Nixta Sinks

After a brief attempt at resuming work yesterday, I went and had lunch at a fine sushi place in midtown, though I can't recall its name. I went into autopilot though (partly because I was woken at 7:20 by our Cambridge tenant to tell me that there was a problem with paying rent because Barclays thought that my sort code was a Lloyds one - what fucking retards, I'm with HSBC!) and ordered hot sake and a beer. Incidentally, the Bond film I'm watching just now, written by Roald Dahl no less, informs me hot sake should be served at 98.4 degrees Fahrenheit. However, this seems to bear out my suspicions that Bond-san's assertion cannot be universally correct.

Well, rather than heading home immediately, I felt I should sober myself up with a walk. It was only half way through the walk that I remembered that I wasn't supposed to be drinking in the first place, but it was of course too late by then. I also decided that I should make the walk productive, and to that end began at Niketown in the hunt for a pair of size 11 Harris Tweed Terminators for Dr. Rufus. One does odd things when slightly tipsy.

The walk ended up back home, but not before I had visited Nicole at her store (shameless plug coming up), Circa Now on 6th Street @ 2nd Ave for some advice on where else to look (visit her store like the rich and fabulous do and ask for a Louche bag). I knew about Alife but Nicole very usefully pointed me to Nort which seems to only stock Nikes. She also, I think, was trying to remember Supreme (which the nice chap at Niketown told me was on Broadway & 14th... points for trying though), but I didn't get to go there in the end. In future I'll do a tour of these places.

And in other news, my Green Card arrived today! About bloody time. Now I need to figure out why my immigration lawyer wanted me to call him because he "wants to give [me] something". Could it be another bill? Or is it an arrest warrant? My Green Card process deserves a whole blog of its own.