Today is my last day at a web design company I’ve worked for since August 1999. In the span of three years, I have: survived 13 rounds of lay-offs; moved offices twice; sat in five different cubicles; received three complimentary massages; drank, approximately, 732 free beverages, mostly seltzer;
Singer-songwriter Chris Lee on New York City’s best-kept secrets, Bill Hicks, and strip clubs with good salads.
A friend recently asked me to describe some of my dreams in an email for him to analyze. For the sake of full-disclosure (wait there buddy boy, what full-disclosure? No one asked you to share, and in fact, this desire to share your, what, nocturnal anxieties, is probably
Writer and firebrand Andrew Sullivan on acting Shakespeare, his reverence for Margaret Thatcher, and the difference between essay-writing and blogging.
Dork Gets Shirt.
Falling in love is no joking matter; falling in love with your best friend’s girl is ass-whuppin’ time. Our writers recall the woman that came between them.
A few pictures taken at the Bastille Day festival in Boreum Hill where we arrived ten minutes too late to play pétanque (they wouldn’t bend the rules for us, even though we had already paid our registration fee and two-thirds of the team were verifiably French) and spent
I am not very athletic. I’m currently learning how to play basketball, a sport my fiancée and her entire family are very good at. (They favor college basketball, Tarheels particularly, with good reason: Both parents work at U.N.C, one went to U.N.C, fiancée went to
New York City researcher and enthusiast Kevin Walsh, the man behind the mysteries of forgotten-ny.com, gives tips on all things Gotham.
I met Paul Ford for drinks a week ago. We sat in the backyard at Iona, an Irish pub in Brooklyn, where they have a ping-pong table set up under a tree and a few beat-up iron and lumber tables. We both drank beer. For an hour, Paul
