I learned my lesson long ago: there is no place for “Zahava” in Starbucks. For many years, in the overpriced land of hissing espresso machines and foamed upper lips and green-clad baristas, Zahava didn’t exist. Instead, for the ten minutes I spent each day ordering coffee, I was Zoe, or Sarah, or Lauren. It was easier that way. But I resolved recently to tell the truth about my name.
A much celebrated and reviled Nass tradition. To telescope, writers write a brief 300 word piece on a theme (this year, “melt”). Then, a 150 word piece. Then, 75 words. Then, 37 and a half. You’ll see.
Operation Style put on their annual charity fashion show on Friday on the Frist South Lawn. It looked like a benefit in a second-rate but affluent suburb, or a production at a private school looking to increase its endowment.
It is Spanish medieval history meets German 20th century history. It is Heart of Darkness meets Mein Kampf. It is glory meets madness. It is conquest meets greed. It is Herzog meets Kinski. It is abjection meets addiction. This is … Read More
It would seem the mad dash to fill the Nass’s literary issue might best warrant a clandestine mafia negotiation; by this logic, the editors (in fedoras and spats, sure, and affecting a Sicilian shtick) would send out coercive e-mails to … Read More
Editor’s note: The following is a brief selection of a running diary of Game 2 of the Knicks-Celtics playoff series, played on April 19, 2011 at TD Banknorth Garden in Boston.
