Percy Griffith, a salt-water man with long sea duty behind him, is Inspector 71 for the Department of Air Pollution Control of the City of New York. He walks the shore spotting craft with powerful binoculars, as they come into or leave the harbor, to see whether they’re blowing their stacks. He often tags big vessels right at quayside.

—Meyer Berger, “New York, A Great Reporter’s Love Affair with a City” (1955)

In Medieval Wales, a similar tale was told of the crelith, semi-domesticated sprights who could often be found beneath the largest bench or chair in the house, its four legs demarcating the corners of their territory. The crelith would pour into the streets on procession days, violently jockeying for position at the heels of a princess and the rose petals she walked over.

In the New World, these mythical little beasts are commonly called “aisle monkeys,” and they are sometimes sighted at Episcopalian weddings, especially outdoors, and especially in Connecticut. I took this extraordinary picture with the help of a tripwire, a long exposure, and a hidden camera in the altar. I believe it is the first-ever photograph of an aisle monkey, lured into the open by the sounds of catering plates or, possibly, disco hits from the adjacent tent.

I realize there are a lot of questions you readers ask me by email that I…just don’t bother to answer. Like: What’s your favorite color?” (Kite.) Or: “Why aren’t you on MySpace? (#1, because I have a website and #2, because I’m a grown-up.) Or: “Who’s your favorite historical castaway?” (It’s not Alexander Selkirk, as many of you assume. No—it’s Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca.)

But there’s one question that I never grow tired of answering, and that’s: “Say, what’s a good remedy for most ailments and/or possibly the single finest foodstuff available in these United States?”

Folks, I’d like to take a moment of your time to talk about Mister Fluffy Coconut Flavor Gourmet Cotton Candy. Forget other coconut-flavored gourmet cotton candies you may have tried. Mister Fluffy Coconut Flavor Gourmet Cotton Candy tastes so darn good, it’s like a coconut and a sugar cane had a baby. And the baby was a baby cloud. And when you put the baby cloud on your tongue, it explodes into an angel—a baby angel—right in your mouth. Plus a little bit on your fingertips.

There are two types of dressing rooms at Joe’s Pub: “Trapdoor” and “Spiral Staircase.” The staff lets you choose which one you want, but you have to choose, is the thing.

The “Trapdoor” dressing rooms have a small hatch in the floor that leads straight down to the 6 Train tunnel below Lafayette Street. From there you can make your way north through a private underground passage to the Astor Place station, if you happened to bring a flashlight or a candle. I have no idea where a staircase in one of the “Spiral Staircase” dressing rooms might lead. It was my first time there, so I chose “Trapdoor.”

How much of everything can you spot in this picture? A tilted STOP sign? A yellow CHILDREN AT PLAY sign? How about a LOST DOG poster or a sign that reads “EDEN HARBOUR"?

Can you find the fire hydrant? A row of boats under cover since late autumn? A Datsun 280Z up on blocks in a driveway (blocks not shown)? Or maybe a utility spool of the sort that college students sometimes use as a table?

Who among us sees the interstate? A semi truck? The telephone poles, a power line tower, the power lines themselves—the last of the power lines to span the Connecticut River, just upstream from where it debouches into Long Island Sound?

I mean: who among you lost that red balloon?