I stepped outside my place yesterday in need of some inspiration, something to break up the drudgery of thoughts which collect in the time it takes for me to get dressed, stand in the elevator, pick what song I want to listen to on my mp3, etc. Because I happen

As of April 3, Brooklyn Indie Market, one of many great places to scope out and support local Brooklyn designers, has re-opened from its winter hiatus!  One of the designers you should definitely check out is Rachel Park.  She started out with “[b]lending exciting colors, striking textures, bold prints, and

Some of you may have already heard of the phenomenon of Meetups where people go online to find groups of people with shared interests, plan meetings, and form whatever offline ventures in their own communities. Its not surprising that New York’” where a ride on the subway or a trip

Dear Neti Pot makers, I have your business.  That’s right.  This morning I took it.  You may not have noticed.  This morning I realized that I don’t NEED a Neti Pot.  This morning I realized that no one needs a Neti Pot. A little history on how it went down.

Oftentimes, in the midst of broke-assitude, we find ourselves in a living situation that involves more than one person per bathroom and sinkfuls of dishes that “someone else” used but no one will fess up to. Most normal and reasonable human beings will have no problem adjusting to life under

Guys its once again time for this blogs very favorite regularly occurring comedy show. We love it for a lot of reasons and it’s the only thing that can drag us into the smoky recesses of that hookah place on 1st avenue. This week, sweetening the already-pretty-sweet pot is Matt

Once upon a time, I thought only bad things happened on Muni, like catching the herpes or sustaining a stab wound to the hamstring.  Then I found Muni Diaries, an awesome site created for readers and riders to share Muni-related stories.  There I discovered something surprising:  NOT ALL MUNI STORIES

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me: I love Queen Latifah.  (See last week’s post, doye.) Not in the sick, sordid sexual way that I love Natasha Khan, but in the sweet tender, pal-like way that you love your favorite college professor or your friend’s mom.  I even started