‘Tis the season for me to be disgruntled about all the Christmas mania. For a full explanation, see last year’s “What’s A Jew to Do on Christmas” post. I hate to admit that Christmas lights and Christmas trees are, from a purely aesthetic angle, quite a feast for the eyes.

After no more than fifteen minutes on the phone with the evil asshole that is Comcast, I stand victorious!  Thanks to my roommate’s sharp eye for detail,  we noticed that our monthly $16 Internet discount had run its twelve month course and we were once again being charged the full

Like any other self-satisfied, elitist New York asshole, I love watching movies about or that use New York City heavily, especially if they’re period pieces or actually filmed in a bygone decade. But what if you’re fairly new to this genre of sorts and you’ve already watched Annie Hall, Manhattan,

So it’s officially started.  I’ve spent the past six days in San Diego doing the turkey shindig family thing, and I’m fucking stuffed.  I feel like a contestant on “The Biggest Gainer”.  The thing is, now that December is about to be here, it will be endless eating and drinking.

As someone whose main livelihood revolves around holidays, and not in the, “what’s my tablescape going to be this year?”-kind of way,  I’ve learned a lot about the shopping habits of my fellow Americans. Our culture embraces a lot of corporate-created holidays for the sake of selling shit, but that

I passed by Jackie’s Fifth Amendment everyday for a year when I worked at a diner in Park Slope, but I never went in until two weeks ago. I’d been holding it since Williamsburg, so when I walked in I said “Hi” quickly to the bartender, and kept running to

Fall is coming to a foreseeable end, and yet, it’s not quite the reign of cold front terror that is February. This is prime time to wear the cutest things that winter has to offer before shit really hits the fan cold-wise. And what better time to prance around in

If your introduction to magic included Criss Angel’s “Mindfreak”, or Gob in “Arrested Development”, then you could be forgiven for mistaking magicians with, say, ice dancing competitors. But magic hasn’t always been synonymous with guyliner. During the 1920s, when Harry Houdini submerged himself, shackled, inside a chamber he dubbed the