We're running a bit late to the corner of 55th & 3rd. Max Wastler is waiting for our lunch date. After a handful of text exchanges, we spot him in the red brick saloon—penny-tile floors, carved mahogany bar, tin ceiling and stained-glass transoms. P.J. Clarke’s is a vestige of a better time—another century all together. It also serves a legendary burger. It’s wall-to-wall packed with suits (and deals were certainly being made) but we manage a grip of stools at Doug Quinn’s bar with a bit of timing and keen eyes...
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I would like to think that everyone has a magical place where they can escape to. A place where all our worries melt away, and you can truly let go of all apprehensions. I have that place, and it's sitting in a well worn, slatted chair on the beach in Nantucket, staring out at a beautiful New England sunset. When I think of that moment, I am immediately taken back to one of the best summers of my lifetime. That summer was the beginning of many adventures. I can feel the wind on my face like yesterday. The smell of the surf, the sound of the gulls, the tide, and the laughs of my friends as we drank ice cold brew and flew our kites, our mopeds parked just off the sandy path...
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He’s been anointed the successor of Leo-mania (circa Titanic) by 13-year-old girls worldwide (and strangely, grown women too)—not as a stowaway but as a blood sucking vampire who glistens in the sun. But Robert Pattinson almost didn’t get the $10 million vampire gig. The director had all but given up trying to nail down a leading man with the otherworldly beauty and acting chops to pull off the role of Edward. But then they began scouring the archives of Harry Potter...
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