#307: Requiem for an Arcade

Garment District, NYC

Today's 307 marks a sort of requiem, a headstone if you will, for a pretty wonderful time in my life -- the time I played accordion and sang in the now-defunct punk-pop cabaret band known as Peacock's Penny Arcade.

The nostalgia in this photo lies not just in the word "ARCADE" on the facade, but also in the fact that we rehearsed inside this building on West 36th Street. I tend to only play in bands so big we bring our own entourage (it lessens the sting, I've found, when only three or four people show up for your gig), and this endeavor was no exception. While I'm certainly not short on things to do these days -- revising my novel with one hand, taking notes for my thesis with the other, waiting till weekends when I can grab my hockey stick and smash stuff up on the ice rink, and by "stuff" I mean "myself," mostly -- I do miss huddling in the poorly upholstered, lager-soaked internment cells practice rooms with six or seven of my closest friends, singing songs we'd written about Alexi Sayle, rust belt vampires, and Robert Mitchum.

Perhaps the best oddball gig we ever took was a spot playing on the Queen Mary 2 for the PEN World Voices kickoff party, which, for all its infinite weirdness, got written up here. Salman Rushdie, I should mention, was not in attendance at the event (neither was he in hiding), but his name was on the invitation, dammit, and I take great pride in being the house band -- and for being at least 1/7 responsible for Dale Peck and Jonathan Ames taking the stage armed with tambourines and kazoos to entertain our most illustrious audience.

I don't knock about the garment district too often these days, but when I do, the arcade is never very far from my heart.

#308: Cult Classic

Upper East Side, NYC

While I'm not crazy about the typography on this one, there's something so weird about this whitewashed setting and eerie orange glow that I can't quite get over. The place looks like the entrance to some minimalist Upper East Side sun cult. Wouldn't get too close to this one.

#309: F Stops

Cobble Hill, Brooklyn

This one's been a secret favorite for years. If you're ever near the Warren Street entrance to the Bergen F stop, you can spot this 309 over the door on one of the buildings. And if you squint really hard, you can just make out two pencil-drawn circles inside the zero and nine, giving it that extra homemade appeal.

#310: Backward Hash Tag

Billings, Montana

I think this artifact comes from those pre-internet, pre-social media days, before everybody had to know what everybody else was saying about #310. Plus it's from Montana, where they do things differently than everybody else does, and why not? If it works for this number, it works for me.

#311: Slab Serif Overdrive

Tribeca, NYC

Just saying, if Bachman-Turner can do it, so can slab serif. And with that ill-advised typographical homage to the Winnipeg classic rock group, I do believe I've just taken care of business.

#312: Area Code

DUMBO, Brooklyn

312 was my area code when I was a kid, and I still feel a connection with it. All Chicago phone numbers -- both the city and the suburbs -- were 312 until I entered the double digits, when Chicago kept 312 and 708 became the area code for the suburbs. It remained that way till the truly inglorious and forgettable 847 arrived, and I've stopped developing fond feelings for area codes ever since.

By the way, as for "Chicagoland," I never liked that phrase, but it rolls off the tongue better than "The Greater Chicagoland Area," which I should remember every time I stumble over "Columbia Waterfront District." It seems I'm destined to live in places that push the 140-character limit.

#313: Stone Palindrome

Upper West Side, NYC

#314: City of Glass

Chelsea, NYC

#315: Fading Light

Upper West Side, NYC

#316: Chelsea Blue

Chelsea, NYC