Submissions Tagged 'new_york'

It was at a crowded art opening in a small bookstore. She was dressed in black and wearing the signature sunglasses. They function as an optical barricade; it's as if she's within a dark-glassed limousine at all times, even when she isn't. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her work. I wasn't even going to talk about her husband, the second one, who was part of that quartet named after bugs. Instead, I stepped on her toe. Accidentally.

She wore pointy black shoes or boots; I couldn't tell which, because her black pants covered their tops. Read more

The pressure is always on when members of my _famiglia_ come to town. They want Mr. Fancypants to show them a good time, because they think I live a totally charmed life as an underpaid freelance writer. For a good vibe and great food, I like to take them to Babbo down on Waverly, with hopes that celebrity chef and owner Mario Batali will walk by in his orange clogs and give them a wink.

One night a few weeks ago, my mom and sister Lisa had just come from a wine tasting and were most definitely a little Read more

Almost two years ago, when the issue of stem cell research was the new JonBenet before JonBenet 2.0 became the new Iraq, I went to an event to raise money for the cause. Kevin Kline, the main draw of the party, was the featured speaker. Stem cell research was his issue, apparently; he'd been educating audiences about it everywhere he could.

The party, held in a loft in Murray Hill, was fun. Typical Manhattan political fundraiser. Lots of thirtysomethings looking for love and/or new jobs and/or new clients before hitting the next party of the night where they'd be Read more

During the summer of 1982, I worked as a lifeguard at the Rye Town Hilton in New York's Westchester County. Hotel guests were mostly a mix of business travelers, relocating families, and elderly Manhattan escapees. I spent my days lugging and positioning lounge chairs for old men with bad backs, and waiting for a chance to blow my whistle. Finally, I witnessed a violation of the clearly posted pool rules—one far more disturbing than running on the pool deck or taking two bounces on the diving board: a bikini-clad blonde stood in waist-deep water holding a baby in diapers.

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Until I saw Billy's studio, I never guessed at his highfalutin' connections. But when I exited the service elevator to see a sweeping Chelsea loft, bedecked with blown-up _Zink_ covers and cardboard Cindy Crawfords striding off to some invisible tomorrow, I began to suspect that there was more to Billy than met the eye.

A short, dour Japanese man, Billy led me over to the minibar and opened his portfolio. I immediately lost my head around the folds and swirls of cooters—a veritable Sahara of black-and-white, three-foot-high cunts. I doubt my boyfriend could pick mine out from the pile.
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I was coming into a hotel the other day, and who should I run into checking in at the front desk but that Earl guy from _My Name Is Earl._ I nodded to him, and then I stood there waiting for the elevator.

But I noticed that that Earl guy kept staring at me. What, is he waiting for me to acknowledge him? I wondered. To ask, “Hey, aren’t you that Earl guy?” Maybe even ask for his autograph or something?

Well, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. The elevator came, and with Earl still staring Read more

I was in a bar in New York about six years ago with several friends who had all traveled with me from San Francisco. We were sending off a buddy of ours who had decided to join the Peace Corps and as a result were terribly drunk, as we had been barhopping for several hours all over town.

One of the gang spotted Janeane Garofalo in a corner, quietly chatting with a friend. My intention, though drunken and sad, was merely to say hello and tell her that I liked her work, etc., etc.

After several warnings from Read more

 
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