We were on The List to see Patti Smith at Summerstage in Central Park recently. Hooooo, you could not talk to me! On The List, baby. I was not actually stopping people on the street to tell them this but I wanted to. That was us, bypassing the ordinary public as we were invited past the barrier to the VIP line. Moreover, we weren’t in that line just because we ponied up some funds to the Central Park Conservancy. Not us.
We were invited by the band.
Well, ok. We were invited by one member of the band who’s actually…
Looks like it’s time to school the new kids because I’m seeing it again. People posting notes under other people’s stories on social media asking them to read their work.
Yes, we are all eager to have as many eyes on our babies as possible so we can score the big pile of pocket change here. And the gods on high have decreed that thou shalt interact, read, comment, and clap on others’ work as we all promote TF out of each day’s stories. I’m about to say something that’s gonna have some booby feathers flying:
You can’t swing a drunken cat in this town and not hit a psychic. Their signs are everywhere. There’s even a you-gotta-know-it’s-there restaurant tucked behind a psychic’s storefront on Hudson Avenue and even they didn’t bother clueing us in back in November 2019 when it would have been really helpful.
This was a first for me: draft horses being used by the New York Police Department. Are police officers getting bigger? These big guys — the horses, I mean — ambled easily into the street as if there was nothing on their backs. Beautiful!
I’m used to the horses sitting under police butts looking more like this:
There are far worse fates than being unable to travel abroad again — thanks, Coronavirus and all your maskless minions — especially when one is lucky enough to live in New York City. Name your culture, name your country. You can find it here.
Unlike some people in this city, we’ve never been of the oh-I-never-go-north-of or west-of or south-of ilk. We go everywhere.
And this past weekend, we went to Poland, er, I mean Greenpoint in Brooklyn.
It’s who you know in this world and it’s your good luck to know me. Or at least to know me enough to have started reading this ultra-helpful guide to one of the most difficult-to-find treasures in New York City: a clean bathroom.
The more astute travelers among you are already pointing out that the New York City Parks Department’s website includes an exhaustive list of hundreds of public bathrooms that are available in the hundreds of city parks in the five boroughs. It’s quite a list. And helpful, no doubt. …
We were promised brain-eating zombies or planet-smashing asteroids. Instead look we got. A tedious, boring, endless downward spiral courtesy of a microbe. True, we also got loads of drama thanks to (too many) people’s basic stupidity and inability to simply go along with common sense remediations. If we hadn’t had these morons from the beginning, The Great Global Pandemic of The Twenty-First Century would have fizzled out like a bad case of the flu.
Of course, there are millions of survivors who fervently wish we could have had that instead of what we have.
But where’s the grand human drama…
There was this almost cinematically perfect night in August 2001 when I took the A train from where I shared an apartment in Inwood down to the plaza between the Trades. There was a free concert starring John Gorka. I stretched out on one of the massive stone benches and gazed up at the Trades. There was no fog like there is in this photo.
It was a sublimely beautiful summer night and two perfect pink rimmed clouds drifted between the towers.
I had done it. I had successfully broken the gravitational hold of my home state and moved to…
Larry is lumbering somewhere hundreds of miles offshore, but this storm is big enough and slow enough that we’re getting high winds and rain all day.
I went out last night to pick up a giant burrito from our favorite taqueria for dinner and saw a young lady lose her grip on her Metrocard just as the bus was about to arrive. It whipped out of her hand and into the street. She nearly made a blind dash after it but paused to check for traffic (oh, thank you sweetheart; after seeing the woman with her hair on fire on…
One of the first college courses I took was a survey covering schools of philosophical thought from pre-Platonic to the present day. Tricky to cover in 12 weeks. Within the first month, I noticed that the only philosophers philosophizing according to our textbook were men. That held true throughout the course and when I asked the professor about it at the end of the course, this was his response:
Historically, women were having children and caring for households so they wouldn’t have had the luxury of time to think and write.
Putting aside — for the moment — that there…