Murdoch: “Isn’t he my neighbor?” Right-o.
Serial Mom sells self-help book.
Downward-facing dawg!
It’s not all bliss these days at the posh Avon Salon and Spa in Trump Tower.
Disco shoes saved him!
If the city had Moses on the brain last week, it wasn’t merely because Passover left some in a reflective mode.
Ex-Yankee and memoirist Ron Blomberg is in the record books for being the first DH. (That doesn’t stand for Designated Hebrew.)
Artists leave work outside; pigeons refuse to poop on it.
No more brown-paper packages tied up with string.
A random survey of 100 pedestrians in Union Square on news, celebrities, and (allegedly) crooked gossip columnists.
The last of the East Village dirtbag-artist squats gets gut-renovated.
Who can predict the winner in the battle to be the city’s top seer?
Two evenings of smart talk about art.
Tribeca Film Festival turns five.
The Joyce Theater’s 1-2-3 Festival puts top junior companies onstage together for opening night on April 25.
Striking new takes on contemporary favorites.
By night, the upper west Twenties are all about the club scene—but by day, there’s lots to see at the galleries.
A pearl-and-diamond necklace from a Hollywood glamour expert, resolutely utilitarian boots, and more.
Richard Spiess of B&H Photo-Video.
Store openings this week.
A bewigged hairdresser.
Philippe—like Mr. Chow’s but worse.
A Bread Tribeca chef’s pan-roasted trout.
Crema Restaurante reviewed.
With all this activity, and an Aussie fish bar in the works (Bondi Road, at 153 Rivington Street), it’s time for an Australian-food primer.
Week of April 17, 2006: Frankies Spuntino 17 Clinton Street, Megu Midtown, Dirty Bird To-Go, and Dressler.
The latest arrival to Van Brunt Street makes one of Red Hook’s strongest culinary impressions yet.
Just when you thought old-fashioned tableside service had gone the way of the cummerbunded captain, it’s turning up all over town.
Wine, cheese, fresh bacon—there’s a special dinner or tasting out there for every kind of connoisseur.
An interview with Miuccia Prada and Rem Koolhaas on shopping, art, and the revamped Prada store.
DIY and LSQDI (Let Someone Qualified Do It) approaches to spring cleaning.
Buildings finally rise on the site of an infamous Brooklyn tragedy.
Apartment-shoppers at a Fort Greene open house opine on a one-bedroom on South Oxford Street.
Even if a pipe dream, the Bloomberg-for-president movement is good for New York.
Is A. M. Homes happy and domesticated? Sort of.
A satire of American politics and culture from Paul Weitz is barely as ridiculous as the real thing.
A drama about Iraq called Stuff Happens fails to realize the potential of a great premise.
Q&A with actor and The Threepenny Opera star Alan Cumming.
Met shows about Kara Walker and an Egyptian queen have the relevance that all museums crave.
Helen Mirren may not be the best Elizabeth ever, but given the competition, that’s hardly an insult.
This show wants us to know that fortysomething single moms are smart and sexy, too. Of course, Julia Louis-Dreyfus has been here before.
Robson Green stars as an unemployed steelworks engineer and recently widowed father of two who has decided to build the very first Welsh rocket.
A recurring guide to which shows are on the rise and which are about to crash.
Our citizen reviewers’ takes on the Flaming Lips (yea), Ghostface Killah (double yea), and others.
Gay Talese, still charmingly incorrigible after all these years.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies.
Julia Roberts owns the world’s largest reserves of camera-charming, big-smiling, leading-lady Star Power.
Deep in the urban jungle, a relic of the nation’s pre-ironic past lurks.
