David Roth is a champion writer. Over at the Awl, he’s perfecting the art of the avant-garde NFL preview. And while his contributions to the Wall St. Journal’s Daily Fix are (understandably) a bit more muted and less kaleidoscopic, they still hum with a wit and energy that few (no?) daily media roundups can match. “But as great as he is on the page, he’s an even better human being” (that was Joe Buck writing that last sentence); as such, he’s agreed, for today at least, to open a branch of AWAW: NYC. Thanks, David. Enjoy, reader.
Madison Square Garden is a strange place. If you arrive there by subway, you’re coughed up into one of the worst places in all of New York City — the Cinnabon-reeking retail catacombs underneath Penn Station, which are choked with some of the slowest and saddest-faced commuters the city has to offer, flak-jacketed, extravagantly well-armed military dudes and a general ambient fluorescence of the most hope-melting variety. The idea, obviously, is to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Of all the ridiculous places that Starbucks has tried to make home-y and approachably funky and relaxable-in, the Starbucks under Madison Square Garden might be the most poignantly failed — those couches are toxic frauds. Do not sit on those couches. Get the hell out of there, not now but right now.