Serial charmer and conservative turncoat Arianna Huffington reinvents herself yet again—as self-help guru and queen of connectedness.
For forcing Swiss banks to repay their debts to Holocaust survivors, NYU law professor Burt Neuborne was hailed as a hero.
“I don’t have enough time to finger-point,” declared an uncharacteristically busy President Bush last week.
Bo Dietl: I’m more qualified.
Bring that beef back.
Someone’s gotta pay the fare.
Lincoln Center Renter.
(Are 9/11 conspiracists jealous?)
Club crashers praise the best free workout in midtown (they dont check I.D.’s, SATs).
Can Bloomberg’s firearms initiatives hit their target? Turf wars, slander suits bedevil crusade.
Being nine months pregnant won’t keep Heather Laws from doing Sondheim.
With real-estate prices through the roof, Murphy-bed sales are “off the hook.”
Die-hard fan or no, $750 for a Barbra Streisand stadium seat is madness. Two alternatives from the next generation.
The Silk Road Ensemble, founded by Yo-Yo Ma, begins a weeklong residency at the gorgeous Rubin Museum of Art.
Stranger Than Fiction, a triple bill by American playwright Norman Beim, includes three one- acts “based on fact.”
Writers? What writers? Visual talents dominate the week at the 92nd Street Y.
John Lithgow loses his dirty rotten side.
A kaleidoscopic projector for kids and adults alike, the skinniest jeans around, and more.
Yvette Grant of McNally Robinson Booksellers.
Phyto Universe opens on Lexington Avenue.
A handlebar-mustached attorney on dressing to impress.
Cobble Hill’s Bocca Lupo shows the panini-come-latelies how it’s done.
A Tanoreen chef’s eggplant musaka’a recipe.
Chinese with an Indian flourish at I-Chin.
Week of October 9, 2006: La Lunetta, Noo Na, Metro Marché, and Pasita.
The restaurateur on the art of hospitality.
Why wait till it’s cold? Any drop in temperature is a good excuse to tuck into the hearty cooking you avoided all summer.
The trendoid-weary vacationer’s guide to Florida.
Don’t blame hedge funds for failing—blame sucker investors for believing it could never happen.
Ed Harris doesn’t have anything against smiling—it’s just that no one’s asking him to do it.
An admittedly thrilling Martin Scorsese crime epic that’s short on heart.
A trio of tips for enjoying the best of the fest.
At the Toronto Film Festival, the 27-year-old Scottish actor was touted as the next Ewan McGregor.
Hey, more comedies about quirky neighbors and attractive twentysomethings!
Who cares how many liberties teleplaywright Russell T. Davies took with the confabulations of Giovanni Giacomo Casanova?
We’ve been here many times before, with a whole family on the run.
This gang’s job, whether they know it or not, is to save the world from 9/11.
At the Whitney: How Picasso helped American artists get their act together.
If Cindy Sherman had turned her “Untitled Film Stills” into an actual film, the result might have been like a.k.a. Nikki S. Lee.
Sean Lennon’s influences, including Bambi, Dada, and whale meat for lunch.
The Met inaugurates the Gelb era with a cold Madama Butterfly.
Eric Bogosian’s portrait of suburban angst seems inconsequential these days.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
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