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Yesterday it was Kurt Loder. This morning it was Britney Spears. Or maybe it was the traffic on Highland, already gathering to a dull roar before five o’clock. Either way, I’ve slept scarcely seven hours in two nights. I’ve pulled the blinds of my seventh-story, east-facing hotel room wide open. The view stretches from the…

When I was a kid savoring every page of Rolling Stone magazine, and marveling at “Rebel Without A Cause,” the Capitol Records building and Griffith Observatory seemed about as foreign and glamourous as you could get. This morning, both are in the shadow of the Hollywood sign right outside my window. Duran Duran was on…

Packed into a particularly uncomfortably subway on my way home from a particularly uncomfortable week at work, I couldn’t help but notice that I was surrounded by nothing but the first person singular. All around, my fellow passengers clutched their iPods and stared vacantly into space. On the stainless steel, graffiti-proof walls, signage for News…

I was delivered with The Post this morning, arriving on my doorstep just as the familiar, yellow newspaper truck dropped a bundle of tabloids in front of the Andy’s Deli. The time was 5:48. I woke up this morning at 3:31, precisely four hours and thirty-two minutes after laying my exhaustion down for the night.…

I just got a call from Syracuse, New York, circa 1993 via Des Moines, Iowa, circa now. I’m at 29 stories above Times Square at The MTV working the Grammys. This is typically our second busiest night of the year (second to our own Video Music Awards). Jon Locker is in his basement in East…

My clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed. My wrist hurt, my stomach burned, and my head ached. And as I began to piece together the night before, I thought to myself, ‘I’ve got to fight back.’ I woke up on the couch. The room was dark. The clock read 5:19.…