Jazz in New York City. When it smells like this you know it is authentic. Hit.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
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About me.
Three verifiable things about me. One. I am an only child. The concept of sharing, therefore, is foreign to me. Two. I am a Virgo. The sign regarded as a perfectionist. Three. My mother raised me to be meticulously clean; compulsively tidy. According to my mother, "You have taken this clean thing way too far." I disagree. Apologies to my mother.
Nature or nurture? Who knows? Who cares? I have not been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nor would I label myself a Cleanaholic. Or a Germaphobe. My world though, is definitely a unique place. One where doors open magically. Hotel mattresses are pristine. And estheticians never double dip.
I live in this world without a bubble or a honeycomb mask. About 15 years ago I got tired of catching the flu du jour and became ever more so hygienically vigilant -- perhaps obsessively so.
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Blog Archive
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2010
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July
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- Brother, can you spare a guitar?
- Sir, your table in the alley is ready.
- Hold your engine or your breath.
- Hand rail to hell.
- One tough decision.
- Relax everyone.
- A hand that does my bidding.
- A downward spiral.
- A heads up in Central Park.
- Well fed.
- Mind boggling.
- The Cold Water Lady.
- Speaking of smells.
- Inhale.
- Suicide in Chinatown.
- Dog Poop Karma.
- Protection at its finest.
- What would the Duck Tour tourists say?
- Nothing to see here.
- I spy at Pastis.
- I am at your front door.
- Let's take a closer look, shall we?
- Does it belong to Santa?
- Better than a sleeping pill.
- New, new and new.
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July
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