Earlier this week we brought word that Gray’s Papaya would be opening a midtown location at 612 Eighth Avenue, between 39th and 40th Streets, making an uptown Papaya pilgrimage just a little easier for those of us who are still mourning the loss, three years ago, of their Greenwich Village spot. (The chain had dwindled down to its original store at 72nd Street.)
When John Mulaney and Nick Kroll told Marc Maron who they wanted for “Oh, Hello on Broadway,” they mentioned that Alan Alda, Bernie Sanders, and Donald Trump’s doctor were on their wish list. After all, they’re rich man’s versions of Gil Faizon and George St. Geegland, the creepy, crusty Upper West Side roommates who rose to fame as characters on Kroll Show. Last night at the Lyceum Theatre, Donald’s doc failed to show up, but there were plenty of Trump jokes when Katie Couric made a surprise appearance.
Last night I was the boy in the bubble.
No, not like in Seinfeld. I was on the 54th-floor terrace of the Hyatt Times Square, in one of its two new inflatable plastic domes. They’re called The Bubbles.
You’d think the recent revival of CBGB as an airport restaurant would be sufficient humiliation to convince New Yorkers to let go of their old haunts. But no. Hot on the heels of the Mudd Club rummage sale and the 50th anniversary celebration of Max’s Kansas City comes another 50th anniversary celebration of Max’s Kansas City.
We all remember Dan Perino, aka Looking for a Girlfriend guy and his abundant flyers around the East Village, don’t we? (At least, we hope you didn’t forget his speed dating escapades at our B+B Bazaar last year.) Well, he’s kind of pulled back on his flyers as of late, and his bid for a reality show seems either stalled or forgotten. Could it be that Perino’s quest for the perfect child-bearing-aged match is complete? (After all, he claims of hundreds of dates to his name.)
With the U.S. “reasonably certain” that a drone strike killed the much reviled Jihadi John and a wave of recent attacks boosting our worst fears about ISIS, the timing isn’t exactly great for a documentary that questions the wisdom of targeted killings. But two former drone operators who appear in Tonje Hessen Schei’s Drone are sticking to their guns.
Weird things happen when you go above 14th Street. We did just that as we followed last night’s protests and, near Times Square, encountered Tom Sierra and his four pet rats, Freddy, Gizmo, George and Gilbert. The Bronx resident told us he’s been entertaining/terrifying tourists with them for over a decade. “I make a living,” he said. And not a bad one, it would seem: last year the Brooklyn-born former computer technician told the West Side Spirit that he made up to $400 a night. We asked “Rat” about the most extreme reaction he’s gotten.
Over 100 people were arrested in New York City last night as hundreds protesting the death of Freddie Gray in Baltimore police custody gathered in Union Square and marched through the streets.
Thousands of demonstrators returned to the streets of New York last night to protest a grand jury’s decision not to indict a white police officer in the death of Eric Garner, an unarmed black man, in July. For hours the marches fanned out across the city, snarling traffic in downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn, and leading to more than two hundred arrests. The charges included disorderly conduct and obstructing vehicular traffic, according to the New York Police Department.
Keep Reading »
There are more signs of life at the onetime home of Don Hill’s. No, it isn’t being zombified CBGBs-style. Rather, the club’s soon-to-open replacement, The Hills, will host a tribute to Don himself, featuring Michael C. Hall and other cast members of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which got its start at the rowdy rock-and-rave dive of yore.
Keep Reading »
New Yorkers protesting a grand jury’s decision not to indict Darren Wilson marched from Union Square to Harlem last night, taking over some of the city’s busiest streets and commandeering the Brooklyn and Triborough Bridges.
Keep Reading »
It took me three passes before I could bring myself to open the unmarked black door on East 4th Street, the one an older man had entered after trying to cruise me near a rack of Citi Bikes. Inside was a steep staircase, painted deep orange, leading down into a basement lobby. There was a framed poster on the wall: Eyes Wide Shut, the Stanley Kubrick film in which an overcurious New Yorker stumbles into an orgy of anonymous, Bacchanalian sex.
Keep Reading »