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There’s a good chance the New Jersey Nets soon will be playing ball in Brooklyn. There’s also a good chance a lot of local residents will lose their houses to make way for Frank Gehry’s dome.
In his first installment for TMN, aspiring rock star and Manhattanite Gary Benchley details his recent move from Albany, his new roommates in the city, and the difficulties of being a drummer in New York.
The Blackout of 2003 will certainly cost the country loads of money, but the condiment industry couldn’t be happier. What to do with all those eggs when the lights go out.
In a world controlled by fear and terror, unemployment, and 24-hour news channels, it is not entirely unlikely that one Brooklyn resident could be attacked by al Qaeda.
In case you haven’t heard, everyone is moving to Brooklyn. Not everyone, though, has an SUV. Departing the Lower East Side for quiet living, with the aid of Russian warlords.
Toleration is necessary for living in an apartment building, even if your neighbor isn’t of sound mind and humor. How a neighbor’s problems can swiftly become your own.
New Yorkers, like everyone else, are constantly under attack by illness, anxiety, bad air, and cell phones—but only one is haunted by a giant rat. Tales of transformation, staple gun included.
New Yorkers, as a rule, fear rats. You see them in the rivers, in your bedroom, sometimes drinking coffee on the subway. A boat ride on the Gowanus.
Your apartment’s never smaller than when guests arrive. New Yorkers find solutions (couches, floors, friendly neighbors) but until we all snag that classic six, our entertaining’s best left to public spaces.
This past summer Oof visited New York City from Osaka. Having never been here before, she spent her days exploring, camera in hand, recording a personal log of New York City with an eye to the everyday (but hardly ordinary) people and things that surround us.
There is a palpable sadness in Brooklyn today, seen in how people walk, then stop, as if they’ve just forgotten something, how they gather on street corners to talk, in those who cry on the sidewalk and the faces of the old people in the neighborhood who look up when the roar of jet planes starts again.