doors that once led through the portal to another world, some place that shaped you - well, it can break your heart. But I don't want to be maudlin about it. Rather I want to conjure those places back into being, just very briefly, so that you can experience them here (as you can no longer do so anywhere else). And in so doing, maybe you can get a better sense of what it is that I'm seeking to recapture as I scout out every wunderkammer and roadside attraction I can find. So here they are for you, just four of those points of interest that defined my most deeply personal Terra Incognita Americanus.

City Gardens - Trenton, NJ. I think it's probably safe to say that no one else on earth mourns the loss of what it would be far too flattering to call a dive. I can still feel and hear the sound of my sneakers sticking to floor and the olfactory assault of old beer and stale cigarette smoke as I entered. It was dingy and grimy - cutting yourself there on the busted metal paper towell dispenser in the bathroom would almost certainly require a battery of shots for tetanus and god only knows what else. But then the lights went out, a band took the stage, and suddenly none of that mattered - you were transported to a universe light-years away. It was there as a teenager that I saw my very first show - a little punk rock band called Mojo Nixon and the Toad Lickers. And it was the place where I got hooked on live music, which was one of the precious few things that made my high school years bearable. Over the years I saw more bands perform there than I could count, including the Ramones, Bad Religion, Rollins Band, Bad Brains, Ween and the like. James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem was a bouncer there. Jon Stewart was a bartender there before becoming a comedian. Danzig played their very first live show there. Sure, it may have been overshadowed by venues like CBGB's in New York, but it carved out it's own tiny place in punk rock history and earned a considerably larger spot in my own young life.

River East Art Center - Chicago, IL. When I moved back to Chicago somewhere around 2003 or 2004, I moved to a studio apartment in Streeterville. I came to know the neighborhood, not only for its unique story (which we'll get to another time), but also for the collection of astounding young artists that had studios down the street from me. The space itself was designed to impress - a glass stairway, an indoor waterfall, high ceilings with exposed wood and duct-work - it was hard not to feel creative or inspired there. It was more than just the place, it was the contents - home to such a brilliant collection of talent there: Terry Dixon, Rebecca Moy, Rory Coyne, Predrag Djordjevic to name just a few. In the same way that City Gardens was my introduction to live music, River East Art Center opened to me the world of visual art studios and galleries, which were so much more intimate than the museums I'd visited. From there I started to explore other artist studios and collectives, from the Fine Arts Building to the Cornelia Arts Building to a great many others. But River East Art Center always had a special magic for me - it was the first. And when I launched my own art leasing venture, some of the artists I had encountered there were among the very first I approached.

The Tin Angel - Philadelphia, PA. Funny how you can live somewhere for such a long time without ever really getting to know it. That's how I feel about the city of Philadelphia. I grew up in the suburbs there, but it wasn't until I moved back there in my late 20's that I began to explore it. My friend T helped open that door, introducing me in many ways for the first time to a place I thought I knew. Among the memories I treasure from this period, which was a tough time for me, was finding the Tin Angel. A small, urban acoustic cafe up a steep flight of stairs from Serrano Restaurant at 20 S. 2nd Street in the Old City neighborhood, with murals painted on both walls, dim, flickering lights reflecting faintly off the tin ceiling (violet, as I recall - the color I most associate with twilight and magic) and amazing musicians. My first time there was to watch Jeffrey Gains play on the small stage, transfixed by the sound and depth and broken beauty of his voice and guitar. Truly, it was like stumbling into some alternate reality. I came back a number of times to see various bands and solo performers, and it never failed to deliver. The way I imagine that the devout feel after attending a service or a sermon, that's probably the nearest thing I can compare it to. At that time, at that place, when I so desperately needed it, I had found a slice of creative salvation.

Iggy's - Chicago, IL. If there's an afterlife in which restless souls are bound to the one spot that they most loved in life, any who would wish to seek me out would be well advised to begin at 700 N. Milwaukee Avenue. I loved that place. I loved everything about it. It was my dark, urban swank Gen X version of Cheers (or Jeers, maybe). It was one of the first places in Chicago where I became a regular. If I close my eyes I can still picture the redheaded bar tender, Sherry, mixing a martini and talking to a patron above the murmur of conversion and the music (6 Underground by Sneaker Pimps, or maybe something by the Replacements, I'm thinking) about that year's motorcycle show, which the owner, Dion, hosted. And I can taste each item on the menu - while my friend Jake who introduced me to the venue was always a fan of their lemon butter bow-tie pasta, I always preferred the spicy chicken ravioli. I can visualize the edgy artwork on the brick walls, the curtains of chain links, and the small outdoor patio area where they projected cult films during the summer. I can feel the sweet bite of bourbon on my lips and tongue - Basil Hayden, on the rocks. When I moved back to Philadelphia, Iggy's also moved to a new location, in Bucktown. I never visited this second site, but I heard that it lacked the same feel, and so it closed. When I moved back to Chicago, it reopened for a third and final time, in a smaller space. It had the same menu, the same drinks, but still lacked that feel of the original. It did, however, have just enough magic left in it for one grand finale - it's where Jen and I had our first date, and it was at that location, years later, where I planted a knee on the cracked sidewalk and proposed to her. 

There are places that I came to before these and others I've come to since, but when I think of those impossibly, imperfectly magical places I've found along the way, these are the first ones I think of. Each of them, in its own way, is like the town of Spectre in the story Big Fish; inaccessible now they take on mythic qualities when viewed through the kaleidoscopic lenses of subjective and selective memory. The first time I came to these places, I was, perhaps, too early. To find them again today, certainly, it is too late.