copywriting. jumbo style.
On my way home from dance last week, at the crosswalk on 5th Ave and 9th Street, I noticed a guy walking slowly in front of me. He was weaving a little as people do when they’re texting, except he was looking down at a piece of paper and then back up at the street… keep reading…
“HAS ANYONE SEEN MY RUBBERS?” My dad used to yell that through the house. I think about it on slushy New York days. By “rubbers,” he meant his black rubber overshoe boots by Totes. Instead of changing from one pair to another, you just slipped these on over your good wingtips. Or, in my dad’s case, Hush… keep reading…
You know I’m a self-loathing sample whore. I wrote a whole post about it here. I become extra self-loathing when my sample whoring backfires on me. Like at the farmer’s market, when the jam turns out to be garlic chutney. Or when I pop a piece of cut-up nectarine in my mouth, and either it’s rotten or, just as… keep reading…
Growing up Jewish in New York, the capitol of bagels and lox, I was never “the Jewish one.” My experience of antisemitism or even ignorance in that category was limited to a couple of moments: – One time was on a 10th-grade trip to Washington, DC. Above the hotel room that 3 of my friends… keep reading…
The other day, I struck eavesdropping gold. I was in O Cafe, my spot on the corner where I’ve been trying to go once a day to spend some time working (gasp) outside the house. I usually stay for about an hour, which is how long you get free internet there. I like the change… keep reading…
”Before we decide, I want to hear about the specials,” our friend JP said. He and his wife, Caroline, had been to this Brooklyn restaurant before and had wanted to come back, with us. Mostly because they liked it, but partly because JP felt ripped off that no one had mentioned any specials, and then he saw… keep reading…
Below is a transcript of the inspiring speech I will give to a graduating university class, if ever invited. In it, I lay out a step-by-step blueprint to early success based on my own first summer after college, a time that helped shape me into the adult I am today. (Note: most of it requires… keep reading…
The real story is the one I never used. I always made some shit up when I wanted to skip an after-school commitment. “I didn’t make it all the way to Hebrew School because a drug dealer came up to me and offered me pot on 83rd Street. What, why are you mad, I thought you’d… keep reading…
25 years ago, a fucking quarter century, I was working in a bar downtown. East Village. I didn’t even know where I was, except how to get there from the subway. On my way, I walked past the Palladium and a bunch of junkies. It was winter, so I wore my black wool coat there…. keep reading…
My parents don’t like to throw things out. Neither do I. Steven keeps saying, “apple, tree” whenever he sees evidence of a hereditary hoarding pattern. And since we’ve been living here for a month, he’s had many opportunities to say it. Here are some of the things my parents hold onto: A ziploc baggie of… keep reading…
