Much like this recent post, I received another random e-mail out of the blue this weekend alluding to a pic in the Vanishing Downtown Photo Album. Evidently, the age-old Pyramid Club on Avenue A is not closed. I fielded a note from one Chip Duckett who promotes the "1984" party there. As fate would oddly have it, I was down in that neck of the woods this past weekend and noticed that a sign was back up on the edifice of the old spot. So, sorry Chip. My bad. The Pyramid's still open for biz. Go and tell'em I sent'cha. 
However, while the Pyramid might still be there, I was shocked and saddened to spot that Sal's -- the slightly ramshackle pizza parlor that has held court on 7th and A since the year of my birth -- has evidently closed up shop (some cryptically scrawled signage in the window suggests it has moved). Regardless, I have many fond memories of bleary late evenings, standing outside of Sal's, gnawing on their slices after any number of dubious East Village misadventures. It's not that their pizza was especially superfantastic (the best pizza in Manhattan is a needlessly lengthy and slavishly detailed post for another day), but it was sort've a neighborhood institution. It was not at all uncommon to see various neighborhood luminaries at Sal's, from members of local hardcore legends, Murphy's Law through the late Jeff Buckley. I, for one, will miss it. I'm sure they're going to turn it into a nail salon or something.
Elsewhere on A, things continue to morph. Peg and I loaded up the kids in the stroller this past weekend to go check out the bargains at this charming antique/junk shop on East 9th called The Upper Rust. Afterwards, we strolled over to Tompkins Square Park to let Charlotte lose in one of its playgrounds. As we walked in, I spotted none other than local legend, Richard Blum a.k.a. Handsome Dick Manitoba himself. Some little kids were around him (calling him "Richard"), so I can only imagine these were nieces and nephews. In any case, I sheepishly approached him and introduced myself as a big fan, and he surprised me by saying he'd remembered me from the bar. We chatted for a little bit, mostly about the current status of his ongoing war with his neighbors. I'd mentioned that I'd written something about it on this blog, but he said that he stopped reading blogs, as too many people were out there in the blogusphere writing nasty things about him (which made me sad). Honestly, maybe he was a reckless loudmouth back in the 70's, but if even Jayne County can mend fences with him after their infamous clash, surely everyone else can get over it. In any case, in the other instances wherein I've met the man, he's always been a cool, thoughtful and generous gent. Give him a break and go get a drink at Manitoba's.
Afterwards, after chasing little Charlotte around the playground (on some of the same stretch of pavement that played host to the infamous Tompkins Square Park squatter riots in the Spring of 1989) we loaded our kids back into the stroller -- like the yuppie douche bags the new crop of freshly-scrubbed, newly-inked "punk" youths who still flock to the area invariably perceive us to be -- and rolled back West.
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