Kids are using the Internet to create records of their lives so permanent and personal it makes even some twentysomethings feel like they’re on the wrong side of a generation gap. But the MySpacers are the ones adjusting constructively to a phenomenon that affects us all—the inevitable death of privacy.
It seemed a good match: on one side, old-fashioned oligarchs looking to modernize Wal-Mart’s image; on the other, the big-city types who could make a fortune doing it. By the time it was over, a Madison Avenue heavy had been summoned to Arkansas to answer questions about his splashy lifestyle, and nobody was happy except the lawyers.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has become our nation’s most animated secular prophet of apocalypse.
At least according to Miss Universe.
He wanted to act like Dylan.
Studio is sleeping beauty.
Waspy pic not about her dad.
But McSweeney’s digs deal.
The opening of several exhibitions seeking to rehab the legacy of the city’s master builder, Robert Moses, kicked off a parade of heavy construction equipment last week.
Hillary Clinton throws Chuck Schumer a book party. Thirty minutes later, all the guests were still hungry for attention.
What’s $60,000 when you’re making millions? Enough to resent.
As the Museum of Modern Art’s new chief curator of architecture and design, Barry Bergdoll, who started his job last month, has suddenly become one of the city’s most influential tastemakers.
Foie gras battle sizzles on; politicos and celebs face off.
Chocolate-covered Cheerios and more endearingly unconventional Valentine’s gift ideas.
Aziz Osmani of Kalustyan’s.
Store openings this week.
The bewhiskered subject of a beard-design competition.
Jeffrey Chodorow spent so much time collecting gaudily absurd décor for Kobe Club that he forgot about the food.
A cara cara oranges with roasted beets–hot pepper–and–bitetto olive salsa recipe from a Franny's chef.
Good Italian soul food, not inexpensive but almost reasonable.
New this week: Olympic Pita, Blue Ribbon Bar, and Westville East.
An unfamiliar cut is showing up on local menus, prompting the question: Is neck the new cheek?
How to house-hunt with your cell phone.
The Culture Pages
Why Andy Warhol won’t leave our culture alone.
Two excellent portrayals—one fictional, one not—of a miserable era in East Germany.
An indie film’s got to have a gimmick, and American Standard’s is this: All scenes of the still-looking-for-a-distributor romantic comedy were shot in New York bathrooms.
A bull market in highbrow photography.
The producers of Lost try to hide the fact that the show is a creepy thriller at heart.
While it's unclear whether anyone wants another Dracula, this one’s sturdy enough.
An account of Strayhorn’s troubles as a gay man in the homophobic jazz world of the forties and fifties, and a case history of Oedipal struggle.
Study this tough-love guide to making the hard but necessary choices in your weekly TV regimen.
Great acting battles shoddy writing in the Frank Lloyd Wright play.
A guided tour of the art district's best galleries right now.
The memoir-worthy life of Ayaan Hirsi Ali.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
The New School for Drama’s “Random Acts!” showcase brings out three first-rate playwrights’ short stuff.
An architecture center builds an audience.
Our picks from a festival of new work by members of Youngblood, a company of playwrights under 30.
Two galleries transformed by illumination, a third by alliteration.
From the lame-duck-in-chief all the way on down to those outdated CDs, our society is clogged with anachronisms. Let’s get on with it!
Ten foreign stocks to shelter your money from the Bush Effect.
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