[Pink Pig Time Machine by Wilfrid: September 29, 2008]
My diary reveals that, between trips to Seattle, Vancouver and London, I was actually apartment-hunting ten years ago this week. The lease up on my midtown eyrie, I'd learned that the owners had decided to move in themselves rather than renew. So there I was...
At the beck and call of an agent, traipsing round unpromising half-built Chelsea basements, rickety old Greenwich Village condos, as well as some nicer properties. I was aesthetically impressed by the condo conversions in the old Rutherford Place, the old "laying-in" hospital on Second Avenue. The rooms were high-ceilinged, eccentrically-shaped, and had splendid tall windows. That was the problem: I'd have had to block half the natural light with bookcases.
I was just beaten to nice place overlooking Madison Square Park, and was tempted by something in an old building opposite St Mark's - it was just a bit too dowdy. I took myself off to a Cowboy Junkies concert at the Beacon to think about it.
The next night involved, and I swear this is true, clubbing. Well, this was ten years ago. After a light supper at the Upper East Side branch of Dock's - oysters and some skewered fish - off to the Latin Quarter, dressed for success of course, for a very late night set by merenguero Fernando Villalona.
I stayed in on Sunday, and cooked a leg of lamb in honor of a Corton grand cru, 1990. Troublingly, a wine about which I remember nothing - and my diary doesn't help either.
After lunch at the relentlessly average, and still prospering, Fresco by Scotto - chicken liver polenta, sweet sausage ravioli - apartment hunting again. This time, a ground floor condo in Gramercy, still occupied by the owners. When madam arrived dripping and betowelled from the shower to let me in, I knew I was onto something.
And that's where I went.
Next week: back to Seattle again.
