Old Miami is a bar for the misunderstood.
Gerti loved the jacket I bought from her today at the Downtown Market–it’s just like one that she had in 1962, the year she left her village outside Munich to come to the US.
Remember how Facebook was supposed to usurp the Internet? Few things occasion me such unadulterated schadenfreude as the failure of that scheme. Especially when I find platforms built for goals far less lofty taking precedence over even Facebook’s primary uses. Instagram, for instance, which has led me to not just new friends but chance meetings with old ones, work collaborations, couches to sleep on, new favorites in music, coffee, and cocktails, and now…and now…
Dominick, like most people you meet in Phoenix, is not from here. But he’s even more not from here than average. He was born in the UK and spent enough of his childhood there that he retains an accent…when he’s not masking it–expertly, I might add–in order to avoid having to tell every customer at the Public Market Cafe bar where he comes from, how long he’s been here, etc. Read more
Woodworker Mickey McCann has learned that exquisite craftsmanship lies within a balance between taking your time, and knowing when to stop.
In a world of smug overstimulation, White Heron is the perfect place to warm up.