This rare slice of green space in Lower Manhattan may soon disappear.

I had been in Paris not 24 hours when I found myself squatting on a shaded corner in the 9th arrondissement, vomiting into a wax pastry bag, having lobbed the pain de campagne it once held at my boyfriend so I could use it as my personal puke sack.

Attention passengers.

Like many New Yorkers, I grew up with the unabashed belief that my city was the city. It was fact: New York composed the finest music, sold the coolest clothes, exhibited the most spectacular art.

The impulse to distill food writing into neatly packaged lists is somewhat natural.

It's really nice that all Mariah Carey wants for Christmas is "you," but for the rest of us, the consumer aspect of the holiday is a pretty big deal.

Contrary to popular belief, you are are not what you eat.

Historically, human beings are far from the most reliable species.

Here's a hot take: Reply-all is the modern day plague.

I am fairly convinced that my maturity levels have plateaued.

In times of trouble, I find it helpful to ask myself WWCTD (What Would Chrissy Teigen Do?).

Prominent among the wealth of lies-masquerading-as-good-advice our parents bestowed upon us as children is the notion that one should never talk to strangers.