http://www.nypress.com/articles.sec-10-1-features-culture.html You’re my first Web crush since 1997.” The window of the Gchat box flashed green, telling me David had typed a new message.When I read his confession, I felt a girlish pride for winning his attention, but also a sense of hesitation, guessing that Web crushes could only be reserved for pervs, nerds or socially awkward types. A lustful admission was a bit of a creepy thing for David to say considering we hadn’t even met. He was on the other side of the Atlantic chatting to me from Amsterdam while I sat in my Williamsburg loft, hugging my glowing white MacBook to my chest.]]> Virginia Bartlett, whose proud cleavage and ageless figure embodies the classic glamour of a Latina Sophia Lauren, swears incredible things happened at the Studio Coffee Shop in Hell’s Kitchen. The 68-year-old blond Puerto Rican spent over a decade as the coffee shop’s sole waitress and when she walks down the street she’s still recognized by many. The place, which was no bigger and just as grimy as a doughnut cart, once stood on the ground floor of the Film Center Building on Ninth Avenue between West 44th and 45th streets and has since been transformed into Nizza, an Italian-French restaurant.]]> For a quintessentially Brooklyn writer, Jonathan Ames sounds awfully L.A. When we caught up with Ames, whose new HBO show Bored to Death premiered on Sunday, he was driving to a rental car depot to renew his wheels. Still, he managed to find some time for the paper he used to toil at to talk about Craigslist, Russian baths and the secrets of his success.]]> Beyond the tourists listening to live Lennon covers at Strawberry Fields and the jazz band playing on the grass, another sound emerges from the depth of the trees in New York's Central Park: the low bass of dance music. A closer look reveals figures who look like they could have stepped out a 1970s theme movie—perhaps Roll Bounce or the equally disco-tastic Roller Boogie. The weekly dance skaters whizz by in a roped-off oval area, doing what they have done for the past 30 years. And then Lezly Ziering takes the lead.]]> WISH I COULD blame nuclear weapons, a mutant virus or Hitler for the malformation in my Russian Jewish bloodline, but my theory is a suicide gene. That coupled with an inability to bond during difficult times. We held our sorrow separately, a silent pact—if we didn’t put words to it, nothing was awry. With a child’s vocabulary I tried to convey the dark storms in my head, but felt my efforts swept aside. “What the hell does that kid have to be depressed about?” Dad asked. Mom shushed him. I was unglued and my family found me exhausting.]]> Winter, December 1991, on the phone. “So you know what I was thinking?” Andreas asks. “What?” “I was thinking if maybe we might want to think about getting married.”]]> "In the federal trial, AIG alleges that ousted CEO Maurice 'Hank' Greenberg left AIG in 2005 with 290 million shares of illegally seized stock, since sold for an estimated $4.3 billion ..." "A consortium led by Kumho Investment Bank has taken over the headquarters " The disintegrating company's news Googles into my inbox, like jagged rocks down an avalanche. I could tell you about AIG.]]> Thanks to everyone who entered our first 8 Million Stories Summer Writing Contest. We received over 200 entries, both fiction and non-fiction, and after careful consideration by our judges, we selected a first place winner for both categories. The winner of the non-fiction summer writing contest will be announced in next weeks issue.]]> How to Find a New York City Apartment: The unfortunate truth is that areas off-but-near campus will be pricey and apartments will be small.]]> According to a quiz found on Bravo’s website to promote their latest reality show, NYC Prep, I am not cut out for the fictional-reality-factual-teledrama version of my own life. In fact, I am “Totally Not Prep-Ared.”]]> MANHATTAN DEVELOPMENT HAS finally slowed—which means its time to take stock of what remains. Now that buildings once destined for the wrecking ball have been given a reprieve, maybe we can save a few more.]]> AN AFTER-HOURS club of unprecedented size and bravado, The Shank opened its doors the first week of January 2009 to a neighborhood crowd of nightlife professionals, nocturnal unemployeds and those who, for whatever reason, just werent sleepy when the bars closed.]]> Michael Jackson made the best cinema of 1991 with the music video “Black or White,” which was easily superior to any short or feature-length film released to the public that year. To find a comparable example of visual montage, you have to go back to one of Alain Resnais’ time-shifting études, the marriage scherzo in Citizen Kane or the chase-trial fugue in D.W. Griffith’s Intolerance. I combine musical and filmic values because “Black or White” ’s visionary approach to egalitarianism—ending with a still-miraculous sequence of genetic morphing and counter-balanced by a solo dance of frustration and rage—was a singular feat: Its constant rhythm was accompanied by a stacking-up of thrilling, provocative ideas.]]> For me, the economic crisis began last April 2nd. “We’re letting you go,” the office manager announced while standing in my doorway, on his way to another, more important meeting. Had it been a day earlier, I would’ve thought he was kidding. Actually, I wasn’t all that surprised. I’d been expecting it. Please don’t confuse that with dreading it: I hated my job. In this particular job’s defense, I’ve hated all my jobs. As an advertising copywriter—“With 14 vitamins and minerals, you can trust Cheerios for a lifetime of wholesome goodness for your whole family!”—that comes with the territory.]]> A multiracial group mills about, sipping Haitian rum from plastic cups inside a four-story building on Lenox Avenue. The humid spring night marks the first evening of the second run of the “Haiti in Harlem” film series at the Maysles Cinema and Film Institute, and the eclectic gathering includes Harlemites, Haitians, cinephiles young and old and Aboudja, a voodoo priest and drummer who’s been tapped to lead a concert after the film in the downstairs lounge of the pint-sized theater.]]> Wake up, New York! You’re supposed to be the city that doesn’t take any bullshit, the city that chews up the phonies and spits ‘em out! Are you really going to be bamboozled by a bunch of pseudo-hipsters from Portland, Oregon? Are you really going to fall for Stumptown Coffee? I’m an East Coast refugee myself, having just finished up four years of college here in Portland. I’ve been indoctrinated into its style and, more importantly, its most popular coffee roaster and chain of cafés, Stumptown. Since owner and self-styled coffee guru Duane Sorenson opened his first Portland roastery in 1999, he has overseen a massive expansion throughout the hipper zips of the Pacific Northwest.]]> While evangelical Christians might claim there’s only one path to getting on God’s guest list—repent your sins and accept Jesus as your savior—I found an easier way, without the repenting and the accepting and the fear of relapse: I’m a New York Yankee season-ticket holder. That’s how I discovered Joel Osteen’s “A Night of Hope” would be barnstorming at the Stadium last month, anchored at second base, flanked by a full-throated choir and televised worldwide. As a secular New Yorker whose phone number was long ago discarded by the faithful fold, I have no interest in disparaging those who seek the comforts of Christian Fellowship, but a worm of wonder did crawl into my consciousness when I received an email from the Yankees announcing the event. ]]> Just west of Fourth Avenues longshuttered Brooklyn Tile Supply Corp., along the shores of the Gowanus Canal sits a neighborhood that seems to be waking from its grimy, industrial slumber. Flanked from the east by an expanding Park Slope and from the west by the Smith Street renaissance, signs of change have lately arrived to Gowanus in the form of summertime kayakers who are committed to the revitalization of its murky inland waterway.]]>