So I was born and raised in Flushing. Yeah, I've heard all the fucking jokes, so don't even try.
Went to SUNY Purchase, which is the only time I've ever lived outside of Neuvajork, and the whole four years is a blur.
I will admit to one failed marriage. Two if I'm drunk.
Speaking of which: Canadian whiskey. Neat. Not ruined. Maybe some bourbon or rye. None of this fucking Yuppie single malt shit. I don't care if it's been sitting in a barrel in Scotland since before WWI. It's still Yuppie fucking shit.
I currently live in a third-floor walk-up one-bedroom co-op on West 83rd. Next to a big synagogue, so it's really quiet. Except on Saturday morning.
I used to write about baseball, but then they made me write about books. Where's the fucking justice in that?
I am currently beginning new employment with the New York Journal, and the Sun can go to Chai-Latte hell.