#Manhattan Haikus

[philgennuso]

The Faces Of Cindy #Haiku #Drawing

Phil Gennuso Arts Flower childManhattan boundthe stage is her destiny ********************************************* Roughly two minutes of lyrical and musical perfection! Moments like this are never forgotten…

[kvetchlandia]

Peter Hujar Poet Anne Waldman c.1975

That all these dyings may be life in death”

I was living in San Francisco

My heart was in Manhattan

It made no sense, no reference point

Hearing the sad horns at night,

fragile evocations of female stuff

The 3 tones (the last most resonant)

were like warnings, haiku-muezzins at dawn

The call came in the afternoon

“Frank, is that really you?”

I'd awake chilled at dawn

in the wooden house like an old ship

Stay bundled through the day

sitting on the stoop to catch the sun

I lived near the park whose deep green

over my shoulder made life cooler

Was my spirit faltering, grown duller?

I want to be free of poetry's ornaments,

its duty, free of constant irritation,

me in it, what was grander reason

for being? Do it, why? (Why, Frank?)

To make the energies dance etc.

My coat a cape of horrors

I'd walk through town or

impending earthquake. Was that it?

Ominous days. Street shiny with

hallucinatory light on sad dogs,

too many religious people, or a woman

startled me by her look of indecision

near the empty stadium

I walked back spooked by

my own darkness

Then Frank called to say

“What? Not done complaining yet?

Can't you smell the eucalyptus,

have you never neared the Pacific?

‘While frank and free/call for

musick while your veins swell’”

he sang, quoting a metaphysician

"Don't you know the secret, how to

wake up and see you don't exist, but

that does, don't you see phenomena

is so much more important than this?

I always love that.”

“Always?” I cried, wanting to believe him

“Yes.” “But say more! How can you if

it's sad & dead?” “But that's just it!

If! It isn't. It doesn't want to be

Do you want to be?” He was warming to his song

“Of course I don't have to put up with as

much as you do these days. These years.

But I do miss the color, the architecture,

the talk. You know, it was the life!

And dying is such an insult. After all

I was in love with breath and I loved

embracing those others, the lovers,

with my body.” He sighed & laughed

He wasn't quite as I'd remembered him

Not less generous, but more abstract

Did he even have a voice now, I wondered

or did I think it up in the middle

of this long day, phone in hand now

dialing Manhattan

-- Anne Waldman, "A Phonecall from Frank O'Hara"

[asolareclipses]

(Previous Part)

“Gods this heat is killing me.”

Will looked back at Jason who was drenched in sweat from the summer sun. “Maybe we should take a quick break.”

“I don’t get how you’re not melting right now,” Jason said as he practically collapsed on the ground.

Will shrugged, “Maybe it’s an Apollo thing. Sun resistance or whatever.”

Jason squinted as he looked up at Will, “Huh.”

Will turned to face the quiet road beside them his face turning somber, “We’re never going to make it there at this pace.”

Jason sighed as he ducked his head in a pointless action to avoid the sun. “I mean we’re halfway there right?”

With a groan of frustration Will turned to Jason, “If only we didn’t breakdown in the middle of nowhere.”

Jason opened his mouth the speak but was interrupted by a loud car horn.

Will watched as a small rusted truck slowly rolled to a stop next to them, the window squeaking as it slid down.

“You boys need a ride?” An old man spoke with a southern twang.

Simultaneously, Will and Jason looked at each other, both with clear skepticism. This had ‘Trap’ written all over it, however they had no other choice.

“Sure,” Will replied with a halfhearted smile, motioning for Jason to follow him.

In no time they were riding smoothly, somewhat, down the empty road in the worn down truck. The inside was no better than the outside either as the seats were clearly old with some tears and stains. Each floorboard was caked with dirt along with scattered pieces of trash or machine parts.

Will scanned each inch of the truck but, apart from its lack of cleanliness, it was perfectly normal. No evil tortue tools or suspicious mythical items. It was exactly what you’d expect from some random southern man. The man himself wasn’t strange either, no third eye or sharp teeth, rather something about him felt oddly familiar.

“So you two off on some adventure?” The man joked as he glanced in the rear view mirror at Jason with a sudden look of melancholy.

“Um we were just,” Will paused trying to come up with something. “On our way to visit our grandparents in Maine.”

Jason glanced skeptically at Will, to which Will read as, ‘In what world are we siblings?’

“Well isn’t that nice,” The man smiled, “Good thing I ran across you two because i’m headed the same way.”

Will thought that ‘coincidence’ should’ve made him nervous but for some reason he felt as if he weren’t in any type of danger.

“How’d you two get stranded?” The man continued the conversation in a relaxed manner.

“The-I mean my car broke down,” Will winced at his own stuttering.

The man shook his head, “Those are some tough roads from manhattan huh?”

Will froze, turning to the man. “I never said where we came from.”

The man’s eyes widened for a split second, “Lucky guess huh?”

Will just stared back, inching closer to the door as if to make a sudden escape.

The man sighed with a frown, “Perhaps i’m not the actor I believed I was. My skills seem to be getting quite rusty.” The southern accent disappeared as he spoke in an eerily familiar tone. “Dressed as an old man. Oh how convincing I am. Yet still I get caught.”

Wills eyes widened as he realized the drivers real identity, “Dad?!”

——

Jason almost got whiplash as he heard what Will said. ‘Dad?’ In no world was this old man Apollo, still there he was, Haikus and all.

“I’m conflicted on whether I should be disappointed in my disguise skills or happy that my child is so quick-witted.” The once old man, now Apollo spoke with a grin.

“Why are you-How are you here?” Will seemed just as shocked as Jason felt.

“I can be anywhere I want of course, and where is better than here?” Apollo words sounded similar to that of riddles. “A good father can give his son a ride once in a while right?”

“Won’t you get in trouble for interfering with, you know, demigod stuff?” Will asked.

“What ‘demigod’ stuff?” Apollo asked his voice pitching a bit higher. “This is just a regular ride with no ulterior motive. At least that’s what i’m going to tell Zeus if he finds out.” He glanced back in the mirror again but as his eyes met Jason’s he quickly looked away with a small frown.

Jason couldn’t help but to remember the last time he’d seen Apollo. He could still feel the coldness of the water, how it felt as he realized his life was about to end.

“So is this your car?” Will’s voice snapped Jason out of his thoughts and back to the current moment.

Apollo shrugged, “Any car can be my car.”

Will raised an eyebrow as his father.

“Okay, I may have borrowed it. But it’s not like anyone will miss this thing, I’ll just replace it with a new one. It’s not like I could’ve used the sun chariot, that would be far too obvious.”

“Right..” Will said, biting back a smile.

“Consider this a favor,” Apollo said his voice suddenly somber. “I know I owe you two far more than just this.” His eyes glanced back at Jason again for only a second.

Will frowned but quickly changed the subject upon sensing the tension, “Do you know what’s going on, if Nico is okay?”

Apollo frowned, “Oh how I wish I could tell you.” His fingers tightened around the wheel, “There is not much I know, just the darkness you all have been so aware of. I can’t predict this outcome and even if I could there would be no speaking it. But you are strong, you are light. Remember that Will.”

Jason could see Will’s face scrunching in confusion but he didn’t say anything, instead he leaned against the window to his side with a distant look in his eyes.

Apollo began to drone on about what he’d been recently doing before he switched over to asking Will as many ‘fatherly’ questions as he possibly could. Jason almost felt left out, he knew his father would never speak to him like that. His father hadn’t even bothered to say anything to him since he came back. Perhaps that was for the best, maybe him acknowledging Jasons existence would mean his end. Or worse, Leo could face consequences too. Jason’s thoughts continued to consume him until he realized that they were slowing down.

Apollo looked at the two passengers hesitantly as the truck rolled to a stop, “This is as far as I can go.”

Will smiled, his eyes without any joy. “Thank you Dad.”

“Anytime Will, I wish I could-” Apollo stopped himself. “Be safe, and bring back Nico.”

“I will,” Will nodded stopping out of the truck.

As Jason turned to exit Apollo suddenly spoke, “Jason.” He paused, “For all that happened, I..I truly am sorry.”

Jason froze for a moment tightly gripping the door handle, he turned to Apollo with a strained smile and shook his head. “Don’t apologize, it was just fate.” He spoke before quickly pushing the door open and stepping out.

Apollo frowned as if he wanted to say something more but decided not to. With a smile and wave he drove off, “Remember who you are Will!” He called out as his voice faded into the wind.

The two of them stood there until the truck was just a spot on the horizon before turning to the rusted sign that read, “Westover Hall 1 Mile Ahead.”

“Well,” Jason turned to Will his voice void of enthusiasm, “We’re here.”

Will bit his lip as he stared at the large school in the distance, “Let’s hope we’re not too late.”

Part Nine?

[syntactition]

lol I made a Will Solace cosplayer go D: at a Percy Jackson photoshoot because I went as Apollo Camper Who, Realistically, Probably Died in the Battle of Manhattan and they were like “you killed off your own OC???” so some other facts about my Camp Half-Blood Cosplay OC who is definitely not just me wearing Camp Half-Blood gear:

hot garbage at archery. might be able to shoot one (1) arrow to save her life but only if Apollo is paying attention and feeling generous while she’s praying

carries a dagger because it’s suicide not to be armed. does not want to use the dagger. not a pacifist, just bad at fighting.

not that good at healing either but has bandaids, painkillers, snacks for dropped blood sugar, and emergency Benadryl. that’s as important, right?

how is she even a child of Apollo!!!

glad u asked

choir kid

introverted but give her a stage and she’s gonna!! sing!!!

poetry

not great at haikus

gets sunburned too easily?? does dad even love her???

thank u for ur time

[sarahrserfati]

Wheatfield - A Confrontation, Agnes Denes, 1982

"Two acres of wheat planted and harvested by the artist on the Battery Park landfill, Manhattan, Summer 1982.

After months of preparations, in May 1982, a 2-acre wheat field was planted on a landfill in lower Manhattan, two blocks from Wall Street and the World Trade Center, facing the Statue of Liberty. Two hundred truckload of dirt were brought in and 285 furrows were dug by hand and cleared of rocks and garbage. The seeds were sown by hand adn the furrows covered with soil. the field was maintained for four months, cleared of wheat smut, weeded, fertilized and sprayed against mildew fungus, and an irrigation system set up. the crop was harvested on August 16 and yielded over 1000 pounds of healthy, golden wheat.

Planting and harvesting a field of wheat on land worth $4.5 billion created a powerful paradox. Wheatfield was a symbol, a universal concept; it represented food, energy, commerce, world trade, and economics. It referred to mismanagement, waste, world hunger and ecological concerns. It called attention to our misplaced priorities. The harvested grain traveled to twenty-eight cities around the world in an exhibition called "The International Art Show for the End of World Hunger", organized by the Minnesota Museum of Art (1987-90). The seeds were carried away by people who planted them in many parts of the globe.

The questionnaire was composed of existential questions concerning human values, the quality of life, and the future of humanity. The responses were primarily from university students in various countries where I spoke or had exhibitions of my work. Within the context of the time capsule the questionnaire functioned as an open system of communication, allowing our descendants to evaluate us not so much by the objects we created�as is customary in time capsules�but by the questions we asked and how we responded to them.

The microfilm was desiccated and placed in a steel capsule inside a heavy lead box in nine feet of concrete. A plaque marks the spot: at the edge of the Indian forest, surrounded by blackberry bushes. The time capsule is to be opened in 2979, in the 30th century, a thousand years from the time of the burial.

There are, still within the framework of this project, several time capsules planned on earth and in space, aimed at various time frames in the future.

Postscript: The above text that was written in 1982 has now added poignancy and relevance after 9/11/01" - Agnesdenesstudio.com

"Rice/Tree/Burial was first realized in 1968 in Sullivan County, New York, in a private ritual. It was a symbolic "event" and announced my commitment to environmental issues and human concerns. It was also the first exercise in Eco-Logic; an act in eco-philosophy. I coined the words to be used this way emphasizing the importance of eco-logical thinking. This work is considered the first ecological realization in public art.

I planted rice to represent life (initiation and growth), chained trees to indicate interference with life and natural processes (evolutionary mutation, variation, decay, death), and buried my Haiku poetry to symbolize the idea or concept (the abstract, the absolute, human intellectual powers, and creation itself). These three acts constituted the first transitional triangulation* (thesis, antithesis, synthesis) and formed the Event. According to evolutionary theories, Event is the only reality, while the reality we perceive is forever changing and transforming in an expanding evolutionary universe in which time, space, mass, and energy are all interconnected and interdependent.

Rice represented a universal substance referring to sustenance and the life-giving element, while the seed itself denoted the nucleus, first principle or cause, the beginning. The act of sowing implied the source of growth, the introduction of a thing into another environment in order to initiate a process, the setting of something into motion (fertilization, conceiving, induction).

The chaining of trees signified linkage, connective units and associations, flexibility and restraint. It implied bondage, defeat, interference with growth and decay. The act of chaining brought attention to the mysterious life-force of an organism and its partial triumph over boundaries and restraints, its uneven, limited transcendence. Chaining trees also expressed choice, the selection and defining necessary in the creative process.

The texture of the forest, having been interrupted by the reordering of its elements, yielded unique structures of isolated or combined sculptural forms. The chains became additional limbs and blended into their surroundings to become visible only in certain lights, angles, and perspectives, conveying the conflicting and interdependent aspects of art and existence, illusion and reality, imagination and fact. The chained trees stood as monuments to human thought versus nature.

The burial of my haiku formed the essence of thinking processes (consciousness, deductive reasoning, and the logic of emotions). It represented the concept as essence of invention, which connects and defines life and death and acts as modifier and rationale for both.

I kept no copies of my poetry, thereby relinquishing, "giving up to the soil," something personal and precious, an act that also symbolized the self-denial and discipline required by this new analytical art form.

The act of burial, or placing into the ground and receiving from it, a cause-and-effect process, marks our intimate relationship with the earth. On the one hand, it indicates passing, returning to the soil, disintegration, and transformation; on the other, generation and life-giving, placing in the ground for the purpose of planting. It is also a metaphor for human intelligence and transcendence through the communication of ideas - in this case, to future descendants.

All three imply change from one form to another, cyclic phenomena, transformation- as from chaos to order and back. Consequently, all three idea representatives or metaphors, the rice, the tree, the burial, become analogous, interactive and interdependent, creating the tension of opposing forces acting on each other and the momentum necessary to pass from one state to another and into further propositions. Their interaction creates a counterbalance as they pass into each other's realm or meaning to become successively interchangeable through their inherent polarity.

The ritual marked the beginning of my involvement with the creation of a "visual philosophy," a complex process which explores essences as forms of communication. It finds methods to put analytical propositions into visual form, defines elusive processes and creates analogies among divergent fields and thought processes. It challenges the status quo and tests its own validity.

In the summer of 1977, the ritual was re-enacted and realized on a full scale at Artpark (Lewiston, New York), completing the first cycle in the evolutionary process of my work and marking an important phase in its development. This periodical summation is a natural evolutionary phenomenon. Organisms probe their environment to find best possible ways to survive by developing memory and the ability to compare. In our limited existence this long view of reaching back and re-examining provides answers as to where we have been and where we are going.

I planted a half-acre rice field 150 feet above the Niagara gorge. The site marked the birthplace of Niagara Falls between Canada and the U.S., twelve thousand years ago. The rice grew up mutant, an unforeseen consequence of Artpark having been a dump-site near Love Canal.

I chained the trees in a sacred forest that was once an Indian burial ground, long since looted and desecrated, working under the watchful eyes of the Indians who seemed to hover over us in the trees and cover our bodies in the form of eerie spiders.

I then climbed out to the edge of Niagara Falls and filmed it for seven days, adding the forces of nature, as a fourth element, to this cycle of dialectics. With this act I also affirmed that my art functioned on the edge of the unknown in a delicate balance of the universals and the self, of the moment and of eternity�and was not afraid to assume the risks such art must take.

The shaky ledge from which I filmed had been dynamited to control the retreat of the falls. Soon after my filming, it fell into the white foam below.

The time capsule was buried at Artpark at 47' 10' longitude and 79' 2' 32" latitude. It contained no objects other than the microfilmed responses to a questionnaire that had traveled around the world, and a long letter I wrote addressed "Dear Homo Futurus."

The questionnaire was composed of existential questions concerning human values, the quality of life, and the future of humanity. The responses were primarily from university students in various countries where I spoke or had exhibitions of my work. Within the context of the time capsule the questionnaire functioned as an open system of communication, allowing our descendants to evaluate us not so much by the objects we created, as is customary in time capsules, but by the questions we asked and how we responded to them.

The microfilm was desiccated and placed in a steel capsule inside a heavy lead box in nine feet of concrete. A plaque marks the spot: at the edge of the Indian forest, surrounded by blackberry bushes. The time capsule is to be opened in 2979, in the 30th century, a thousand years from the time of the burial.

There are, still within the framework of this project, several time capsules planned on earth and in space, aimed at various time frames in the future."

- Text accessed from Agnesdenesstudio.com: Dialectic Triangulation: A Visual Philosophy and Exercises in Logic (1967-69) From The Organic Notebooks 1967-79

Particularly "Wheat field: A confrontation" shares a very direct relationship with my work - in many ways I was interested in the terrorism fear that emerged from the Opal tower shattering, and how the building represents a capital / luxury.

[bricehammack]

Manhattan Island Chewy center, gluten free Crisp, kosher edges

#HaikuHash

#Haiku

[the-haiku-bot]

not a single jack

manhattan/cosmo chase fic

??? not a single one????

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

not a single jack manhattan/cosmo chase fic ??? not a single one????

[thenychaiku]

[creativechaosphoto]

Snow and ice, unsafe to walk in. Yet it can be beautiful as well. . . I'm not a fan of snowfall, esp. here in NYC. But it can be beautiful. Especially when it's falling on a surreal image like the sculpture entitled Fish Bowl, by artist Kathy Ruttenberg. . . One of the many things I enjoy about my city is that it can still surprise and delight you. . . Have a magical day, everyone. . . #NYC #streetphotography #TheBronx #landscapephotography #Brooklyn #nikonphotography #Queens #portraitphotography #Manhattan #blackandwhitephotography #StatenIsland #what_i_saw_in_nyc #nycloveletters #payartists #supportartists #artwillsavemysoul #haiku #poetry #nikon #d3200 #embracechaos #bebetter #chaosphotos https://www.instagram.com/p/ButECcoFf9n/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=z3px7nxrzbjy

[dasfineart]

This haiku is dedicated to a friend - - - Life relinquished with weariness? delight? Urban window, final flight. . "From Whitehall Street #1", Urban Orchestra series, NYC, NY. Photo (c) Daryl-Ann Saunders, all rights reserved. No use or copying allowed without written permission in advance from Artist. . . . . . #haiku #haikupoetry #manhattan #UrbanOrchestraSeries #twilight #darylannsaundersphotography #architecture #urbanlandscape #architecturalphotography #photography #womenphotography #nyc #whitehallstreet #citytwilight #homage #dedication #rip #ny #buildings #openwindow #proartsmember #lowermanhattan #concretejungle #reflections #nighttime (at NYC NY) https://www.instagram.com/p/CB614iMFny9/?igshid=tcn6g81ogwkm

[theamazingmaddyas]

Rick is really bad with consistant ages, but Will is about Nico's age. So, he'd've been 13ish post TLO and pre-TLH.

The best context we have for this is The Hidden Oracle. Apollo's haiku claims his son is older than him, but Apollo is known for dramatics, so we can't take his words at face value. Instead, Will thinks Apollo is 15, and Apollo immediately corrects, "Let's go with 16" or something to that caliber. Based on that, I believe we can assume that Will is 15 as of The Hidden Oracle, which takes place in January, which would make him 14 in The Lost Hero and either 13 or 14 in The Last Olympian depending on if Will's birthday is between August and December/January.

Nico, on the other hand, is a whole nother ball game. In The Titan's Curse, Grover explicately says he's 10, which would make him 12 during the Battle of Manhattan and 13 during the Battle against Gaea. However, in the Blood of Olympus, Leila says to Nico, "Aren't you like 14?" Obviously, this can be taken with a grain of salt, because the age people look sometimes vastly differs from their real age (I personally look 5 or so years younger than I really am, and constantly have to explain to people I'm not in highschool nor a teenager) so he could be younger, but Nico never corrects her. Additionally, in The Sword of Hades, Percy says Nico is 12, and as that takes place in December between BOTL and TLO, and Nico's birthday is said by Rick to be in January, shouldn't be possible. My best way to justify this inconsistancy is that Nico wasn't actually 10 in TTC, he just thought he was because he had no real memories, and in reality he was 11.

Rick also said in a tweet that Will and Nico were about the same age, so take with that what you will.

And I know you didn't ask for info on everyone else's age, but I just thought you should know that Chiara's eighteen in The Hidden Oracle (I'm rereading it rn and Apollo explicitely says so) so she'd be 16 post TLO making her in the older counselor category if Percy and Annabeth are there. Obviously, it's your fic so take everything I say with a grain of salt.

I decided to start a oneshot of all the head counsellors having a party at cabin 12 set sometime after TLO but before Percy dissapears.

And I have a scene where mid way through the younger counsellors are sent away (Connor, Damien, Chiara and possibly Lou?) and it's just the older counsellors (Percy, Annabeth, Pollux, Travis, Katie, Drew, Nyssa, Jake, Clarisse and Chris because Clarisse invited him)

And now i'm wondering how old are Nico and Will?

Cause the wiki says Nico is 14 and Will is 16? (why does that age gap look so odd to me? I know its only two years but 14 just feels younger) but those numbers just feel off to me? Is Nico canonically 14?

[jjuune]

but the wait was worth it because i was in love

A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments - Roland Barthes / Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo & Juliet / Sonnet LXV - Pablo Neruda / Downtown Manhattan - Dieter Krehbiel / Light of Spring - Carl Holsoe / Waiting For You - The Aces / Nick Cassavetes’ The Notebook / The Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoevsky / Harry Styles by Tyler Mitchell for Vogue / Reverie - Winslow Homer / Sad Beautiful Tragic - Taylor Swift / an almost haiku - oozins / the Tall Windows -  Vilhelm Hammershøi / The Bird’s Nest - Shirley Jackson / The Wait - Richard Brautigan

[ausetkmt]

From private “clubstaurants” to NFT reservation tokens to concierge services, getting a table is a lot easier if you’ve got the money.

Credit...Jonathan Carlson

Published Oct. 15, 2022Updated Oct. 18, 2022

As long as there have been high-status, celebrity-studded restaurants, there have been people clamoring to get into them, working contacts, making phone calls, greasing palms. Lately, though, it can seem like every restaurant in New York is that kind of restaurant.

In the pandemic era — with hours cut back in many cases, and a public eager to eat out once again — the competition for tables has reached a frenzied pitch on electronic reservation platforms.

“Without over-embellishing, within five seconds basically all reservations are taken,” said Steve Saed, who started #FreeRezy, a free electronic forum where people could swap reservations among themselves. “It’s like winning the lottery to eat at these places,” he added.

But a new generation of tactics have emerged to help would-be diners jump the line, including latter-day concierge services, NFTs granting holders special privileges, members-only credit card perks and private “clubstaurants.” What they all have in common is that they will cost you.

“However many years ago, it was slip the host or hostess $20 and bypass the line,” said Alex Lee, the chief executive of Resy and vice president of American Express Dining. He runs the companies’ Global Dining Network, a program that offers a select group of Amex members (Amex owns Resy) access to certain restaurant perks through the reservation platform.

The program, he suggested, is just the natural evolution of that furtive $20. For an annual credit card fee in the hundreds or sometimes thousands, Global Dining Access members can obtain priority reservations at hot restaurants across the United States. “The first thing customers want is access, right?” Mr. Lee said.

But at certain members-only restaurants, a reservation alone is not enough.

Haiku, a private Japanese restaurant in Miami, makes a slightly different calculation. The restaurant accepts members by invitation only, for an annual fee, and asks them to commit to at least four reservations annually for a 10-to-12-course kaiseki-inspired omakase menu. The restaurant declined to discuss either the application process or the price.

Jeff Zalaznick, a partner at Major Food Group, was only slightly more forthcoming about plans for the New York debut of ZZ’s Club, which will feature a members-only Carbone. Like the first ZZ’s in Miami, which offers members access to a Japanese restaurant, a sushi bar, a bar and lounge and a cigar terrace, ZZ’s Club New York will bring the Major Food Group experience to the financial and social elite. (Like Haiku, Major Food Group would not disclose the fee or the application process.)

But given that the original Carbone — which recently lost its Michelin star — is already impossible to get into, is it really necessary to have an even more exclusive version just two miles away?

“One of the great things about being a private member’s club, is the fact that you really can tailor everything on the food and beverage side to your customers at an even higher level than you can, obviously, when you’re just a public restaurant,” Mr. Zalaznick said.

This means knowing what members want, and how exactly they want it: How do they take their steak? Do they prefer still or sparkling water? What is their standing order, and with which modifications?

Diners can have all those things at the London import Casa Cruz, on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, but for a stratospheric price tag. The top-floor dining room there is reserved for the 99 members of the restaurant’s “investor group of partners” who have paid between $250,000 and $500,000 to join.

“I think there’s a demand for curation,” said Noah Tepperberg, the co-CEO of Tao Group Hospitality, which next year is opening a private club in the River North neighborhood of Chicago, in collaboration with the restaurant group Lettuce Entertain You.

In the grand tradition of private clubs — from New York City’s Union Club to San Francisco’s Bohemian Club to the recently rebranded ’Quin House in Boston — these exclusive clubstaurants require not only cash but status.

“Restaurants began as places to show off status,” said Andrew P. Haley, an associate professor of history at the University of Southern Mississippi. Generally, this took place in public, where discerning diners could be seen demonstrating their discernment.

The members-only clubstaurant, on the other hand, confers another kind of status, suggested Megan J. Elias, the director of the gastronomy program at Boston University: “You can be a connoisseur among a very small number of connoisseurs.”

Mr. Saed said he’s not surprised that access is being monetized.

“Part of it tracks to the types of people that are renting in New York now,” he said. “With rents pushing over $4,000 to $5,000, I think that the proportion of people that are living here that have the discretionary income to spend are kind of more here.”

Still other restaurants — the public kind — are leaning into patronage-style programs, aiming to give certain customers premier access, while remaining open to the rest of us.

Under normal circumstances, it can take weeks or months to get into Dame, the West Village fish-and-chips sensation. But there is a workaround: Front of House, a platform designed to help restaurants sell “digital collectibles,” also known as NFTs, that grant holders special access.

Instead of lining up at 4:30 p.m. on a Monday, the one day Dame takes walk-in diners, a devoted diner could pay $1,000, which buys them the ability, with at least 24 hours notice, to book a table once a week through the end of 2022. (20 such tokens have been created; 11 have been sold so far.)

Stephanie Dumanian, a cosmetic dentist in Manhattan and a fan of the restaurant, was trying without success to make a reservation for her husband’s birthday when she found Front of House. She bought a token in July, and has been three times since. “It’s been great,” she said. “I feel like I’m supporting a local business.”

Colin Camac, a co-founder of Front of House, said the platform is simply expediting intimacy.

“I think one of the best things in the world is going into a place just like Cheers, where everybody knows your name, where they know what you like, where your martini is sitting there as soon as you walk in,” said Mr. Camac, who is also a regional director at Resy. “It’s an easier way to be part of that community if you don’t have the time to really invest in it.” In other words, anyone can be a regular, for a price.

“It’s kind of a trade secret in the concierge space that you have to build relationships, and spend a lot of time doing it, in order to deliver these very hard to get reservations,” said Peter Adams, the founder of Table Concierge.

His start-up is for people with money but not time, and a would-be diner doesn’t actually have to be a regular to get treated like one. “You could do this on your own,” he said, but he streamlines the process “so you don’t have to wake up at 8 a.m. or book at midnight.”

For a price — usually $50 per reservation per person, but it depends on the difficulty — Mr. Adams works his connections to open doors that appear closed to the rest of us. (White glove service means he will go as far as going to a restaurant in person to negotiate on a client’s behalf.)

With a week or so warning, he puts his success rate at 90 percent. You want Lilia? He’ll get you Lilia, nevermind what Resy says. “We can get you in anywhere other than Rao’s,” he said of the exclusive Italian restaurant in East Harlem.

Though he added: “But if you want to give me $10,000, I can find a way to get you into Rao’s.”

[thepostcardmovement]

Bobby Flay can cook My palate is still in awe until next time friend

[silentauroriamthereal]

2020 fic year in review

I was tagged by my lovely @khorazir! Thanks, you! 

Total number of completed stories: Three, but two of them were fairly long? I wrote: 

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: John/Sherlock, 50,689 words, explicit, John POV. Set in New York, because I was itching to go there and couldn’t, and setting a fic somewhere is the next best thing. Probably my most political fic to date, this one was a deliberate reversal of the fake-couple-for-a-case trope, aka I wanted to create a setting wherein John and Sherlock become a couple during a case but need to keep it a secret for the sake of the case. So I set it at a massive, anti-gay conference in the US. Naturally. :P 

Sine Nomine: John/Sherlock, 45,626 words, explicit, mostly John POV with sections of Mycroft and Sherlock POV as well. In fact, though the sections aren’t equal in length, it’s symmetrical: it goes Mycroft POV/John POV/Sherlock POV/John POV/Mycroft POV. This story has a dark premise and a particularly dark setting for one section. It’s based on the concept of Mycroft rewatching the footage of John beating Sherlock in the morgue for the hundredth time or so and revisiting the question of whether John had been the making of his brother, or made him worse than ever. He’s definitely come to the latter conclusion, but decides to give John one final chance in the form of a test. John, for his own reasons, makes what Mycroft deems the incorrect choice, and Mycroft basically sends him into a death trap. The setting of this place is officially set in Serbia with indirect hints at events similar to the Srebrenica Genocide in Bosnia, but the actual setting is Syria, which I’ve just spent the past year studying intensely. Putting a slice of that into the dark core of this story, albeit disguised as another place, was strangely cathartic for me. The title, which is Latin for “no name”, is a double reference to the village here, which Sherlock and Mycroft never name, ominously referring to it only as “the village”, both to each other and to John, as well as John’s never-named or owned feelings for Sherlock. This one is close to my heart for a lot of reasons, but most of all because of Syria. Also, the vast majority of the time in my writing, I choose a singular POV and stick to it very closely for the entire story. Choosing to rotate between these three men essentially allowed me to show how they’re all justified in their own decisions here, and to examine the relationships between all three of them. It’s a story about reckonings and eventual, hard-won reconciliations. 

The Secret of Hazel Grange. Sherlock/John, 18,181 words, explicit, Sherlock POV. I’m going to claim that the reason I only managed to swing three fics this entire year is partly that I put another project on hold in order to write this one, lol. This is the third Christmas fic I’ve written and I’m happy with how it came out. It’s also the only story I’ve written that’s explicitly set during this pandemic, and during the second London lockdown, which is eerily similar to the code red lockdown my own city is in, so it just felt right. It’s been a somewhat miserable holiday season for me (so many reasons, including unhappiness at work and an illegally high rent increase that my apartment building is putting through, on top of the pandemic and all of that isolation and all of those cancellations), so writing some happy endings for someone else was pure escapism for me. Hopeful for others, too! 

Total word count: 114,496 words of posted fic. 130,796 if we’re counting my work-in-progress that got interrupted for the Christmas fic. :)

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? I wrote about what I thought I expected to be able to write. Right now, I have a full-time job, a part-time job, and then freelance work, all to attempt to make ends meet, so I have very little spare time to write in, unfortunately. So getting over 100k words in is actually somewhat miraculous to me. It feels like not very much when it’s just three stories, but I guess it still amounts to a fair number of words? 

What’s  your own favourite story of the year? Picking favourites is always tough, but for the Syria connection, I’d have to go with Sine Nomine. 

Did you take any writing risks this year? I suppose that going so hard on the whole Republican anti-gay groups thing could be considered “risky” in some circles, but not really hereabouts! LGBTQ+ rights is one of my areas of advocacy (in fact, I’m a founding member of the Rainbow Equity Council at my workplace and spent a crap ton of time this month drafting governance documentation for it), but genocides are the issue that are really closer to my heart, so the Syria connection, even if it wasn’t named outright, could also be seen as a “dangerously” political stance, I suppose. But compared to other writing choices (like Scars, which features actual rape, or any of my Freebatch stuff, or any of the stories where Mary is an overt terrorist (rather than “just” a freelance assassin, lol)), I don’t really think I was terribly risky this year. 

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? The first item on the agenda is to get back to work on Nocturne, my WIP. After that, we’ll see. That said, I STILL would like to get back to searching for an agent for my novel, which is strongly based on Against the Rest of the World. I would also like to write that Johnlock cookbook I keep vaguely promising (it would feature recipes from my fics), and in a quirky “other” sort of project, I also wrote a heap of haikus about Republicans this fall that I’d like to see about getting published. Want a taste? Sure you do. I give you: 

Brett Kavanaugh

Brett has a face like

a snarly little hedgehog.

He likes beer, okay?!

Mitch McConnell

Moscow Mitch is a

corrupt turtle who keeps his

balls in his neck pouch

Most popular story of the year? Well, the longer a story is posted, the more time it has to collect hits, kudos, bookmarks, and comments, obviously, so that makes The Four Horsemen the clear winner here. 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: From this year or in general? :P I often find that my plottiest, most detailed, most researched stories that I personally think contain some of my most thoughtful writing are the ones that get the least attention. For instance, after series 3 aired, I wrote three back-to-back intensely-detailed series 3 fix-it fics (which all, to their credit, do get plenty of attention, though none so much as Vena Cava, the third of the three). Then I wrote a light-hearted, almost-crack porn fic, more as mental relaxation than any sort of literary genius, and that fic - Best of Three - remains my most wildly-popular story of anything I’ve ever written. It used to frustrate me, but now I’m just grateful to have anyone read anything of mine. But along that theme, yeah: the most complex of this year’s stories (Sine Nomine) is probably the one I feel is the least appreciated, but that’s also fine. No complaints here - I’m very lucky to have the readership I have!! 

Most fun story to write: Sine Nomine, for all the reasons I talked about above, though I’d also call this the most emotionally-invested story of mine from this past year. That said, setting any story in Manhattan is always going to be fun, and I loved researching approximately 500 holiday rental properties in various parts of England in order to finally just create my own, aka Hazel Grange, lol. 

Most unintentionally telling story: Ha, well, if you weren’t sure about my stance on gay rights, marriage equality, or Republicans in general, The Four Horsemen should clear that up pretty distinctly, lol! 

Biggest disappointment: Just that I haven’t had more time to write. 

Biggest surprise: Possibly that I felt so able to represent all three POVs in Sine Nomine as equally as I did. By that, I don’t mean being able to write in their perspectives, but rather in presenting their arguments with (I hope) equal persuasion: Mycroft thinks that John’s entire presence in Sherlock’s life has spelled nothing but disaster for Sherlock. He’s arguably not wrong. He decides that John is out of chances, and that he’s justified in being the one to make that call. Sherlock disagrees, hard, and he’s not wrong. John makes the choice he makes for his daughter, not for the choice Mycroft gives him between choosing either Mary or Sherlock once and for all, and he’s not wrong to have done that, or unjustified in wanting to go and demand some answers from Mary, who isn’t dead after all, here. But then I think that their various reasons for reconciliation are all equally justified, too. I hope! Usually when you stick to one perspective, the story naturally gears itself to persuade the reader to identify with that one character and to take their side. Here, I hope I manage to juggle the balance fairly equally. 

I don’t know who’s been tagged in this already, but I’ll tag: @totallysilvergirl, @blogstandbygo, @nade2308, @weneedtotalkaboutsherlock, @hubblegleeflower, and anyone else who writes. 

[cheapthrillsagogo]

Friday the 13th Franchise: A Haiku Review

For some reason i watched every movie in the Friday the 13th series and then wrote haiku’s about them...enjoy (warning: spoilers)

Friday the 13th Hello Crystal Lake Doesn’t Jason wear a mask? Surprise it’s his mom!

Friday the 13th Part 2 Uh oh, horny teens! Jason has mommy issues. He’s wearing a bag...?

Friday the 13th Part III He’s got a mask now!! But for some reason 3D… LOOK OUT! A YoYo!

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter Corey Feldmans here! F*ck yes AND Crispin Glover! I love that dance scene.

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning Alright, blue mask now… Wait, that’s not Corey Feldman… And...that’s not Jason????

Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives Great opening scene. Also a great closing scene. ...but mostly boring

Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood (producer meeting) “Carrie crossover, But we couldn’t get the rights… So uhm, here’s Tina”

Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan Jason in New York Heavy metal boiler room ...were still on a boat?

Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday Goriest so far So wait, Jason is a...worm? This is Evil Dead.

Jason X Jason goes to space or the set of Deep Space Nine what is going on?

Friday the 13th (2009) The Party Down guy, And Jonah from Super Store. Here comes the reboot.

TLDR: Part 1 is classic. The Final Chapter? my fav. Now it’s Freddy time. Tune in tomorrow when I take on the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise I guess... 😑