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Halloween Standedge Tunnel's spooky secrets and gruesome tales could be revealed in new paranormal investigation. I have a dumpling recipe that I normally use. The lure of the forbidden is always more compelling than an engraved invitation. I'm using it as a base for some dumpling recipes I've wanted to make myself. Cranking Merlin Mann Apr 22 1.

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Flip when the top has bubbles and a half inch of the edge looks dry. Variation - For extra fluffy pancakes, separate the egg and whip the white until soft peaks form. Makes about eight 8-inch pancakes.

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Super Sweet South Beach Pancakes. In a medium bowl, combine dry ingredients. My girls insisted on making pancakes from scratch this morning, so I had to search cooks.

So glad I came across this one. These pancakes are amazing!!! It's my second time making these pancakes, this time I added a mashed banana. I whipped the egg white and got some very fluffy pancakes! Will have to save this recipe! Used the buttermilk version. Thanks for providing adjustments to other ingredients. Will be making it over and over again for Sunday breakfast! My 10 yr old son devoured the stack; now one of his favs.

Luckily it's eazy enough for him to make too! Best pancake recipe ever!! I've been looking for a fluffy pancake recipe and I always get the chewy thin pancakes - not bad, but not what I wanted.

I didn't even whip the egg whites. I did not get fluffy pancakes. My pancakes came out flat. It still has a great flavor but still flat!!! Whipped the egg and used an iron skillet to get half inch thick fluffy pancakes. I used a cup of milk and then added milk little by little until I was happy with the consistency.

This recipe has everything that was missing from my original attempts. My pancakes were not even the slightest bit fluffy, they were flat and chewy Have made them a few times, but finally got it perfect! A little white vinegar in the milk makes great "buttermilk" and whippin' that egg white was key! I've tried several, this is the best so far. Whipping the egg made a big difference in consistancy.

The only change I made was to add two eggs instead of one. This morning I ran out of Bisquick and had to make pancakes for my 2 boys and a sleepover friend and this recipe was delicious!

Fluffy, tasty and easy. In the s, the impulse to party was born. There were so many heroin dealers. Trying to make money here. This is how it goes. I went to a place called the Zoo in They had locker rooms. And they had buffets, which was kind of disgusting. This was people eating like they were on a goddamn cruise ship.

And they had all these giant matted rooms, for like 30 people. I started talking to this cute girl who was there, and the next thing you know, we had sex. And it was great! If you went to a porno theater in those days, there would be couples all over.

Back then, it was called house music and the drug was known as ecstasy and that sort of decadent tribal behavior was, for the most part, a custom of the gay-black-Latin underground, confined to a relatively minuscule number of venues, like Sound Factory in far-west Chelsea. At the height of all of this giddy weekend nihilism — procure happy pills on Friday, gather in East Village on Saturday, dance into Sunday, cancel Monday — George Michael emerged from his self-imposed exile and went on a world tour.

He did a concert at Madison Square Garden on October 26, We planted ourselves on the dance floor, underneath the four-foot-wide disco ball, with the usual crowd: He danced for hours, availing himself of his right as a gay man to lose himself on the dance floor.

This could never happen today, of course. The noises annoy me. Being really good about diet and exercise for, say, a month, and losing 10 lbs. The 90s were a fun time. On election night , all eyes turned to Florida. Inside the New York Times newsroom, top editors raced against print deadlines and shifting vote counts late into the night. Here, some of the less-remembered club kids of yesteryear. John Geddes, then—deputy managing editor: The first edition closed that night at about Andrew Rosenthal, then—national editor: In those days, we used to order pizza.

And the really good times, when they were full of money, we used to order Chinese food at Rockefeller Center. It was either Chinese or pizza, probably pizza.

We were all huddled around there. The second edition closed at Joe felt within about a half an hour that Florida was shifting toward Gore and the headline was misleading. Joe, as I recall, was somewhat chagrined. I called the plant manager at about 3: About , copies were distributed in New York. About 9, of them were junk, we just trashed them. Obviously we had, and we printed those papers.

We closed the newsroom that night at 4: It was on a grimy block at the northern edge of Little Italy, almost all tenements, their windows open to air out the lingering summer stink.

Greco was out on bail for some unspecified small-time crime — probably bookmaking. As Greco lit a cigarette, four shots were fired. Two hit him in the head, and he was dead moments after he hit the ground. The shooter, or shooters, vanished. One of the first cameras on the scene was held by Arthur Fellig, who was becoming famous as a press photographer and press hound under the name Weegee. What caught his attention when he arrived was not the body in a doorway but the surrounding human drama, especially the tenement families upstairs.

Weegee titled the picture Balcony Seats at a Murder, and the next day it ran in the Post. He kept a copy of the check stub he got from Time Inc. The cops never found out who killed Greco, and those men milling around in the photo have long since joined him in the great beyond. But he remembers being in Life. Just walking arm-in-arm, shivering. But we were getting all this unwanted attention, and we were terrified.

When we hit Third, we see these two white guys come out, and one is dressed in this ratted-tatted leopard-fur coat, and they look high as hell. You should be careful on these streets, two girls like that. My sister thinks fast. How much do you have on you? She took one arm, I took the other, and we walked home over the bridge with it. When I was 18, in … I found employment, at what at the time was regarded as a very good salary, in the Fulton Fish Market.

Part of my job was the use of a pair of strong marine glasses from the roof of the fish market in order to pick out the fishing smacks of the fleet operated by my employers as they turned out of Buttermilk Channel into the lower East River. A low draft was a big catch. Riding high on the crest of the wave meant failure, and as it was known to the owners of the business where each particular smack was operating, so also was the cargo known. An Autobiography , by Alfred E. I used to be a New York City police officer, for 15 years.

One night, a guy tried to commit suicide by jumping from his fifth-floor window. I was on patrol, and I saw it in my rearview window. I had to stay with him all night long. I learned that he was a professor, and he had just gotten a terminal-illness diagnosis that day, and his wife left him, and he lost his job — all on the same day!

So he decided that was too much. He tried to take pills, but he passed out, and he woke up throwing them up. He was looking for a gun, but his wife took it when she left him. Darkness gives cover to those involved in illegal activities — and to the cops and prosecutors trying to catch them. On November 7, , year-old J. Edgar Hoover masterminded a night of raids on suspected foreign radicals.

Cops flooded the building, interrupting an English class and arresting people. Law enforcement also seized several trucks full of communist literature, evidence of what Hoover and his DoJ boss, A. Mitchell Palmer, claimed was a conspiracy to overthrow the U. After finishing a performance of her play Sex on the evening of February 9, , Mae West, along with her cast and crew, was arrested and charged with obscenity.

The play, about a prostitute angling for a rich husband, had already completed more than performances, seen by an estimated , people. During Prohibition, New Yorkers became accustomed to police busting down doors of speakeasies. But people were aghast on April 25, , when Prohibition officers went so far as to arrest patrons — in evening clothes!

Several protested that the police had ruined their dates. The downfall of the notorious gangster began with a massive raid on Brooklyn and Manhattan brothels organized by prosecutor and future governor Thomas Dewey.

It was an extraordinary operation, five months in the making. To avoid leaks, officers were only told of the plans that day, and were sent to make arrests in groups, with warrants kept sealed until they arrived.

The 87 arrested were held with unusually high bail in an effort to get them to testify against their employer. There was no hotter club in the summer of than Gotham, at East 54th Street. In the summer of , I decided to walk home every night, no matter what time it was or what shoes I was wearing. The Brooklynites teased me for being fancy when their own neighborhoods were starting to break out in bespoke condos hewn from muddled goji berries.

It was a good neighborhood. Most every Manhattan neighborhood in was good enough. Maybe it was the economy and maybe it was the corporal hubris of a year-old, but I felt somehow taken care of by the city. Walking up from the East Village presented no problem — one grid gives way to another.

The West Side, meanwhile, was full of markers: Walking from Chinatown was tricky. When the pads of my feet burned, I would walk barefoot along the park, hopping on the hexagonal pavement.

And then something bad happened. During which my walking became an impossibility. I shut my window to keep out the acrid smell. How did the smell get all the way up here? I took a tiny comfort in picturing the wind blowing up the island, guessing the paths it could take.

All those blocks were still there. If it could get up, I could go back down. I was sewing my own clothes at a very early age, and I used to sew these things and get into Studio But I usually got in because I was outlandishly dressed.

And I looked much older than I was, because for one thing, I was wearing all these crazy clothes and makeup and stuff, and you would never have guessed that I was a teenager. I was the king of the group, because I had this giant brown Cadillac the size of a tank.

And one night, this would be , I was driving my friends home at like four in the morning, pouring rain, and I had finally dropped everybody off, and I was making a right on the West Side Highway in the 70s. And the car just stopped, dead. I just got out of the car, closed the door, hailed a taxi, took a cab home, and went to sleep.

I was so nervous about this because he would actually fight me. It was part of a bit, but it was real. Oh, I just loved Andy so much. All-nighters are part of working on Wall Street — everyone from the greenest analysts to the top executives has to pull them from time to time.

In September , the pound plunged against the dollar. Then you shower and go to the office at 5: This went on for days. Late at night, Johnson would cloister himself in his office at his house in Connecticut, surrounded by a Reuters terminal, a Bloomberg terminal, a fax machine, multiple landlines, a treadmill, and a mini-gym. He would lift weights waiting for a phone call. But it pays off, or at least it did for Johnson. The hand-delivered invite was a velvet-wrapped VHS tape.

Chris Rock said to leave your posse at home, Magic Johnson instructed guests to arrive at 10 p. Not surprisingly, word got out. In fact, this magazine printed the RSVP number. Puffy was making a statement — that a rapper born in a housing project in Harlem could throw a party as lavish as anything Mrs.

Vanderbilt could have put together, and that Minnie Driver and Mark Wahlberg might have to wait outside in the cold to get in. At around 2 a. Leave my people alone. Everything in K-Town is open all night.

You can get a facial, sauna, steam room, the whole nine. It occupied a building at Washington Street until it closed down in Michael Denneny, book editor: Suddenly, our sexual appetite was ravenous. Mayo Roe, former owner of the Paris Commune restaurant: I have goose bumps right now from memories of the great friends I met there, the boys I fucked, pissed on, slapped around, and took home. I was finishing my degree in theater at City College and wanted to work in the most outrageous leather bar in the city.

I started on the coat, or clothes, check, and then I was working the door. On the weekends, there were hundreds of guys, ten or 15 on the stairs, waiting to get in. If someone showed up who you thought was really hot, you could tell him to take all his clothes off so you could see him naked, even if he was dressed correctly.

A lot of straight men were claiming to be bi. A friend who was in with the Andy Warhol crowd told me that Andy used to go to the Mineshaft on the evenings when there was a foot club.

They can sit at the bar and drink for an hour. He met a lot of the leather-men he photographed at the Mineshaft. Upstairs there was a Western-style bar in the main room. The walls were painted black, the windows were boarded up, the red lighting was dim. Wally played disco, Broadway musicals, and opera. A lot of guys in full leather would stand around up there talking about who they heard at the Met last night and what kind of quiche they made while all these gorgeous guys were having sex.

I was always supremely excited to get in the door, excited and scared. My entire body would be trembling. I would have thought about it all day, dressing for it and planning what character I was going to be.

I always pretended to be a different sex persona, and I always gave my name as Pete Marshall. I was on drugs almost every night I was working: I would say 90 percent of the guys were on drugs. Everybody had their own thing. It depended on what kind of sex you wanted to have. I remember one night being in the back room and seeing a naked man wearing a collar who fancied he was a dog.

There was a room in the basement covered in tiles and with a drain in the floor. When the building was used for meatpacking, I guess it was where they hung up the carcasses and let the blood out. That was where the bathtub was — guys would get into it to get pissed on.

When you worked there, if you had to pee, you just went over there and peed on someone. That really is a far-out place. The club stayed open at least till 6 a. When the lights came on, you always found shoes, hats, cock rings, gloves, even pairs of pants. The Mineshaft was really a disease-ridden place … I left in because I got hepatitis B. Very quickly, one friend after another started getting sick.

It seemed like the fisting guys were the first ones — they had been the most extreme. All of my close friends died, I mean, all of them. If there had been no AIDS, all that Mineshaft edginess would have peaked and then things would have settled down.

Girls will just run. Shoes on the floor. Meeting women, having a great time, getting phone numbers. That was our thing. When we took the train back, we would compare how many numbers we got. And we were trying to get numbers while our girls were running out of the club. You can hang out with me and my friends. I came out in I had just graduated from Convent of the Sacred Heart. I wanted to look like Audrey Hepburn — very simple. Instead, I got a dress from Gone With the Wind.

But at least I got my way with my escort. I met him at a party my aunt was giving in the courtyard at Barbetta. There were lots of these types of parties, before the balls. We literally went from knee socks to a ball gown. I asked Carty Saunders. Carlton Earl Saunders the Third. His mother was on the committee. And he was cute. He had gone to co-ed school, so he was with it.

The spotlight goes on you, and they play a little song: Margaret Stewart, daughter of the late Mr. New York, New York. And then the spotlight hits the next girl. They had cherries jubilee at my coming out. And they made a big fanfare with all these flaming chafing dishes.

It was sort of like — this is what happens when you grow up. Then, you dance till dawn. When I was up in the room afterward, in the Astor, getting ready to go to bed with Mama, I remember looking down on Times Square. I was with this guy, and it was two in the morning or something, and we were walking down Fifth Avenue, the big wide street totally empty. In the distance we see two other people, a man and a woman walking, and we were a little stoned.

Miles Davis lived at for a number of years. He was pretty old, so I really had to help him out of the limo.

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