Nonsense NYC is a weekly rundown of "weird events," "unique parties," and "senseless culture in New York City" started 14 years ago by artist Jeff Stark. The criteria for inclusion on the list isn’t set in stone, but generally speaking, an event must meet the "rule of three": Are at least three separate activities going on at once? In other words, a punk show or an art opening won’t make the list, but a punk show at an art opening probably will—provided that there's also a sword swallower or cat juggler. It has, over the years, become the de facto guide to things New Yorkers feel like they should [...]
Mr. Romney loves guessing the ages and ethnicities of voters — often incorrectly. Whenever Mr. Romney bends down to chat with a little kid, the whole press corps giddily inches forward, waiting for the inevitable moment when he asks a boy who is clearly 4 or 5, “How old are you? 9? 10?” (His favorite guess for nationality is French-Canadian, which was a reasonably safe bet in New Hampshire, but became more precarious in more recent primary states, like Florida and Ohio.)
—It's almost worth subscribing to the New York Times just for their "story behind the story" emails for subscribers. The one that went out this morning, [...]
Something has happened to my inbox. My weekly Goop, from the desk of the ever-radiant Gwyneth Paltrow, has taken on a newfound novelty. It feels special again.
Like many, I initially subscribed to the newsletter “ironically,” as in, “This is fun to laugh at myself laughing at how out-of-touch this celebrity is!” Sometimes I scroll through, most times I don’t. But the other week, she sent out a back-to-school shopping guide. I read (viewed?) it on my phone waiting in line at the grocery store. I thought the tape dispensers the Goop team thought I should buy the kids that I don’t have were sleek and pretty and certainly [...]
Dublin was busy with construction and slick with rain. I tried to recognize landmarks through the taxi windows—mossy stone gate here, mossy stone church there—while the cab driver told me how the Irish were all getting rich and he had finally been able to move back home from the impossible hell of Scotland. It was the end of 1999, I had just flown from Washington to interview for a magazine called International Living, the new hotel-pub where I was staying was owned by someone from the band U2, in 24 hours I would be back at the airport, and life felt like a Thomas Friedman column.
The registration desk [...]