[A slice of Saul Steinberg’s endlessly riffed upon 1976 New Yorker cover, in which he depcits the westerly view through the prism of a stereotypically myopic New Yorker. Or, depending on your vantage point, through a good clear set of binocs. Nice little bit on it here on strange maps.]
Look at that lil’ beefcake. He knows he’s got me right there, in the palm of his tiny hand. Love him so much it drives me up a tree. Did so from jump. Can’t begin to figure out how the lack of my biological connection is diminishing this love. Can’t
City Life, from evie 22’s Flickr photostream I keep threatening to write a Manifesto for Monotaskers, but I can never find the time to give it my undivided attention. You think I’m kidding. I’m not. For a very long time – since I first heard the word used, by a