Does anyone actually pronounce their Fage yogurt “fa-yeh?”

Calling all sommeliers, oenophiles, and wine lovers! All hands on deck! A close pal and I are embarking on what we’d like to refer to as the “12 Year Plan,” to celebrate, and, ok, ok, maybe also enforce, the longevity of friendship. It’s also a really great excuse to get some good sauce in our systems.

Here’s how it works: we’ll invest in a case of vino (red), that’s not only delicious now, but also has the potential to get even better-tasting through the years. See where this is going? We’ll uncork and drink one bottle this year, followed by another every subsequent year. Now we just need to pick the wine. (more…)

It’s Always Right Now, Until It’s Later is a fantastic one-man show performed by Daniel Kitson, a self-effacing, slightly rumpled Brit with thick glasses and a speech impediment. As described on the theater’s page, it’s about “Everything and Nothing,” and at 90 minutes, the perfect span of time for Kitson to deliver his detailed and tender monologue about two separate individuals’ lives. And yet he could have kept going. He spoke with such ease, at times momentarily breaking from the script to say something impromptu, then slipping back into his narrative, that it mostly felt like he was simply telling us a story—not performing (more…)

Monday musing: Has cursive become obsolete?

On a bitter Sunday morning—when you must leave the house—what better way to combat winter’s cold shock to the system than a steaming plate of omelette and hash browns, crispy and gooey, and that much better tasting when they’re pushed around into a single pile of food that can now be called grub?

It took me a little over a year to finally visit the greasy spoon diner around the corner from my apartment, but it won’t be that long before I go back to see if the same waitress normally dresses in floor-length lace cocktail dresses for her day shift (or if it was perhaps a look from the night before), or if the omelette special does in fact ever change. Cozy and homey, with its sticky menus and mismatched furniture, it filled my belly and warmed the cockles of me little heart. What are some of your favorite greasy spoon restaurants?

A friend told me a story about a recent altercation he had on the subway. “And then, this guy called me the grossest thing,” he paused, and waited for dramatic effect. “He called my a HIPSTER!” I was relieved. He wasn’t.

Anyone who knows my friend and his proclivity for riding around the East Village and LES on roller-skates, wearing short shorts in temperatures as low as 45 degrees (“I like a brisk breeze up my skirt,” he’ll say), knows that he could have been called any number of names, but a hipster he most certainly is not. Besides his age (he’s in the 45-50 yrs bracket), it’s something you can tell just by looking at him.

And while it’s easy enough to say who would not be considered a hipster, does anyone really know exactly who does qualify as a hipster these days—or rather what those qualifying traits are?  It’s become such an ambiguous label of late, that perhaps the most insulting thing about being called one is the fact that it is so vague… (more…)

Scanning over newest spring ad campaigns, for a moment it looked like Versace was reprising its classic supermodel-strewn photos shot by Richard Avedon in the mid-90s. But as it turns out, they’re not Avedon photos at all, nor are they even ads for Versace paying homage to Mr. Avedon and that era, but in fact images for Roberto Cavalli’s spring collection.

The photos, taken by Steven Meisel (left) bear a striking resemblance to Avedon’s (right, and here), don’t you think? (more…)

Who else thinks ish is the new -like (sort of)?

I caught up with my girlfriend Stevie over coffee yesterday and thought about how much I love girls with boys’ names: Stevie, Sam, Alex, Micky, Kyle, Ryan…are a few favorites. Consider this a roll call for any others. Bueller? Ferris Bueller?