The public face of Miramax Films is and always will be Harvey
Weinstein. Mr. Weinstein loves this dirty town. He loves barreling through its
corridors of power, politics and social ambition, uniting, usurping and
generally proclaiming his existence. He is Burt Lancaster in an inflatable
suit.
But despite all the noise that Mr. Weinstein, Read More
Lately I’ve been thinking about the diminishing inventory of
my passions. A man north of, say, 39 is prone to take stock during a certain
season of his life (let’s say autumn) and greedily anticipate-especially after
a long winter-the renewal of spring. It’s an overdue opportunity to reconnect
with roots, women in their summer dresses, Read More
As we approach, witness–and yea, survive–the much hyperbolized launch party for Talk magazine, your diarist has come into possession of certain letters that may, one day, be of historical interest.
Or maybe not.
June 21, 1999. Liberty Island.
Dear Ms. Brown:
Thank you for your recent inquiry concerning the use Read More
We are always grateful to be given lessons in how to fish for cod. You
never know . For instance, you might be strolling down Madison Avenue
on a Saturday afternoon and find yourself thinking: “I would love to
have a nice piece of fresh cod right now. It will make a lovely lunch with Read More
Harvey’s Chelsea House was the prototype of a certain kind of New York restaurant: dark smoky bar dating back to the 1890′s, wood paneling, etched mirrors, tiled floors-and bad food. When the restaurant closed several years ago, I figured the owners would simply rip it apart and sell the fixtures and that if it ever Read More
