On the subway Thursday morning, a man sat beside me, with his wife or girlfriend (no ring) standing over him. [...]
The New York of the 80’s was not a town that met you halfway. It stopped well short of [...]
1. I went into college with virtually no experience, so virginal I believed myself to smell of baby powder. Touching a [...]
"A short but deeply researched, dark, intense biography... studded with original aperçus about the art of biography, the nature of literary influence, and the importance of place to a writer's sensibility." -- Priscilla Gilman, The Boston Globe
Does anyone move to Manhattan with plans of anything but taking over the city?
Imaging the opening credits of my life, I could practically feel the crane shot tracking me as my mother drove me over the Brooklyn Bridge. The camera pushing in closer and closer, past hundreds of passing cars, to find me, the hero, sitting shotgun with my forehead resting on the window. The approaching skyline’s reflection scrolling over my wide-eyed eagerness. Sinatra’s velvet croon across the soundtrack; something like that. Viewers watching would think sure, I looked a little green, but this kid’s got moxie, goddamitt.
I circled an ad in the back of The Village Voice for a four-month sublet on the Upper West Side and figured I'd save the clipping for posterity.
I rode the elevator to my Rolling Stone internship and strode through the glass double-doors with the kind of strut I imagined befitted a young Hunter S. Thompson. I’d stepped into the pages of the magazine I’d been collecting since 7th grade.read more...