I remember very clearly some of the interviews he gave after his release. He impressed me with his insights into how the prisons we face in life are very rarely literal balls and chains.

Even though I knew nothing about the complicated politics or perhaps the recklessness of his situation, his captivity was something of which I made a mental note almost every day after moving to New York in 1990. I have done the same for Salman Rushdie.

I hate seeing a series of TV interviews on several networks with someone who interests me, because each interview is just the same as the last and invariably the person being interviewed has to start repeating his answers.

He'd be a neighbor worth knowing. To say the least.

The only neighbors I've had in New York with whom I've had any real contact were the residents at The Parc Lincoln, the transient hotel at 166 West 75th where I lived for almost a year. Bunch of friggin' perverts and weirdoes, man.

Anyway. I don't know if I'll ever move from New York. In fact, even as I was saying all that about moving to London or wherever I was also thinking about whether or not this is the year I should buy a 2 or 3 bedroom place on a 30-year mortgage. It probably is the year for that.