Patti Smith is pretty much the quintessential New York icon. No matter how you slice it, that lady is badass. For this reason, the whole of New York City– and hip people everywhere– collectively peed their pants over her recent book about her relationship with artist Robert Mapplethorpe, Just Kids.
When winter comes along, all I want to do is cozy up under my covers and wish spring was here already. Park Here, OpenHouse Gallery’s free indoor park, makes that wish come true way sooner. With climate control, sounds of birds chirping and WiFi, it’s the perfect place to escape
“My Adidas walk through concert doors and roam all over coliseum floors I stepped on stage, at Live Aid All the people gave an applause that paid – My Adidas by Run-DMC” Remember back when Rev. Run wasn’t on twitter giving out advice about life? You know, back when he
Botanica is a safe haven. There’s no better way to describe it. It sits like a bomb shelter on the south side of smoky Houston street, two blocks away from the undulating sea of Soho shoppers and opposite the building-size advertisements that pollute the north side of the street. After
One of my good friends used to have Native American braids and dropped out of high school to work in a comic book warehouse for 8 years. He’s since cut the braids, gotten his GED, and went to Berkeley– but my joy for his eccentric comic-obsessed lifestyle is eternal. Another
There’s something about pastries that make me happy. Okay, I’ll admit it I’m a fat-ass and I tend to overindulge on desserts. There, I said it. My belly cannot tell a lie. If someone says there’s cake in the vicinity, my eyes open up and I tend to rummage through
I don’t know who Nancy is, but I like her style. Nancy’s Whiskey Pub is one of the few, if not only, dive bars in the Soho/Tribeca area. (Their Web site even reminds you that they’ve been there since before it was “Tribeca.” While most places nearby have fancy fruit-oil-infused
If you walk the gum wad-laden streets of NYC, you better get used to the slow burn of a stranger’s eye. New Yorkers STARE at each other. Sometimes it’s a concerned “Is that person yelling crazy and going to hurt me?”; other times just a pervy “I think you’re attractive