Hillary and Barack agree almost completely about what needs to be done, but they couldn't feel more differently about how to do it. Which makes this campaign an oddly clarifying contest between realist and romantic worldviews. So, then, what does your vote for either of them say about you?
Can a Republican turned independent mayor of New York be elected president? The mayor himself isn’t sure. But Kevin Sheekey is.
Goofy, inscrutable Eli Manning lacks the intensity of Phil Simms, the glamour of Joe Namath, and any apparent interest in playing the hero. But he’s all we’ve got.
Clay Aiken sounds like Tootsie, looks like Opie, and hates to go out after dark. How will he ever survive New York?
Brooklyn showman wants to be mayor—right? Oy vey, mon.
Paris is learning.
Pinched at the gym?
New Yorkers enjoyed a three-day weekend thanks to Martin Luther King Jr., but the first day back at work was even worse than usual.
If Heath and Michelle’s life in Brooklyn seemed like a wonderful dream, it was ours, not theirs.
Paging the president’s shadowy Plunge Protection Team.
You can’t lose a fortune unless you have it in the first place.
The rest of the world, we hope.
(Romney + Huckabee)/3 + .01 McCain + √Giuliani = Bush. And some other things we’ve learned about this long, strange race.
The Bush economic plan is a $150 billion debacle. Here's a cheaper, more effective, and longer-lasting alternative.
It may not stabilize the economy, but it’s an indulgent, affordable mood elevator.
Why is it worth renting a car and driving to a hunting megastore in Connecticut? Bison burgers, taxidermy overload, and a lot of cool cheap stuff.
"I think that dark things that scare people have a lot of beauty to them."
It’s a post-Bugaboo world of status strollers more design-obsessed and hyperfunctional than an iPhone. But are they good? We put nine through the wringer.
Bar Blanc is the latest watering hole with restaurant-caliber cooking.
Super Bowl Sunday is no time to get creative in the kitchen.
Fatty Crab’s hustling impresario Zak Pelaccio is still fine-tuning his Pan-Asian riff at Chop Suey.
Week of February 4, 2008: Bridge Vineyards Tasting Room.
In the West Village, a chef refuses to stir the pot.
Food artisans think global, cook local.
They’re not about to displace the pig as New York’s culinary mascot, but suddenly rabbits are everywhere.
Those overseas buyers who’ve been driving the New York condo market are starting to slam on the brakes.
Those who thought the writers’ strike would bring down Leno misunderstood the power of his limitations.
Sylvester Stallone returns with a bang.
Everyone’s favorite art star–auteur–bearded madman Julian Schnabel got his first Schnomination for the Best Director Oscar this week.
David Mamet’s November spins the White House for laffs. Plus: Richard Foreman, in all his weird glory.
Director Kathleen Turner and actress Sarah Paulson, in conversation.
The gloomy songstress Chan Marshall is out of step with the times, but not with her devoted fans.
Seven new albums, each scored on how well you can sing to it, dance to it, marvel at it, mope to it, and just plain crank it up.
The gallery gold rush has allowed artists who’ve spent decades on the fringes to grab at the prize.
Impressionist and modern art are booming alongside contemporary art.
HBO’s In Treatment prescribes the talking cure five days a week.
The election promises not just a chance to reboot the country—it could also unseat the reigning kings of political correspondence.
In small new-music venues, failure is an option—and a route to success.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
The science of snow, for tots.
Readers sound off on Britney Spears, Dunkin' Donuts coffee, and more.
Findings from the streets, files, and hard drives of New York.
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