Pesky Rodents can mean Problems for Student Dorms

This is from a piece that was published in the Washington Square News, check it out http://nyunews.com/life/2009/dec/08/rodent/

When Steinhardt senior Jessica Chandnani settled into her room at Alumni residence hall this fall, the welcoming committee included a mouse.

"I saw the mouse on a Saturday, and they didn't do anything until Tuesday," Chandnani said. "Three days is a long time to live with a mouse."

Along with studying for final exams right now, NYU's procedures for dealing with mice are worth a review — after all, the colder weather has the small creatures looking for a warmer residence. And that might mean some NYU students will find themselves sharing their dorm rooms with the occasional mouse.

CAS junior and Coral Towers resident Hilary Tuttle said she has not had any problems so far this semester, but did encounter some mice in Goddard residence hall her freshman year.

"It was like late winter/early spring, and there were a few mouse sightings, or people's food had visibly been nibbled by mice," Tuttle said. "Of the 16 suites on my floor, I'd say it maybe happened to varying degrees in four or five."

NYU Lean and Mean

Before Mike Galvan got into triathlon he weighed over 200 pounds. He had also been smoking two to three packs of cigarettes a day for 10 years. Then he saw his friend complete her first triathlon. After that he immediately quit smoking, started following a training regimen and three months later completed his first race.

Today, Galvan, 34, coaches the NYU Triathlon Club which helps both students and alumni get into shape and discover a healthier way of life. Most of the 70 members are upperclassmen, graduate students and alumni. While the regimen can be demanding, people keep coming back year after year. Why? The reason is simple: great results and the support of a great coach.

“I want to make sure that the athlete is getting as much instruction as possible so that he or she can improve,” Galvan said.
A triathlon is a long-distance race consisting of three phases: swimming, bicycling and running.

The sport and interest among students has grown, Galvan said. Most colleges have triathlon clubs.

The sport’s participation is at its peak, according to USA Triathlon’s website. In 2009 membership count rose above 115,000. The membership range from 1993 to 2000 was 15,000 to 21,000. Quite the surge.

Galvan has been coaching the NYU Triathlon Club since 2006. He also coaches the Asphalt Green Triathlon Club, Team in Training and Tri Latino.

NYU has 25 clubs and 10 varsity teams listed on its athletic site. Unlike most of them, the Triathlon Club welcomes people of all ages and fitness levels. The current age range on the team is 18 to 70. All members need to do is pass the mandatory physical to join.

While usually the club is given an unlimited amount of new physicals, this year it was limited to 30. A physical is a medical examination done to make sure the athlete is fit to train. Since there were over 50 requests to join, most were put on a waitlist. For this reason Galvan asks that all members commit entirely to the team. This means no missing practice unless sickness or tragedy strikes.

Practices are Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 6:15 a.m. to 7:30 a.m. If this seems brutal in the fall, imagine spring semester when snow is coming down. But early practices are the best way to accommodate most of the team.

“You’re done with your workouts by 7:45 a.m.,” Galvan said. “It gives you the rest of the day to get things done and enjoy yourself.”

His favorite thing about the NYU club is the closeness among members.

“You start seeing people helping each other,” Galvan said.

Newcomer Jessica Kim, 18, is already creating bonds.

“I've been able to talk to some people in the Wagner school which is nice because I'm thinking about going into non-profit or social work in the future,” Kim said. “Others have been able to give me advice about what classes to take.”

But it’s not just the members she likes.

“I really like the fact that Mike [Galvan] memorized everyone's name after the first couple of practices,” Kim said. “Some might think he's harsh, but I know he really wants to see us progress.”

Evidently the pain is worth the prize. Progress is seen every day.

“I’m leaner and have more energy during the off-days,” Kim said.
The emotional progress is just as important. Athletes become more confident and self aware as training progresses, which enables them to improve their abilities, Galvan said.

When Sarah Liedel joined the team last year, she could barely swim a lap. Now she’s an advanced/intermediate swimmer who completed three triathlon races in the past year.

Galvan helped by giving her one on one advice. He also motivated her to spend additional time in the pool practicing.

It’s all about self improvement. They don’t even need to race. All Galvan asks is that Triathlon is something they do for themselves.

“Everyone brings something special to the equation,” Galvan said.

But none is more remarkable than Jackie Blachman-Forshay. Blachman-Froshay, 20 and a junior in the School of Social Work, was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in October. She had surgery Nov. 9 and was back at practice two weeks after.

While she was gone the coach kept the team updated and stayed in constant contact with her. She was warmly welcomed back and carefully watched over by Galvan during practice.

“Don’t push it,” Galvan would say. “Take it easy.”

“I love coming to practice because it’s become my one ‘normal thing’,” Blachman-Forshay said.

The first team race is the Pawling triathlon on June 5. The event is already open for entry and at least half of the team has already signed up. It’s only fall semester, but the team is already visibly stronger, Galvan said.

“I can’t wait to see what they accomplish at Pawling.”

My New York Love: The Panini

I wasn't alive until I bit into my first Panini. It was a scrumptious Italian Panini I purchased at University Cafe on 1 University Place. Now I can't get enough of them.

My life was further illuminated when I tried the Eggplant Parmigiana Panini also at University Cafe. My true soul mate. The deliciousness that is this sandwich is simply indescribable.

My travels in the city have taught me that the Italian can be found most anywhere. However, the Eggplant Parmigiana is a rare find. University Cafe scarcely has it for my lunch enjoyment. And I've never even seen it at Ray's at St. Marks place. The only place that never fails to deliver the goods is the Bridge Fresh Market on York Street in Brooklyn.

I came upon the Bridge Fresh Market while interning at Ink Publishing. My first time there I didn't bother to look at the hot food selection. But the next time, curiosity got the best of me. I'm sure the grin the sight of that panini caused was nothing short of ridiculous. But I didn't care. I was just happy my sandwich of choice and I had met once again.

Since that day the rest is history. Every Friday when I intern, even if work is tough, I know my friend will be there waiting to cheer me up around 12:30 p.m.

Panini, thank you for making my stay in New York City that much better.

Photo by Meseidy Rivera

16 Handles...of pure deliciousness

Before coming to New York City my knowledge of the frozen yogurt world was non-existent. Like most newbies, my first steps into the fro-yo realm was via Pinkberry on 350 3rd Ave. It didn't really do much for me I must confess; their Pomegranate flavor left me highly unsatisfied. Then I was taken to Red Mango at St. Marks Place where my like of the stuff began. But it wasn't until I went to 16 Handles at 153 2nd Ave. that I discovered love. I felt like I had walked into the Chocolate Room in Willy Wonka's Factory. The have everything from Original flavor to Cookies and Cream and the best part: you can mix and match as you please. Just go down the line of flavors, take want you want in your bowl of choice, add toppings, weigh and pay. The self service is super convenient and satisfying; you always get exactly what you pay for.

Need more info? call them up at 212-260-4414

The Last Vacation: Saying Goodbye to Home

This is an excerpt from a piece that was published in Big World Magazine, check out the whole article: http://www.bigworldmagazine.com/the-last-vacation/

The coastline came into view when reached the top of the hill. As the car crawled down and around, the wind coming in through the open windows blew my sister’s golden locks away from her face. My hand swerved up and down, swimming through the air as my father sang,”Sin ti, sin ti vivir, estarse muriendo sin morir,” a surefire sign that the stress from work was beginning to fade.

Every year my family tries to find the time to take a vacation, just kick back and get away from the stress of school or, in my Dad’s case, work. Usually we go to Isabela, a beachside town on the other side of the island. Isabela is two hours from our home in Humacao, a small town on the east coast, about 45 minutes southeast of San Juan. This vacation was our first real time together since my sister went away to college, and my last opportunity to be with Mom and Dad before going to college in the U.S.

We pulled into the parador Villas del Mar Hau, where we were staying, the gravel crackling under the tires of my Dad’s Sequoia. A line of colorful cabins that decorated the shore of Montones beach immediately came into view, finishing off on the west end of the beach with a seaside restaurant. The car doors swung open and we hopped out taking in the sounds of the oceans. “Finally,” Dad said, more to himself than us.

And You Thought Camping Season was Over...

Ever heard of a yurt? It's like a cross between a cabin and a pimped-out tent. The amenities depend on the yurt. Most come with bathroom, electricity, beds and a kitchen. Snow, rain - it can handle it all. They're pretty much weather-proof. So you can camp in them during the winter. I recently wrote about yurts for amNew York. Check out my story here! http://www.amny.com/urbanite-1.812039/sick-of-tents-try-a-yurt-instead-1.1346160

Outside the Box opens for Blues Traveler

Calling all Blues lovers! If you haven't already seen Outside the Box play a show you're missing out. They were great the first time I saw them, but their opening for Blues Traveler blew me away. There’s no doubt that this band is on its way to greatness.

The energy and enthusiasm of this blues-based band from The Jersey Shore makes them a joy to watch. Standing in the crowd you can't help but dance and smile at the four members jamming their hearts out on stage.

The band formed October of 2004 consists of guitarist and lead vocalist Jeff Cafone (you wouldn't believe the voice this guy has), bassist and vocalist Ryan Wheeler, drummer and vocalist Francis "Slugger" Valentino, and pianist and vocalist Mark Masefield (the kid must have like 20 fingers the way he dominates those keys). Though Cafone writes the songs, he always takes the songs to band to be perfected and teaked.

They opened for Blues Traveler Wednesday Nov. 4 at The Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza. The same night the Yankees beat the Phillies for the World Series.

They did Blues Traveler proud by opening the show with the very energetic, incredibly catchy original song "You and Me and Just Us for All." But what really got the crowd going was when they brought out Blues Traveler keys man Ben Wilson to join them in playing "One Way Out" by The Allman Brothers.

The guys finished up with another original, “Forbidden Romance Silenced the Radio" that left the packed Filmore warmed up and ready to go.

Blues Traveler was welcomed to the stage with a roar of applause, shouts and cheers. From the start the band satisfied the people's musical cravings with non-stop jam sessions and fan favorites such as "The Mountains Win Again."

I'm quite the Blues Traveler fan, but had never seen them live. Let me tell you, they are just as great live as they are on track. Perhaps even better considering the on-going jams you get on stage.

Front man John Popper made the show even better by keeping the crowd updated on the Yankees/Phillies game. Making sure to calm the nerves of fans that ducked out on watching the game to attend the concert.

Blues Traveler has already reached great success. And after a show like that, one can't help think that Outside the Box is following in their footsteps.


Check out Outside the Box at http://www.myspace.com/outsidethebox

We Will Never Forget

The day The World Trade Center collapsed I was no where near New York City. I witness everything from my living room in Puerto Rico. After an NYU journalism class field trip to The Tribute World Trade Center Visitor Center, 9/11 finally seems real.

The center's exhibits and video allowed me to see what the WTC was like pre-attack. But it was the aftermath footage that really put the gravity of the tragedy into perspective. The audio tour of Ground Zero and collection of photos and relics helped me imagine what experiencing 9/11 must have been like.

It was at the center that I met Tracy Gazzani and learned about her son.
Terry Gazzani worked for Cantor Fitzgerald and was in the North Tower when the first plane hit. He was above the zone of impact and so cut off from any possible escape. Terry lost his life leaving his parents in a situation that Tracy says, “gets different, but doesn’t get better.”

Tracy is a docent at the Tribute WTC Visitor Center. She’ll have been there for a year at the end of November. Volunteering is her way getting a move on with life and giving thanks to all who helped during times of darkness.

Listening to Tracy talk about the last words she exchanged with her son put a personal touch on a tragedy that for so long to me was faceless.

Distinguished firefighter Lee Ielpi is another who lost a child on Sept. 11. “Dad we are going to the World Trade Center” were the last words Ielpi heard his son, who was also a firefighter, speak through the phone. Jonathan’s body was found in one piece. Ielpi considered it a blessing considering the many that were never found or were found in pieces. Jonathan’s helmet and jacket are proudly on display at the Visitor Center. Only 12-15 full helmets were found of the 343 fallen firefighters.

During the Ground Zero audio tour I couldn’t help but feel grateful that I had not been faced with such a life altering event. Would I have been strong enough to deal with it? Would moving on have been impossible? I don’t know, but the people speaking through my headset had done it. Never had I ever been flooded with such admiration.

In the gallery, photos of victims covered the walls. Faces beamed at me, captured in happy moments; faces I never knew and never will know. I felt pain for the things they never did and the goodbyes they didn’t get to say. I imagined how horrible it would be to see my mother or sister’s face on that wall staring back at me.

For Tracy that’s a daily reality. Her son’s photo is on that wall as well as on the ID holder around her neck. The pictures are there as a reminder, as is the rest of the center. “We must let people know how it affected us,” said Tracy.

At the end of the visit I left the center and continued with my day. Routine occupations and responsibilities pushed my visit to the Center to the back of my mind. How fortunate, I thought, to be able to remember painful things by choice.

Heaven

Very few restaurants have the ability to haunt me in times of hunger. About a week ago, I found one that has not left me alone since I tried it's Shrimp and Chicken Shumai: Cafetasia.

Not only is the food delicious, but incredibly well priced. The atmoshphere is very relaxed and friendly and the food arrives in no time. If you get a chance, swing by 38 East 8th st. and see for yourself, but be advised: thoughts of the food are not easily dispelled and the only way to get rid of them is to satisfy the craving.

The Halloween You Probably Didn't Know About

While most were out strutting their stuff on Sixth Avenue this Halloween, the elderly of the East Village were on East 12th Street at the Sirovich Senior Center partaking in a party of their own.

A group of around 100 people, many of them over 80, got together to celebrate in festive, lively costumes. Party goers boogied down to everything from "The Monster Mash" to Missy Elliot's "Get Your Freak On," and also put their outfits to the test in a costume contest.

Charlie Chaplin, the Statue of Liberty an The Queen of England, among others, battled for the $50 first prize. All fantastic, but in the end only one could win and who better than...her majesty, The Queen of England!

-Photo from The New York Times-

When I arrived at the Haunted House at the Vortex Theater on 164 11th Ave. I was horrified. I was expecting blood and gore. Basically the undead. Instead I got an extreme psychological experience.

For three weeks I debated whether or not I should go. Other haunted houses were nothing; fun you can experience with a group of friends. You never realized how fear works until you experience it alone, which is precisely the point at this haunted house.

With other people around you can laugh your way out of anything, make jokes and scream as you hold on to each other for comfort. When I was deprived of that, I found myself stripped of the bravery I used to be so proud of.

I waited in line for a while, making conversation with woman in front of me. She was quite the haunted house enthusiast having visited many houses last year and one already this year. I jumped and twitched, constantly moving around anxiously waiting for my turn as we talked. But her, nothing. Calmly, she spoke in detail of past haunted house experiences and about the ones in town this year.

Finally, a man all dressed in black appeared from behind the curtain and took her away. After about ten minutes he came back for me. I stepped into a black room with curtains for doors, illuminated only by the strobe light high up on the wall. "Step on the white X please and don't move," he said leaving me and walking over to the woman I had been talking to 10 minutes ago. She was standing on a white X facing the strobe light, a white surgical mask covering her mouth and nose.

"Did you buy a shot of whiskey?" he asked when he returned.

"What?" I asked confused, then saw the bottle on the table next to me. "Oh, uh, no."

"Ok, put this on."

He handed me a mask. I did as told and continued to stand completely still. The woman soon disappeared behind the curtains leaving me alone with my surgical mask and the man in black. He led me to the other X where the woman had been standing and secured two zip ties around each of my wrists.

"Are you prepared to crawl?" he asked."

"Yes."

"Are you prepared to follow instructions?"

"Yes"

"Do you know the safety word?"

"Safety?"

"You got it," he said then pulled out a tiny flashlight that was really more like a dying penlight.

"Follow the white line at all times, it's your friend, stick to it no matter what," he said handing me the flashlight.

Then from somewhere in the darkness I was about to voluntarily wonder into we head "SAFETY!" "I'll be right back," the man in black said before sprinting off. He returned with the woman I had been talking to earlier. She had only been gone a few minutes. I stared wide-eyed as she took her mask off and gave her flashlight back. "Good luck," she said before walking out into the light of the lobby.

"Now you know how safety works," the man in black said flashing a smile.

"Anyway, this is your light, gray button turns it on." All the illumination it provided was a fading blue light.

"I can't see anything with this," I said frantically as he pushed me to the start of the white line.

"Bend down," he said with a smile then disappeared behind the curtain. On my own in the darkness, I took a deep breath, bent down and started to follow the line. The anticipation was getting to me. Any minute I knew something was going to jump out and grab me. My breathing was growing heavier with each step I took. I couldn't see anything except the line in front of me which I immediately lost when two faceless hands grabbed me by the shoulders and screamed, "Don't move!"

I froze.

"Step up!" I did so. "Step up!" Yet again I did so. "Step down and don't move!"

A bag was then placed over my head and violently secured with what I imagine was an elastic band. "Hands behind your back!" another voice screamed. Before I could even move my arms, they were pulled back and chained together.

I was left standing in the dark. Silence. "Do you want to play with me?" a doll's dry mechanical voice said into my ear. I moved away from the voice only to be met by the maniacal giggling of a clown. Shaking slightly I stood in place, trying to remind myself it wasn't real. Right as I was beginning to muster up some courage, a hand slowly slid under the bag on my head and pulled the elastic band back.

Another hand pushed my head to side and held it there leaving my neck exposed. Something cold traveled along the contours of my neck, then something hot, followed by slow breathing first on my collarbone then in my ear. I whimpered involuntarily, trying to block out the mysterious breathing with my own heaving breaths. The bag was making it hard to breath. A sudden touch to the shoulder made my head turn. "Hey!" a voice screamed.

I froze.

The chains came off and the bag was ripped off my head. Taking hold of me once more, two hands had me step up, step up, step down, step down and continue on my way.

It took me a minute to adjust to the darkness, but I soon saw a long corridor with hanging trash bags before me. A attempted walking for a bit, but quickly grew tired of the plastic smacking me in the face. Dropping to my knees, I crawled on. I reached the end of the corridor and turned a corner. Clear of the trash bags, I stood up and resumed walking.

"Hands against the wall," someone said pushing me into the black brick, holding my wrists down. "Spread your legs and don't move!" I stood still feeling like a criminal being searched as unknowing hands moved all up and down my body. A bright light was shined on the side of my face. I flinched away from the light. My flashlight was then violently taken.

"Go on!" I was once again alone. "But I can't see the line," I whispered more to myself then the unknown assailant who was surely gone by then. I fumbled down the following hall, trying my best to keep to the line I could not make out. I reached a door with a sign that read "Open the door." As much as I didn't want to know what was behind the door, I took hold of the knob and pushed.

A flood of white light blinded me as I stumbled into the room. Plastic hung from the roof and a slow, twangy, country song played in the background. A person with long black hair swung back and forth on a chair, singing along. I hurried past him/her toward the door marked "Exit," not wanting to see what horrific face might lie beneath the curtain of dark hair. I reached the door and thought I was home free until I tugged on the door and heard a loud clank. I looked down and saw a heavy lock was impeded my escape, leaving me unsure of what to do for the white line led directly to the door.

I turned to find the person in the chair, who turned out to be a man, starring at me.

"The lock baby," he said in an unusually high voice.

I tugged at the lock once more to no avail.

"You want the key baby?" he asked lifting his wrist, revealing the key. "Come and get it baby," he said motioning me toward him with a single feminine finger.

The moment I began to inch toward him, he ran at me and yelled, "You want the damn key?!"

He had me pinned to the door now, but quickly pulled back.

"Sorry 'bout that baby," he said regaining his "composure." The only thing he was wearing was an open robe and strange make-up all over his face.

"What are you willing to do for the key?" he continued, dangling it in front of me. I said nothing, shrinking where I stood, attempting to hide behind my own shoulder.

"Come on baby," he said running a finger down my cheek and removing my mask. I pulled away, scrunching my face. "Go on, take the key," he said holding it up. I made a grab for it, but he caught my hand midair.

"Such soft hands...you must moisturize," he said rubbing and caressing my hand. I ripped my hand out of his and quickly grabbed the key.

"Oh well go on and take it." I wrestled the key from his wrist and turned to the door. "I'll hold the lock, you just stick it in the hole baby," he whispered into my ear causing every hair on my neck and arms to stand on end. "Just stick it in the hole!" he yelled.

I fumbled with the lock until I got it open. I shoved the key and lock into his extended hand and made to leave the room.

"Put your mask back on baby...You're going to need it!" he screamed pushing me out off the room.

A small tunnel lay ahead of me with a sign that read, "Crawl." My heart was pounding. I sucked it up, dropped down and began crawling.

Shredded newspaper covered the ground and flaps of plastic whipped my face as I crawled on. I heard what sounded like someone heading in my direction, then saw a bright green mask charging right at me. I stopped, paralyzed. When it reached me, it pushed me out of its way and crawled past me. Up against the wall, I caught my breath and resumed crawling.

I heard more charging, this time coming from behind. Not wanting to be shoved aside again, I picked up speed and hurried to the end of the tunnel. I reached concrete and stood up before the green mask could reach me. Letting out a sigh of relief I walked on and saw the man in black; at that moment all the tension in my body gushed out.

"You made it," he said with a smile.

Think I'm kidding? Check it out at http://nychalloweenhauntedhouse.com/

A Taste of Home

When you come from far away, homesickness will constantly eat at you. One way I found I can defeat it is by doing just that: eating. Being of Spanish decent, it is my cuisine of choice that always manages to put my nostalgic mind at ease.

So naturally when I decided to dine out last Friday night, I chose La Paella Spanish tapas restaurant. La Paella restaurant has been adding a Spanish twist to the East Village by serving tapas and pouring out their sangria since May 1995 when owner Rachid first opened its doors. Today, people still flock to its rustic wooden tables and benches for a deliciously foreign dining experience, crowding it to capacity on Friday and Saturday nights.

A true gem of the East Village, La Paella is not part of a chain and is the owner’s only restaurant. La Paella as well as the block it sits on, East Ninth Street between second and third avenues, are true representatives of the diverse village they call home.

When I arrived for dinner, most of the 70 seats in both the upper and lower levels of the restaurant were filled. The only available table-for-two was a small one by the front glass window overlooking bustling Ninth Street. It was perfect for my friend Gina and me.

Almost every other table had a pitcher of La Paella’s renowned sangria or a plate of its famous paella (a typical Spanish rice dish with delicious chunks of seafood, meat or anything that tickles your taste buds). But that’s not all La Paella has to offer. The moderately priced menu boasts a variety of tapas as well as soups, salads, ceviche (citrus-marinated seafood dish) and desserts. My dish of choice, “Croquetas de Bacalao” (cod and potato croquettes), is $9.50 and enough to fill me up.

The food is not only well priced, but phenomenal and truly authentic. The familiar flavors remind me of my mother; an array of ingredients surrounding her as she stands over the stove cooking and singing the songs of my childhood.

With the ability to conjure such strong memories in Hispanics like me, it’s no wonder the restaurant has been praised and featured in publications and guides such as the New York Times, New York magazine, NYCgo and TripAdvisor.

No one rushed us out despite the increasing amount of people waiting outside. I hated to leave because once we were done I could feel the homesickness coming back and the sound of my mother’s voice fading away.

Unique to him

Pete Hamill is what my Puerto Rican family would call "un duro". Someone who is damn good at what he does. Experience, unique style and passion. He has it all. Just like his beloved city: New York.

When he walked into the classroom of 15 journalism students at the NYU Arthur Carter Institute, the 74-year-old's presence was immediately felt.

The currently distinguished writer in residence at NYU spoke for over an hour. Just like my "abuelita" when I ask her to tell me stories.

“It’s wonderful coming in contact with people who are seeing the city for the first time in a real way,” Hamill said.

A native of Brooklyn, New York City truly is embedded in his life and writing, but it is not the only spice in the intricate recipe that is Pete Hamill.

One can say Hamill is quite the international man having married twice. First to Ramona Negron, a "puertoriquena" like me. Then to Fukiko Aoki, a Japanese journalist with whom he remains.

Marrying outside your own ethnicity is a very enriching experience, Hamill said.

Youth was the culprit that dissolved his first marriage that ended in divorce in 1968. But not before blessing him with two daughters, Adrienne and Dierdre, and a love of Latin music. His young "boricua" love was 18 and he 24, both on the verge of the 60s.

"It would be unfair to get into details," Hamill said. "It was nobody's fault, it just didn't work."

Though Hamill and Negron couldn't work things out, it seems most everyone can find common ground with Hamill. Even the great Frank Sinatra could see eye to eye with him.

“We were friends, but we were New York friends,” Hamill said. “We shared similar backgrounds. We came from immigrant families, weren’t formally educated, but we found our way.”

Art, sports, war, journalism, fiction and love are just a few of the realms Hamill has delved into at some point in his life.

He has spent the longest amount of time working at the New York Post. Hamill has also worked and written for various publications such as the New York Times, The Village Voice and the New Yorker.

Hamill has also written many books and is currently working on one due to be released by late spring.

Hamill is all over the place. Destination and topic wise. But New York City is what he always returns to. Both in his travels and his writing.

Apparently Dorothy had it right when she said "There's no place like home." His city has molded not only his life, but also his writing, neither of which he is done with.

“I’ll stop writing when they carry me to Greenwood cemetery,” said Hamill. “I try to live my life without finishing.”