The Loss
To understand everything wrong about health care in America today, look to a horrifying trend in amputation.
To understand everything wrong about health care in America today, look to a horrifying trend in amputation.
Between love and tacos, sometimes it's better to choose tacos. Our series continues where we ask novelists to dine out, then write us something that 1) is a restaurant review; 2) is not a restaurant review.
New York's new bicycle-share program is a big success. Since May, bikers have taken 646,000 trips. But the initiative has also caused many rational people to explode with rage. Why? Because humans are hardwired to hate cheaters.
As New York City changes, so do its trains; our worries about life above and below ground move hand in hand. So which came first, the jitters or the subway?
Our man in Boston sits down with the author of The Financial Lives of the Poets to talk about his latest novel, how to survive in Hollywood, the ins and outs of contemporary publishing, and that unheralded Paris of the Northwest, Spokane.
When your daily commute to the office means speeding on two wheels up busy avenues, a meeting with a crosstown taxi cab can change your life. But sometimes being a New Yorker requires taking the city head on.
Our man in Boston and the author discuss her latest novel, Enchantments, the writing process, how book reviewing works at the New York Times, what it's like to be nastied, and the life and times of two writers raising children without a television in the house.
Risen from the streets of Eastern Europe and squalid New York City, bagels now hold a seat at middle- and upper-class breakfast tables everywhere. A look back from a baker with 50,000 “golden visions” under his belt.
When you’ve long been identified as a “literary type,” how can it be that receiving books as get-well gifts leaves you feeling empty, angry, and determined to chug YouTube straight?
A chat between our man in Boston and the writer Nicole Krauss about her latest book, in which her latest book is barely discussed.
Five years in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Several violent attacks—in other cities. A daily attempt to be the best, which is never a good idea. Nine lessons from a mini-lifetime in the Big Apple.
A morning, a bicycle, a macchiato. Or five? This time, a sensible coffee shop tour. But in the end, it still may be described in only one way.
Elliott Smith died seven years ago today in Los Angeles. Though he’s remembered mythically in the East Village, it was in Brooklyn where he was happy.
An ode to drunk shopping in New York City, regretted investments, and the transformative powers of faux-snakeskin leggings.
On a moonlit street in Brooklyn, merchants open the doors of their trucks and welcome an audience armed with curiosity and cupcakes.
Branding a Brooklyn subway station is greater than a typographic concern. Weaving a brief history of the dash in America, the Czech Republic, and John Wayne's poetry.
Never mind news articles that link economic woes to a culture shift, the report of the hipster’s death is an exaggeration.
The plan: 10 cafés, 10 macchiatos, one morning, by bike. Embarking on an adventure that can be described in only one way.
Ogling New Yorkers cavorting with their dogs, a new resident longs for the creep-targeted, mother-terrifying, media-maligned best friend she left behind.
Those who can’t do, learn. In this installment of our series in which the clueless apprentice with the experts, we visit a glass-blowing studio in Brooklyn.
From choosing a mousetrap to moving across the country, parenting requires tough decisions.
Not enough square footage and too little privacy are the trademarks of New York dwelling. Learning new ways to be neighborly as the woman across the hall moans on her deathbed.
You've got clean streets, reasonable rent, and plenty of elbow room. So why, oh why, are you moving to New York? Eight million stories, plus one.
In which the saga is revealed that bred Gary Benchley; inspired a circus of half-loving, half-betrayed fans; landed a book deal; and even--truly--forced a trip to the hospital after Benchley almost gave his author a heart attack.
Moving is backbreaking work that's best done by somebody else, by professionals--or at least by people you can trust. If all else fails, hire movers.
Some birds, like penguins, can’t fly. Others, like the majestic bald eagle, can. It’s a sentence we never expected to write, but here it is: This is the last column in the chronicles of our favorite wannabe rock star.
Ah, the glory of indie-rock touring: the drugs, the groupies, the rock. But are all those things negated when you’re forced to wear costumes? Singer, songwriter, fashion plate Gary Benchley prepares to take the country.
You invest your aspirations and your savings account into recording an album, and then place it in someone else’s hands to finish, and perhaps ruin with a drum and bass remix.
Who would have guessed the rock dream involves lots of old-fashioned hard work? And why is it rarely a good idea to include a brass band on a rock album?
When you’re recording a few songs with friends, it’s OK to slack around. When you’re recording a few songs with very expensive engineers, you better not flub that G sharp.
Are the acoustics to blame when some executive’s fancy stereo makes your demo sound like mush, or was it really mush in the first place? Can mush rule the world?
When you know your band is the greatest that’s ever rocked, how do you convince the rest of the world? Are nine songs enough to change nine billion minds?
There’s no one like your immediate family to make your shortcomings into dinner conversation. Our favorite dreamer continues the saga by heading home to Albany, to confront a table of successful siblings.
A used-book store stocks its customers' tastes and perversions, and then sells them to their neighbors. A Brooklyn shop find life after New York's Book Row heyday by providing a service computers can't beat.
Trusting your instincts is tough; trusting others’ instincts can be a lot harder. Chastened with a broken ankle, Benchley puts his faith in his roommate’s healing hands, and his band’s ideas for their future.
In the city of ambition, dreams are rarely packaged with paychecks, and everyone must do something to pay the bills—even if it doesn’t involve rock.
On the heels of sudden success—a good show, a potential manager—arrives doubt, fear, and the means for everything to fall apart.
How can a rock band plan for the unknown? What good are hours of practice and training when it only takes one bad microphone to ruin a show?
Ruts can happen to anyone, even 23-year-olds, and the best response is a brand-new gym membership—and a new girlfriend?
After a year of living in New York, you’ve acquired an apartment, a job, a rewarding hobby, and a meaningful, sexless relationship—all the tokens of an early middle age?
If a band plays a concert, and no one pays attention, can it still aspire to musical greatness? Is anything louder than the sound of no hands clapping?
Who has better lyrics, the GOP or New York’s rockers? And can a romantic relationship survive “hug therapy?”
What name is good enough for a band meant to rock the world, and must it reference Elvis Costello somehow?
Is love different when it's declared in the big apple, and if so, do you have to tell your co-workers about it?
It's hard to stay focused when your girlfriend ignores you, your roommates are openly intimate, and your father calls with some unexpected advice.
Trying to complete his indie-prog band as a model of diversity, Benchley runs into trouble when racial profiling turns out to be a less-than-sensitive method for recruiting a bass player.
When half of the world's Hasidim live within a subway ride of each other, the disappearance of two teenage girls is big news, especially when they've run away to escape.
Benchley continues to assemble his band, though finding the perfect hot chick drummer turns out to be harder than he anticipated. That, and keeping his roommate from starting a taxidermy collection.
Benchley begins to make his dreams come true: time to assemble the band. But the gap between buying a guitar and playing one proves wider than expected, and it may only be Depeche Mode who can save the day.
Aspiring rock star Gary Benchley learns it's not easy to date older women, considers giving up rock for branding, and, in a dark hour, composes the first rock tribute to Abu Ghraib.
Aspiring rock star Gary Benchley moves to the epicenter of hipsters' Brooklyn, gets to know his new neighborhood and roommates, enjoys burlesque, and accidentally attends an A-list blogging party.
Aspiring rock star Gary Benchley suffers Train--a mental state of anti-rock--and has to make a difficult decision in order to snag his own apartment. Luckily he has The Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne to help him with advice.
In his long-anticipated second installment for TMN, aspiring rock star and Manhattanite Gary Benchley describes his search for a proper loft to rock in, the roommates who would love to see him fail, and a certain girl who falls for the Benchley charm.
New York City's Q Diamond train was retired from service this weekend, and a merry group of mourners held a party for its last ride.
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 ag