Postmillennial Ink-Stained Wretch

Who

A magazine editor, ghostwriter, and literary gun-for-hire living in NYC, Nick Kolakowski specializes in writing about gizmos, travel, business, liquor, cigars, celebrity, and various other things wiser heads would tell you to stay away from.

more

Where

Search


Archive for March, 2009

Apartment Hunting

Saturday, March 28th, 2009

Spent all day on the hunt for a new apartment. In the processes, I learned something very interesting about myself: I have an immediate and visceral reaction to the sight of a bathroom done in pink tile and pinker plaster, and that immediate-and-visceral reaction is “Get me the hell out of here right now.” The [...]

Twitter Walken

Sunday, March 22nd, 2009

In early 1983, the U.S. government initiated the world’s first TCP/IP network, in order to preserve some modicum of communication between its various nodes in the event of thermonuclear war. Actually, they thought that was the reason, but as it turns out, that wasn’t the case.
In 1988, that network opened wide, with three commercial Internet [...]

Dollhouse’s Dangerous Game

Thursday, March 19th, 2009

To: Richard Connell
From: Me
Re: “Dollhouse”
Ah, Richie, you’ve been dead for almost sixty years; but I’ve had a quarter-bottle of Campos Reales 2008 (left behind by one of my best friends before they drove off into the sunset – re: 1,000 miles from NYC, to a place with an actual yard and trees – with their [...]

I Trust You to Kill Me

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

Wrote my 100th article for eWeek… well, given the pace, it’s now at 107, but even so.
In other news, discovered that Rocco DeLuca re-did “I Trust You to Kill Me” for his new album, “Mercy.” I’ve been a fan of his work ever since I saw the documentary, released two years ago, that delineates the [...]

War Journal

Monday, March 2nd, 2009

So, while at my grandmother’s house over the weekend, I found a canvas sack containing my great-grandfather’s World War I gear: his towel, his cap, three straight-razors with ivory handles still in their boxes, his round tin dog-tags, his postcards of France and troop transports. And at the bottom of the sack, preserved against the [...]