Demetri Martin doesn’t do political humor. But he may be the Barack Obama of comedy—a cerebral stand-up whose moment (in the form of Important Things With Demetri Martin, on Comedy Central) has arrived just in time. By Adam Sternbergh
On the Cover: Photograph by Jake Chessum for New York Magazine. Grooming by Sarah Potempa/The Wall Group.
Few are feeling the city’s economic pain as acutely as shopkeepers, restaurant proprietors, and small-business owners. Amid eerily empty sidewalks and race-to-the-bottom sales, the questions are: What will it take for them to survive? And how are you doling out your dollars?
Sure, the Twitter guys still have no idea how to make money off their fabulous invention. But for now they are living in a dreamworld of infinite possibilities, maybe the last one on Earth.
Has the balance of power (and the high spirits) really shifted southward?
Sure, we want to see Wall Street humbled. But beggaring these guys is bad for New York.
Art world fears Brandeis sale.
The Mets get your taxes whether you like it or not.
Our roundup of news from around the city.
The huge legacy of a small bookshop.
The British model treats her lingerie like a parka—and almost forgets Fashion Week.
It’s been 30 years since Peter Gravelle handed his friend Sid Vicious his last half-gram of heroin.
Richard Gere seems to like keeping his brokers busy.
The recession ended plans for a spring version of Pet Fashion Week.
We asked Lindsay Price and Josh Radnor about the battle of the sexes.
Her performance in Don’t Let Me Drown has given her a first taste of movie stardom.
Obama runs the risk (already!) of seeming same-old, same-old.
Sex paintings, coffee lessons, and more.
“I’m in a Kyocera ad for color copiers. I’m the head guy coming in to pick up his color copiers.”
Staying in bed is a particularly attractive idea right now. But what kind?
We complete the Valentine’s Day shopping list for three still-very-enamored couples.
A new wave of restaurants aim to become a weekly habit.
Week of February 16, 2009: Spunto and Butcher Bay.
In winter, we’ll take our veggies dried, dehydrated, and frozen.
Chocolate might always be in season, but never more so than in mid-February.
New York’s new batch of chocolate-makers create their own semi-sweet signatures.
Studio apartments aren’t faring as badly as bigger ones. Why?
Joss Whedon attempts to play it safe and weird with Dollhouse.
Capitalism light (Confessions of a Shopaholic) and dark (Gomorrah).
Dirty Dancing was my first.
Eugene O’Neill’s Mourning becomes Lili Taylor.
Comic man-child Will Ferrell takes his perfect role to Broadway.
What do you get when a classically trained musician composes for a post-punker?
A new novel declares war on apolitical fiction. And wins by losing.
Josh Bazell started writing his debut novel, Beat the Reaper, while studying medicine at Columbia.
White Columns’ anniversary show is a vital reminder that galleries can (and should) enliven art.
Mike and Doug Starn spoke to New York about their new work.
It’s true that some people would rather chew on broken glass than book a table for Valentine’s Day.
Readers sound off on Sully, Stuy Town, and more.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
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