A Chelsea Art Gallery Opening Indistinguishable from Sailor Moon on Drugs

Last night I stumbled into the Japanese anime, art world version of Narnia.

Walking down West 22nd Street, I saw a group of people standing outside an art gallery. Some were smoking, most were wearing edgy, fashion-forward clothing. They were all attractive. If you were throwing a party in NYC, these are the people you’d want to come.

I had a hunch a party was exactly why they’d all gathered. On a quest in the name of truth (and hopeful for free booze), I opened the door of the gallery.

chelsea gallery anime art

Large paintings of bobble head, anime-style children hung on the walls. Giant eyes consumed a significant percentage of their round faces and shone with stars, hearts, fried eggs. Read More

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Black Cat Street Art on the Prowl in Soho

Is Soho painted with CAT-astrophic bad luck or a CAT-cophony of cuteness?

cat stencil art soho

Black cat street art is scampering around the cobble stone streets on NYC’s shopping district.

It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. Or to mistake for an actual cat. I saw the first little kitty sitting outside a new juice place on Mercer Street. The sun was shining on him, the perfect lighting for my shadow to give him a pat on the head. Read More

Don’t Take Your Third Date to a Stand Up Comedy Club

Are you a couple?

You guys are a couple?

So you two are dating?

How’d you meet?

You fucking?

With only one exception, every single comedian who came out on stage asked us a version of the same question.

The first time I chuckled awkwardly and shrugged. The second time I said “Uh, we’ll see?”

At “How’d you meet?” I threw my hands into the air and with as much enthusiasm as I could muster answered, “The internet!”

“You fucking?” was met with silence, no smile. The performer didn’t care, it was a rhetorical question. What would he have done had I thrown my date’s feelings to the wolves and shouted back, “NO! NO, WE ARE NOT FUCKING! HE’S NEVER EVEN SEEN ME NAKED.”

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New York Cliché Hashtag War #ManhattanABook

There’s nothing fun about war. Unless you’re playing the classic card game with your niece or taking part in one of my favorite aspects of Twitter. Hashtag wars! A hashtag war is a battle of wits where the “pound sign” is mightier than the sword. If that makes no sense to you, here let me show you.

I started my very own New York Cliché hashtag war on Thursdays. As host, I pick a hashtag and then rack my brain for the funniest ways to utilize it. And encourage others to do the same. Yesterday’s hashtag was #ManhattanABook. Wit, literary illusions, and plenty NYC centric puns ensued:

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Because I Can’t Not Write About Orlando and the Attack on the Gay Community

Sometimes, if you have a platform, there’s only one thing you can write about. Even if you don’t know what to say, even if others have already said more poignant, important, meaningful things than you ever could. You have to say something. The thought that even one person might interpret your silence as you not caring is unbearable. So, I’m sharing my thoughts (no “and prayers”) here. They have nothing to do with New York clichés but everything to do with America. From New York to San Francisco to Orlando. 

I was born in San Francisco at the height of the AIDS crisis. Born, raised, and came of age in the heart of Gay Mecca. Rainbows shaped my heart, my soul, made me who I am today. Though I can’t claim to be a part of gay culture, gay culture is a huge part of me. For that I am forever grateful Blessed. Indebted. Read More

Governor’s Island Is Open For the Season and You Gotta Go!

The cliche is, once Memorial Day hits, New Yorkers escape the city for the Hamptons as much as humanly possible.

governors island lawn

But what about those of us who hate three hours of bumper to bumper traffic?

Those of us who have panic attacks when packed like sardines on an LIRR train?

New Yorkers who can’t tell you the rules of tennis if you threatened us with a weed whacker to our throats?

We who feel we are performing a part in a play if we put on a polo shirt?

What about the New Yorkers who can’t afford multi-million dollar summer mansions the size of our hometown elementary schools? Read More