Jeremy Lin, Tim Tebow and the weekend walk into a bar.
We’re hooking you up with five hours in a private jet—anytime you’d like—with tickets to the final round of this year’s Masters. Plus, exclusive prebooking for classes with NYC’s best fitness instructors at SurfSET’s pop-up space in Chelsea Market, and a new Dutch-inspired bike, delivered. Your spring deserves this.
Warhol, that sneaky SOB. Turns out this guy had been hiding a stash of celebrity Polaroid portraits (think Lennon, Capote, Orenthal James Simpson) since the early ’70s. Well, apparently somebody found the shoebox, because a portion of these once-forgotten prints are now on display at Danziger Gallery. (And by gallery we mean the lost and found.)
In celebration of sidewalk-seating season (or as the Native Americans called it, “spring”), Hugo Boss has rounded up anything linen/lacking sleeves and put together a great big sample sale. Consider this the ideal time to beef up your polo-shirt collection. You never know when you’ll need a collar.
So you know all that stuff you loved about LES date spot Frankies 17 (the pasta, the antipasti, the three-fennel porchetta)... well, it’s gone. Yup, starting tomorrow the joint will be repurposed for tapas and called Francesca (you see what they did there). Expect chilled braised octopus. And a few vigil candles.
A guy from Lit and a girl from Home Sweet Home are opening a new bar in Williamsburg tomorrow. Though, in truth, it’s more like a live-music lounge crossed with a 1960s London flat. So here’s what you need to know. The vodka: it’s on the house tomorrow night. And that thing called a loo: it’s the bathroom.
Sunday. A day of rest. Or in Italian culture, a day to gather around a gigantic pile of pasta/meat and gorge yourself. Keeping the tradition alive: Zero Otto Nove. They’re serving a new Sunday group dinner that’s essentially an overflowing pot of red sauce, ravioli, meatballs, pork skin braciola and sausage. Sweatpants are advised.
