At one point I wanted to scream, a giant whopping WOOOOH!!! right over the heads of everyone in the bar, but I held back and introduced myself to another new person and had another great, interesting, fun conversation with someone I’d never met before but enjoyed talking to, if
Photos from the New York City Marathon as it passed by the author’s apartment in Brooklyn, with many ludicrously impressive people in wheelchairs, and a scramble band that included a gong at one point.
The recipe for Confederate General Jubal Early’s favorite punch, the right drink to serve when your brother-in-law-to-be from North Carolina visits for the weekend and you decide to throw a party celebrating his sister’s birthday. Ingredients * 2 bottles brut champagne * 3 cups brandy * 2
Photos from the New York Public Library, 42nd Street branch, and Bryant Park. Pictures were to be taken at the Jefferson branch as well, but the author left his camera at home.
The photographer and author of “New York Characters” on farts, the infamous Dr. Zizmor, and losing her husband to the kindness of strangers.
Writer, funny man, contrarian Andrew Borowitz on three ways to kill a joke, the environment in Kandor, and poor Jim Dixon, hero for all.
In which the editors and some writers met at a bar for drinks, talked about girls, other writers, stories about our parents, trips to Mexico, the Flaming Lips; then someone went to the toilet. Note: You may not see the flies at this resolution, or roaches
A photograph of Manhattan taken this morning from Brooklyn and part of a poem by Frank O’Hara, written in 1964. where does the evil of the year go when September takes New York and turns it into ozone stalagmites deposits of light so i get back up make coffee,
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.
