Neil Kramer explores friendship, love, and sex, and the dangerous art of writing about it.
He lives in NYC. He can be contacted at neilochka on yahoo.
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- Alexis on The Ninth Annual Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert: I’m in again! I’m thinking either Have Yourself a...
- Kizz on Mom, Are You a Feminist?: Thank you, Neil’s mom!
- Kizz on Mom, Are You a Feminist?: Yes, please.
- Laurel Regan on Mom, Are You a Feminist?: Your mom is seriously the best. LOVE her!
- Neil on Mom, Are You a Feminist?: Her secret ingredient is… Ketchup.
Tag Archives: photography
My name is Eduardo Ruzman. I am a professional wedding photographer, with a studio in Chelsea. I shoot weddings of the most prominent members of New York society. I make a very good living. But my real vocation … Continue reading
The statues stood silent, dusty and broken in a lonely storage room. “I told you this was the wrong place,” she said. “Robert’s gallery is on the fourth floor.” I never liked Robert Altbrook, her pretentious artist friend, the type … Continue reading
After we spent all afternoon moving his equipment across the street, Gideon took a wad of money from his pocket and handed $100 bucks to each of the other guys in the crew. They promptly headed to the Fiddler to … Continue reading
I posted this little video on Facebook, and no one seemed very interested in it, but then again, I enjoy experimenting with different ways to tell a narrative. I’m using a very old technique here — patching together still … Continue reading
My name is Joseph. I’m a novelist living in Manhattan. My latest novel, “Upper West Side” was skewered in this month’s New York magazine by a young, feminist book critic. She called my female characters “cardboard cutouts” and “male fantasies” … Continue reading
I’m sitting in McDonald’s with my free morning coffee (some promotion for the last two weeks of September). Across from me is a sixty year old woman wearing a fall jacket. She has red hair that is too bright, and … Continue reading
“What’s that ring tone?” asked the customer, a young black man with dreadlocks. “It’s an old song. From the 60’s. When I was young.” Milt sold shady, refurbished, jail-broken cell phones from a corner in Astoria, Queens. Everyone from the … Continue reading
On the third day of my honeymoon, I knew my marriage was a mistake. Scott and I were in our hotel room, in bed after a long day sightseeing in Paris, when I looked over at my new husband. He … Continue reading
All summer, Josie observed the flitterings of romance between the library patrons. While working behind the cold marble reception desk of the reading room, Josie saw how the most unlikeliest of bespectacled readers and gaunt researchers succumbed to the power of … Continue reading