Meet the playful American poet Kenneth Goldsmith, who demonstrates how poetry is all around us -- you just need to open your eyes to it.
Darsh Patel and his friends, when confronted with the bear, did something that should be counter-intuitive; instead of vacating the area, they remained and made themselves noticeable by taking pictures. I wonder if cell phones allow us to withdraw into a false zone of anonymity.
The bride wants children right away, and the groom is on the same page. That's how they feel about it. You get married, you have kids. Why wait? ...
One of the guys on my paper distribution route was a soft-spoken gray-haired guy with big black-framed eyeglasses. Politeness was a rare thing at a place like The Post, and this man always thanked me when I slapped the latest edition down on his desk.
Belsky's novel is a fascinating character study of disgraced journalist Gil Malloy, on the hunt for a serial killer who may very well be in possession of a long-buried secret that could reveal the rotted, corrupt truth behind the Kennedy assassination.
Enough is enough. By suing the New York Post, I hope to also send a message to other news outlets that they cannot get away with maligning celebrities for the sheer fun of it and maliciously ruin an individual's reputation in the effort to garner page views.
It is both fascinating and disturbing to gain a peek back in time, with the grand benefit of history and hindsight, and the wonder of it all. Unfortunately -- unforgivably -- and despite great strides across the land and around the world, anti-Semitism continues to rear its ugly head to this day.
Active consent policies exist to change hearts and minds about how we think about sexual boundaries. They are not meant to entrap drunk college students with unfounded rape accusations, which under active consent are no easier to "prove" than before. The policy of active consent is a banner, not a barrier.
Yorkville and East Harlem already have some of the worst pollution and highest asthma rates in the city, and now 100 to 500 extra diesel trucks are going to roar through an entirely residential neighborhood to dump their loads in a stinking, two acre, heavy-duty industrial facility in front of public housing.
With less than 10 weeks to go before the midterm Congressional elections Americans in general are frustrated with Washington. National polls show that about three-quarters of all Americans disapprove of the way Congress is doing its job. Because so much is at stake, this coming election day is not a time for eligible voters to stay home.
It's hard enough carving out a space for ourselves in a world that constantly marginalizes us and our very existence. And having strange men assume that we want to hear what they think of us when there are very few things we want less in the world just adds to the burden.
Catcalling isn't about flattery, the men aren't doing it to make you feel beautiful or special. They're doing it because of a sense of entitlement. Because to them, every woman is fair game regardless of what time of day it is or where you are or what the woman is doing.
Haring painted Crack is Wack without asking for permission. One morning, during the summer of 1986, he drove a rented van -- loaded with some ladders from his studio and some new fluorescent orange paint he had bought -- up to Harlem to paint.
It was one of those puff-piece New York Post assignments that landed in my lap once in a while back in the day, and that was fine by me -- no crime, no chalk outlines on the street, no survivors to interview.
Anna, in my books, is aging gracefully and has not quite reached the non-exclusive membership club for the elderly.
I realize that in relation to the digital colosseum the sad print tabloid industry is merely a fungus on the underside of a rotting stump. But that doesn't excuse its existence.