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Adam Iscoe

Adam Iscoe

Contributing Writer at The New Yorker

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Covering topics
  • Art
  • Books
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  • English
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Adam Iscoe
newyorker.com

Why You Can’t Get a Restaurant Reservation - The New Yorker

In New York, the neighborhood restaurant doesn’t have much room for neighbors anymore. At Sailor, April Bloomfield and Gabriel Stulman’s new spot in Fort Greene, reservations are scooped up fourteen days in advance by residents of SoHo, Aspen, and East Hampton, who likely saw the place on some list, or while doomscrolling TikTok or Eater. The majority of diners log on to a restaurant’s Web site at 10:59 A.M., two weeks before they want to eat out, then wait, click, and pray. Pete Wells, who gave…
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Chabad Headquarters or Henry VIII Residence? - The New Yorker

In fact, the Rebbe did expand—but mostly aboveground. In a move that has tickled architectural historians, he encouraged the construction of numerous replicas of 770 Eastern Parkway around the world, in Los Angeles, Aspen, Cleveland, Tacoma, Jerusalem, São Paulo, Santiago, Buenos Aires, Milan, Montreal, Melbourne, and Dharamkot, India, where it sits not too far from the Dalai Lama’s temple. The distinctive façades have become a worldwide symbol of Hasidic Judaism. They also look as if Henry VIII…
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The Brooklyn Botanic Garden's Not-So-Christmas Spectacular - The Ne...

“Like, an excavator-size thing?” Glass asked. “Are you impressed that I pulled out that technical term? I have nephews.” “It’s not quite an excavator—it’s a telescoping material handler.” Marsden and his crew were transforming the fifty-two-acre garden into a light show called Lightscape—Dancing Water Colors (the fountains), Singing Trees (spruces and larches wrapped in lights), a Sea of Light (a grove of cherry-blossom and oak trees transformed into a lit-up symphony), all powered by not quite…
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Among the Protesters - The New Yorker

Last week, some protesters gathered at a community space in midtown to prepare for a vigil to honor the thousands of civilians killed by Israel in the Gaza Strip. The first arrivals: a fifth grader named Ryan Suseno and his parents. “I’ve been thinking about how this is different than the Black Lives Matter demonstrations,” Ryan’s mom said. “In my place of work, bringing up this topic feels like—on either side, it doesn’t even matter!—it feels inappropriate, somehow.” She munched on a carrot fro…
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The Statue Wars Turn to Cyberspace - The New Yorker

“We’re adding a simulation to the simulation,” a colleague named Idris Brewster said. Brewster is a co-founder of the Kinfolk Foundation, an organization attempting to remake the city’s streetscape with an app. In 2017, Brewster was working at Google, and he was among the many local activists who tried and failed to persuade lawmakers to remove the towering statue of Christopher Columbus on Fifty-ninth Street. “We were, like, ‘All right, we lost that one,’ ” Brewster recalled. “So we started cre…
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The Urban Fruit-Tree Vigilantes Case Brooklyn - The New Yorker

Flash back to the springtime, when Prefer, who is nonbinary and wore double-kneed work pants and mud-caked trail runners, brandished a pair of pruning shears at a plum tree. They said, “What if everyone had an apple tree in front of their house instead of having to go buy apples at the store?” Prefer snipped a low branch, then used black electrical tape to graft a gnarly twig of rosy-gage scionwood in its place. (Scionwood is a twig cutting used to propagate trees.) It had been cut from a fruit…
newyorker.com

Fourteen Thousand Feet Over the Gulf of St. Lawrence. And Then Not ...

Airborne, Deborah, who runs a hair salon back home, reviewed equipment: aviation- and marine-band radios (“So we can talk to ships”), eighty litres of drinking water, several electronic altimeters, a sleeping bag and two Arctic-expedition parkas (“It gets nippy up there”), dehydrated “macaroni gunge,” a life raft, tea, coffee, multiple aircraft-collision warning systems, a polystyrene bench to lie on, and a polystyrene box to sit on, “so one can sit while the other sleeps,” she explained. The ba…

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newyorker.com

The System That Failed Jordan Neely - The New Yorker

What a subway killing reveals about New York City’s revolving-door approach to mental illness and homelessness.
newyorker.com

Arachnid Art at Hudson Yards - The New Yorker

Why the artist Tomás Saraceno asked custodians and curators at the Shed not to sweep away the spiderwebs.
newyorker.com

Waiting for the Endurance - The New Yorker

As the old-school explorers on a double-hulled icebreaker searched for Shackleton’s ship, Ping-Pong, Alicia Keys songs, and dark chocolate staved off boredom—and the cold.
newyorker.com

Paul Janeway Wants to Body-Slam Your Ears - The New Yorker

The St. Paul and the Broken Bones front man, who compared his new album, “Alien Coast,” to a “fever dream,” visits New York to attend a late-night hard-core indie wrestling match.
newyorker.com

The Artists of Sing Sing - The New Yorker

At an exhibition hosted by Rehabilitation Through the Arts, subjects included Ta-Nehisi Coates, Nikole Hannah-Jones, global warming, and home.
newyorker.com

The Guggenheim's Marathon of Misogynist Music - The New Yorker

What can twenty-eight hours of songs by the likes of Eminem, Cat Stevens, and the Crystals, performed on repeat, reveal about sexism?
newyorker.com

The de Kooning in the Surgical Ward

The Amway magnate Bill Nicholson and his wife, Sandi, tour Lenox Hill Hospital, to which they’ve loaned a trove of works by women artists (plus audio narrations by Katy Perry and Carol Burnett) to pep up the anxious waiting-room crowd.
newyorker.com

On the Secret Campaign Trail to Lead the U.N.

Arora Akanksha, a financial auditor and a long-shot candidate in the notoriously opaque Secretary-General election, makes the rounds of ambassadors and diplomats, who’ll only meet clandestinely.
newyorker.com

Shall I Compare Thee to a Cooladapt Tee? - The New Yorker

When the pandemic caused New York’s teen-age poetry slam to move from the Apollo Theatre to the Puma store in midtown, twenty aspiring Amanda Gormans recited anaphoras and accentual slant rhymes to mannequins.
newyorker.com

Sniffing Out COVID for the Miami Heat - The New Yorker

KEEP 6FT APART WEAR MASKS AT ALL TIMES DETECTION DOGS WILL NOT ATTEMPT TO TOUCH YOUR PERSON AND IN ALMOST ALL INSTANCES THERE IS NO CONTACT, ALTHOUGH IT IS POSSIBLE THAT AN INADVERTENT, MOMENTARY CONTACT COULD OCCUR Ticket holders were unfazed; the vibe was more outside-a-night-club than T.S.A.-checkpoint, although there wasn’t any music, and a sixty-pound German shepherd named Abby paced up and down the queue. Her leash was held by Adam Davila, who spent fourteen years as an Army Ranger before…
newyorker.com

Paperboy Prince's Platform: Cancel Rent, Abolish the Police, Legali...

The candidate arrived, and a passing cyclist shouted, “Hey, Paperboy, I voted for you, man!” Prince, who lost a bid against Representative Nydia Velázquez for New York’s Seventh Congressional District last year, shouted back, “One love!” The nonbinary rapper (preferred pronouns: God/Goddess, Paperboy Prince, they/them), Instagram personality (followers: 37.7 thousand), and former Andrew Yang hype man (lyrics: “Doing it for Yang / and I put that on gang / Thousand Dollars / Yang Gang!”) is one of…
newyorker.com

Looking for Gold at a Department of Finance Vehicle Auction - The N...

“What kind?” a voice asked. “I don’t know, man! Yo, hit me up on FaceTime right now.” He turned his camera toward the pickup—a red crew-cab Ford F-350 with a hundred-gallon gas tank. “That shit could pull a three-car trailer!” he said. Another man walked up: “You better know what you’re getting, ’cause you could get a piece of shit.” He added,“Or you could get a gold mine.” By 8 A.M., the parking lot had filled with conversation—in Russian, Arabic, Spanish, Farsi, English—maybe seventy-five peop…
newyorker.com

Briefly Noted Book Reviews - The New Yorker

“The MVP Machine,” “A History of the Bible,” “EEG,” and “The Organs of Sense.”
newyorker.com

This Week - The New Yorker

Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring” is in New York for the first time since 1984, at the Frick.