You are currently browsing the stories about the “Clinton” neighborhood.
In a small basement theatre on West 50th Street and 8th Avenue I once photographed Scarlett Johansson accepting the Theatre World Award for her performance in "A View From The Bridge." When she got to the part in her acceptance speech where she thanked Arthur Miller, the shutter speed on my new Nikon mysteriously slowed and I was unable to snap [...]
When I was growing up in the west of Ireland in the fifties my grandfather gifted me with stories about Samhain, (pronounced, SOW-in) now known as All Hallows Eve or Halloween. Samhain, a Gaelic word, meaning “end of summer,” signaled the coming of winter and the beginning of the Celtic New Year. “In the olden days, this was a mighty [...]
If not for the classic red, white and blue rotating stripes on its barber poles, the Mayfair barbershop on 39th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues might go unnoticed among its garish neighbors. Fabric stores clutter the view, along with the other big business in the area: Porn. The sex shops and "XXX" theaters easily beat Mayfair when it comes [...]
So I found myself on the corner of 45th St and 8th Ave, having arrived ten minutes ago in New York City, October 4th, 1986. I was pretty much sitting in the center of the biggest glut of seed you could find per square inch in any city in the world. Wide-eyed crack heads floated past after scoring at local [...]
My mother's narrow little medicine chest is a joke to her. It's quaint. It's for amateurs. She keeps her medicine in the kitchen cabinet and the kitchen drawers and the candy dishes. Her canisters for coffee and flour and sugar are filled with Lipitor and Propranalol and Prozac. She could collapse from overmedication at any moment, anywhere in her condo, [...]
Jake's girlfriend broke up with him, so he started driving and turned up eleven hours later at my apartment. We were the kind of friends who'd been close once but who didn't speak often anymore, owing not to any particular falling out, but to the passage of time and a mutual inability to put any effort into the maintenance of [...]
My father was a man of few words. Not because he was the strong silent type, but rather because, in the twenty-three years that we spent together, it was my mother who did most of the talking. He had few opinions, my father, which he mostly kept to himself, and my life was too full of other things to be [...]
The more games the New York Knicks won the more they raised the ticket prices. I could only afford to see them at Madison Square Garden if they continued to have losing seasons. I’d buy a ticket from a scalper. Instead of charging more he’d sell it for a fraction of what it was worth, because no one wanted to [...]
I electrocuted a rat early this morning. It was approximately 2:20 am. There were no eyewitnesses. I heard the electrical noise. It was a sustained bug-zapping sound that went on for a good thirty seconds. I knew immediately what was happening when I was startled awake. I just listened, victorious, with a great feeling that my vigilante justice had been [...]
The city was crawling with carpet salesmen and industrial designers and Formica representatives and stadium planners, and no one outside of the Javits Center even noticed. I wouldn’t have noticed either if it hadn’t been for my friend Amy, who had flown into New York from East Lansing, Michigan, to attend the NeoCon Interior Design Conference, New York’s largest interior [...]
Staying at a disheveled hotel in Midtown across from Madison Square Garden, I call and ask her to meet me at the restaurant downstairs for breakfast. We haven't seen each other since she moved away three years ago and have only spoken on the phone once (when she called to flirt with me after leaving her boyfriend). I walk down [...]
During the summer, approximately 25 to 35 students occupy the brownstone at 305 W. 29th St. and Eighth Avenue, a few blocks from Penn Station and Madison Square Garden. I’m living on the third floor, flanked by the kitchen and the staircase; paying a weekly rent of about $200 for a single room with a view of the cigarette butts [...]
He was walking along Broadway passing in front of Macy's without lifting his head to glance at the windows. I was a few steps behind, slowing my usual frenetic pace so as not to catch up to him. I didn't feel like schmoozing, something that was tough to avoid when you ran into Jack. Jack. After twenty years, I still [...]
Paul Williams considers it is a blessing that he was once a squeegee man. Not because he enjoyed the work -- he didn't -- but because it was only through being a squeegee man that he became a cardboard man, and on that he has built a life. Ten years ago, Paul was that familiar, slightly menacing fixture of the [...]
