…and that title is from? Wait…here’s a hint.
I was walking through Union Square on my way to meeting and drinking and I stumbled across the sandman. This is Joe Mangrum. He uses sand to create intricate designs.
He pours colored sand through his hand. The piece lasts until the wind and weather say that’s enough.
I chatted him up a bit. He started around 2:30 that afternoon and I walked by around 5:30. I mentioned that it reminded me of a mandala. He said he prefers to call them sand paintings. He feels that mandala is a quasi-religious eastern term that might box-in his work and alienate potential customers. He’s absolutely right, you know. It’s all about branding.
It looked like painstaking, back-breaking work. The crowds were appreciative and respected his space. Check out that red. It really makes the work pop.
I sat next to this brick to read. Guys like this used to take my lunch money away when I was in junior high school. Tattooed neck. Piercings. Big stomping shoes. A steely look in the eye. Doesn’t smile easily.
Except that most of them would not have used a teddy bear iPhone cover or painted their fingernails black.
After the sandman and my junior high flashback, I met two former colleagues for margaritas. We wanted to practice for Cinco de Mayo. I got a little drunk. I’m not a drinker and don’t treat myself to a proper sousing very often. It’s not my thing. It never really was. I was always more of a narcotic guy. I snobbishly thought that narcotics were more elegant and had more panache than alcohol. Can you imagine? What idiots we are in our youth.
I hadn’t planned on a dunking (especially, it being a Tuesday) but we started talking and laughing and that always leads to another round, doesn’t it? Two guys and one girl. The conversation is different than if it had been three guys. This is my preferred configuration. Girls are fun. Each round peeled away another layer of reserve. The conversation pinged between hilarious anecdotes and deep intimacies. You can’t plan evenings like this, folks. They unfold unexpectedly, happily.
The restaurant had this cool little diver sculpture against a lighted blue background.
As a matter of fact, there were a bunch of them.
Actually, there was an entire wall of them.