New York Ho

After agonizing for a silly amount of time, I’m going to NYC for the weekend. I even bought a bus ticket. I still don’t have anywhere to stay though, so if you’ve got an empty couch in The City let me know.

Print me a shoe

I once bought some stickers from that came out well, and I knew they also did T-shirts and mugs and such … but it seems they’ve now partnered with Keds to sell one-off custom shoes. And wouldn’t you know it: someone has already designed a pair in homage to One Laptop Per Child and Sugar Labs (based on this artwork).

It’s a partnership with Keds, which makes perfect sense. Keds makes fabric shoes that are easy to print on; the shoes literally present a blank canvas. From the name on up, the brand associates itself with childish delight, and has none of the constraint (or prestige) of Fashion. Apart from this effort, their shoes are basically unstyled.

On closer inspection it looks like this effort isn’t really all that new. It started in 2008, initially cobranded as Keds Studio. It’s still running after 3 years so someone must be buying them … but I hadn’t heard of it until today, so they haven’t exactly taken the world by storm.

I’m sure it would be fun to have my own unique pair of custom-designed Keds, if only I had a use for shoes that you can’t wear in rain, heat, business, formal events, running, bicycling, or any other practical application.


To Whom it May Concern,

The past tense third person conjugation of the English verb “to lead” is “led”.

Your spell checker is overmatched; you must meet this challenge alone.


The wedding this evening was held at the former castle (ok, mansion) of Henri Willis Bendel, which is now the Stamford Nature Center. The ceremony was held in the garden across from a trio of Renaissance-style marble figures, and the reception took place mostly in the Great Hall. Everything about the wedding was simple, artful, and heartfelt, from the lemonade before the ceremony to the assortment of pies and ice cream for dessert.

Admittedly, the catering was so delicious that I have trouble focusing on the meaningful bits. I could eat pineapple cole slaw and fried-balls-of-rice-with-cheese-in-the-middle every day of the week.


When I was in elementary school there was a restaurant called “Arcudi’s” in my town, a fixture for decades. By the time I got to middle school it had closed, possibly because the chef/owner was distracted by his duties as the new First Selectman (the New England version of a small town Mayor).

I was driving down the Post Road recently and was shocked to see the Arcudi’s sign back up. Tonight I ate there for the first time in almost 20 years, long enough that I didn’t even remember what they serve.

The answer, it turns out, is great, rich pizza, with generous toppings under a layer of cheese so thick that two slices from their small-radius thin-crust Large covered the distance from starving to stuffed, and with enough sauce that there’s a little liquid left if you know where to look.

Joe Arcudi himself was there, schmoozing with patrons at the seat-yourself tables clothed in brown paper. He mused about the price of prefab ravioli and said he’d been at this so long “I peel carrots in my sleep”.