Finding an Immediate FamilyHere’s our not-quite-automated guide to New York’s feature stories. In “Meet. Mate. Multiply,” Rachel Lehmann-Haupt examines an interesting wrinkle in yuppie dating patterns: people who choose to rocket through that dating part, going from meeting to family in just a year or two.
Keywords: Singles; dating; marriage; kids; fertility specialist; JDate; Connecticut.
The details: As middle age looms, some single New Yorkers decide to take care of the whole settling-down thing in one fell swoop. We meet several of the resultant families — Scott and Erica, for example, who turned into Scott and Erica and Coco and Rubyrose within a mere year and four months — in their homes: “a one-bedroom apartment on Upper West Side,” “a bright Tribeca loft,” “an East Village walk-up,” “the house they are living in temporarily in Connecticut.”
Crucial quote: “‘Yeah, meeting Lars, getting married, having a kid,’ says Sophie. ‘The pace of it all. I was an overachiever in college, and I’ve achieved all this in fifteen months.’”
Takeaway: When the family-obsessed national culture meets the career-focused New York lifestyle, a weird vortex is created wherein people both postpone and rush through settling down. Which is not to say those people are any crazier than the rest of us.
Read the full article here — and the full issue here.
Luca’s Mommy, Dearest?
If Madonna is adopting a baby from Malawi, his name is Luca. Joan Crawford had crabs. Dustin Hoffman bought vegetables at Fairway. Steve Wynn put his elbow through a Picasso. Screech’s sex tape is “quite humorous and, at times, arousing.” James Baker ate at ‘21.’ Horace Mann students made fun of their teachers. Penelope Cruz and Pedro Almodóvar partied with drag queens for their movie, Volver. Jimmy Fallon went to the Empire State Pride Agenda dinner last week; Anderson Cooper did not. City comptroller Bill Thompson is learning to speak Spanish. Harvey Weinstein hosted a Bobby screening; famous people attended. Keith Olbermann may have had a one-night stand with a woman who now blogs about it. Liz Smith thinks Garvey’s, in the theater district, has good nachos.
the sports section
Plague of the Yankees
The signs, at first, were subtle. Moments after the final out found the back of the first-baseman’s glove in Detroit, eliminating the Yankees forever from the 2006 playoffs, meteorologists reported a slight dip in atmospheric pressure over the Eastern Seaboard. Old men across the Bronx sat up suddenly in bed, complaining of strange dreams and aching joints. Dogs across the city started to bark in shrill inexplicable waves. At 9 p.m., apparently realizing that the greatest offense in the history of human sport had been vanquished, the moon turned black and plunged into the sea. The Hudson River reversed its flow, ejecting Atlantic-bound eels and sharks and whales onto the West Side Highway, where they writhed and gnashed at each other in agony over yet another failed season.