You’d think I have an ownership stake in the New York Giants based on the joy and affection I derive from and convey for the team. I love playing catch with a football, and miss playing tackle football every day but I have a more complex role as a devoted parishioner in the Church of Mara. I stunk… Read more »
New York may be the best city in which to live, but it’s also the hardest. Sometimes, you have to remind yourself why you moved here—like when it’s 15 degrees and you’re walking to work, or when you step onto a subway car during rush hour and you’re slammed up against a smelly stranger, or… Read more »
It was hard to know how much we were supposed to work. We were freelance writers; we had no office and no boss and no dependable means of support. ⁓Claire Dederer, author of Poser: My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses Before Harry, the freelance lifestyle was pretty great. Ross and I traveled the world—Australia,… Read more »
Downtown, Samantha woke up to discover that she did have it all, including the flu. —Sex and the City (Season 3, Episode 10—”All or Nothing”) Last Saturday morning I woke up right as rain, excited to spend the day GSD (the acronym my husband and I use for “getting shit done”). Twenty minutes after I… Read more »
Over the past few months, running has become a major theme in my life. No, I’m not running away from my problems (I have dealt with the fact that I am going to die alone head on), and I’m not suffering from a case of the runs (although if you are, I hear Imodium works wonders). I’ve been… Read more »
The New York Times published my indoor tackle story “When The Fire Hydrant Was The End Zone.” In 1962, the New York football Giants played fourteen games each season. Seven games at home and seven games away. Away games were televised. Twenty one hours of heaven. The League blacked out home games to discourage a drop… Read more »
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a poor man to enter into the middle kingdom in America. Thus sayeth the Times. These hyperbolic Republican primaries are bogus. As if we did not implode 3 years ago because of 8 years of Bushian malfeasance. Maybe it’s… Read more »
While on Aruba, I’ve made a habit of waking, lying in place for a few minutes on the beach, journaling my dreams and day’s plan, strolling naked, stretching, being still, gazing at the always impressive appearance of the Sun, taking a whore’s bath at the water’s edge, dressing and being on my way. That is… Read more »
I was not a very good mother. I was always running out to do a movie or something. If I had to do it over, I would either have a career or children. I wouldn’t do both unless I could work in my home. I spent 20 years feeling guilty, which is not a very nice… Read more »
“Twenty two stops to the city, 22 stops…” Garland Jeffreys voice kicks in, joining the drum’s beat on “Coney Island Winter,” his new single from his terrific album The King of In Between, a lament and love letter to New York City. Brooklyn-born Jeffreys is a New York City storyteller who uses music to lay his… Read more »
