Those DVDs you see all over New York, the ones the guys sell on the sidewalk – with the Xeroxed covers and all that – the ones you walk by and wonder, How do they already have Starsky & Hutch on DVD? You know those. They work, you should know. Bet that
There was a girl who moved to Corpus Christi Who told everyone, ‘Call me Misty’ Which wasn’t her name But it was all just the same Since last week she was a man in Poughkeepsie * * * There once was an architect in Dallas Who built his fiancée a whole palace
Sometimes the hope for the weekend seems just around a corner you’ll never turn. Likewise, the weather in New York has been bumpy, up and down, leaving everyone without a clue to go on. When I first woke up this morning, the sun shone brightly through my bedroom window,
Last night I stepped onto the platform at 14th Street, ready to be on my way home to Brooklyn after a long day in the city. So were the other 2,000 people who were waiting for an eastbound train that would be – inevitably – packed full of passengers when it
At the grocery store around the corner, Saturday afternoon. There are four stacks of baskets. No clear contender, since each of the baskets on top contains a piece of trash: a wadded plastic produce bag (used?), a scrap of red-leaf lettuce, a damp paper towel, and a twist-tie.
My apartment could fit in my parents’ driveway, and they’d still be able to park both cars. It could nestle in the front rooms of my grandparents’ apartment in Chicago, or fit in the barn next to the farmhouse I lived in during college,still with enough room for
What better way to spend a long winter weekend inside, terrified to leave your home because your snow boots still haven’t arrived in the mail and your front sidewalk is awash in an ice floe, than to watch cable TV? I never found out, that’s for sure. But
1) Laptops are not supposed to smell like cabbage. When your dining table is both the only counter in your miniscule kitchen and also your desk (this twin purpose forced by the size of your New York apartment), it’s hard to avoid the remains from last night’s ribs
Of all the great gifts I received over the holidays, many of the best didn’t arrive wrapped in colorful paper, or inside cards with weird Christmas-y sexual innuendo (‘Mrs. Claus wants to know if you’re ready for your holiday surprise…’). And though I still haven’t even
To the people who came to last night’s Third Thursday, a few corrections for things I may have said while toasting, and, at the time, been wrong about. I am not Danish, nor am I from good Danish stock, ‘the old country,’ or an heir to the Danish throne,
