Subway riders refuse to be surprised; hobos, dwarfs, musicians go unnoticed. Everyone’s seen the hip-hop tumbling team before and aren’t impressed by the little kid’s back-flip. I have been yelled at, sat on, even impressed as a candidate for redemption from our Lord Jesus Christ
In today’s Sunday Times: ‘Singles Head to [Williamsburg] for Romance’ by Julia Chaplin (all italics added) For decades Brooklynites have put on their slinky best and commuted to Manhattan to lay siege to the velvet ropes in the hope of meeting Mr. or Ms. Right. Now, in a reversal
Yesterday afternoon I was riding home on the subway after a fairly unsuccessful day (the day was just altogether unsuccessful), when three college students – two men, one woman – boarded the train, the two men each carrying a pot full of chili – the three of them presumably on their way to
I’m a bit of a cereal freak. And now I have the only guide I’ll ever need: The Empty Bowl. In addition to recipes, reviews, and ‘The Crunch Test,’ The Empty Bowl also features cereal-related interviews with such fanatics as Dan the Automator: And lastly, what [cereal]
I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after. That is from ‘Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,’ by Wallace Stevens. Stevens is a poet I’ve returned to recently; I read a lot of his
I’ve been recently re-reading David Sedaris’s Me Talk Pretty One Day, a book that my friend Dmitri gave me in Italy two years ago and had me laughing out loud – crying even – on a crowded beach, lots of Italian hunks and hunk-esses disturbed by the barking
Last night, upon seeing the new iPhoto ad on television, Melissa looks over at me and asks, ‘Why don’t we use iPhoto?’ ‘Because you have to be running OS X to use it.’ ‘Why aren’t we running OS X?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Well, it’s my computer
A giant Ferris wheel is being taken down in Paris’s Place de la Concorde after the mayor said it had overstayed its welcome. ‘When I heard it was coming down, I thought it was a pity,’ Elaine Thompson, a British woman who lives in Paris and was walking past
This morning while exiting the subway terminal, a man, well-dressed – to get straight to the point, quite normal-looking – was ascending the stairs next to me. Jamming his way up as quickly as he could, he tripped halfway up the stairs and came too near permanently affixing the middle
I was supposed to have lunch with a friend of my father’s at the Yale Club on Friday; I say supposed because I was turned away – by the coat-check guy – for wearing jeans. Now, I was wearing a tie, jacket, even a shirt with French cuffs, but blue
