Updated: 2022-12-31 19:34:00
Times Square is set to welcome a full-capacity crowd to its New Year's Eve celebrations for the first time in three years.
Hundreds of staffers and thousands of spectators are filtering into Times Square at full scale for the first time in three years, and a small army of workers has spent long days and nights in preparation. [ more › ]
Updated: 2022-12-29 20:00:00
Ahh, 2023. A new year full of new resolutions, new opportunities, and most important of all, new travel experiences! If you’ve been gazing wistfully at the stars wondering where on Earth you’ll set
Updated: 2022-12-23 13:00:00
Covering nearly 4,700 square miles, the Finger Lakes region is home to some of the most idyllic outdoor excursions, parks, and alluring glacial lakes. Aptly named, 11 lakes of varying size and depth,
Updated: 2022-12-16 20:00:00
Credit: @thacherstatepark on Instagram Start the new year in New York State in style by warming up with a host of fun, exciting, and delicious events! Whether you want to take in a two-for-one musical
Updated: 2022-12-16 15:00:00
Originally published Jan 04, 2018
What do the stars have in store for you this year? A fabulous New York State adventure, of course! Find your perfect vacation with our handy guide to the top spots for every sign of the zodiac.
Updated: 2022-12-15 18:00:00
Credit: @julitmart on Instagram New York doesn’t go into hibernation during wintertime. As temperatures drop and snow falls, the Empire State transforms into a glistening winter wonderland with loads
Updated: 2022-12-13 19:00:00
The Hudson Valley is rich in culture, food, history, natural beauty, and so much more. From famous vineyards, orchards and farms, to scenic mountainscapes and sculpture parks, there are activities for
Updated: 2022-12-13 07:00:00
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Updated: 2022-12-13 01:58:14
(15/15) “There’s something I do every morning. When I’m leaving for work. I’ll go in his room and give him a kiss on the forehead. Now if I was to try this during the day, he’d never allow it. He’d push me away. But if I catch him right when he wakes up, he’s disoriented. I think he forgets who he is for a second. And he’ll hug me like he doesn’t want me to leave. Next year he’s going to college. I don’t like it. It went too fast. It flew. We celebrated my 50th birthday last year. That was a big one for me; it was a birthday my father never saw. We took a trip to Philadelphia: all three of us. Tabatha booked us a nice hotel with an infinity pool. It was just a short trip, and the next morning we drove home. I’m coming out the elevator, with all of our luggage, when I hear a ruckus in the hallway. I’m thinking it’s kids. I’m thinking the neighbor’s kids are playing in the hall again. But then I turn around, and it’s all of them: Nona, Steve, Anthony, all the nieces and nephews. They’re filming me and giggling like crazy. I go in the apartment and there’s decorations everywhere. A beautiful cake. My mother cooked my favorite braciole. In the living room there’s a bunch of gifts. I sit down on the couch to open them, and Tabatha slides a Bluetooth speaker next to me. It’s playing Billy Joel songs: Rootbeer Rag, Nocturne. Some of my favorites. But different versions, with different chords. When the final present is opened, I give a little speech. I thank everyone for coming. Then it was time for the braciole. I started heading for the kitchen, when Jack says: ‘Wait. There’s more.’ My niece disappears into the bedroom, and comes back with our electronic keyboard. She sets it down in the middle of the room. And Jack takes a seat. And he begins to play. The left hand running down the keys. The right hand running up the keys, playing the happy notes. I sit back on the couch and I start to lose it. Nobody else knows what’s happening. They’re confused. It’s just a song to them. They’re looking at me like I have seventeen heads. They couldn’t know. He actually did it. My boy. To make me happy. To make me say wow. My boy. My beautiful boy. My beautiful, beautiful, baby boy.”
Updated: 2022-12-13 00:45:38
(14/15) “Never once have I called him by his real name. He’s even saved in my phone as Santa. He has a house up north somewhere. I’ll go months without hearing from him, but then he’ll text. And it’s never just a text. It’s a long paragraph, starting with: ‘Hello my friend, I hope your beautiful family is doing well.’ One year I had an idea. I told him: ‘We do this thing on Christmas Eve, called The Feast of The Seven Fishes. We’d love to have you.’ I thought for sure he’d say no. But he replied: ‘Let me think about it.’ A week passes. Then one night I’m in my make-up chair, and two white gloves fall upon my shoulders. It was a serious thing. He bends down, looks at me in the mirror, and says: ‘Yes!’ From that moment we started to plan. On Christmas Eve I got to Nonna’s house early. I told her: ‘Ma, a coworker is coming over dressed as Santa, to surprise the kids.’ She says: ‘Wouldn’t that be amazing!’ And goes back to cooking. At 5:30 Santa finishes his final shift at Macy’s. He hops on The Brooklyn Polar Express, only this time it’s going the opposite way. Back to my childhood home. Right as we finish dinner, I get a text that he’s in position. I pull my mother aside. I say: ‘We gotta to do it now,’ and I go into the bedroom. When I come back I’m dressed as an elf. I gather everyone in the living room. I say: ‘As all of you know, Nonna has been making Christmas special our entire lives.’ Then I hit ‘play’ on the TV. I had it all queued up. The Thanksgiving Day Parade, the exact moment, when Santa comes into Herald Square. I pause right on a close-up of his face. ‘Tonight,’ I say. ‘We do something special for her.’ And then we hear it. The sound of bells. It’s coming from the front porch. Everyone’s like: ‘What’s that?’ Then the sound of his laugh: ‘Ho, ho, ho.’ It’s echoing, it’s beautiful. It’s in a forest filled with snow. My mother says: ‘Who’s that?’ She’s smiling. She thinks she’s in on the dupe. She goes to the door, opens it up, and she starts to say: ‘He came!’ But she chokes on the words. Her eyes begin to fill with tears. She looks straight at me, and says: ‘Who is that?’ I say: ‘It’s Santa Claus, Ma.’ She says: ‘Which one?’ And I say: ‘The only one.’”
Updated: 2022-12-13 00:22:12
(13/15) “There’s a pep rally at the beginning of every season. Everyone’s there: the white flowers, the straw bosses, the elves. First we go through all the Human Resources stuff. Then the person on stage will pause, and say: ‘Do I hear jingle bells?’ And everyone goes crazy. Then he explodes into the room, wearing full parade suit. He makes his way to the stage. He recites The Night Before Christmas; everybody’s crying. Then we all line up, we go through the maze, and everyone has their own private visit with Santa. Look, I know who it is. I’ve had coffee with him. But this mask of sparkle and tinsel comes over my eyes; and I just see Santa. I’ve asked him for some very personal things. Not things, things. Things you can’t hold. On the night Jack learned it was all a dupe, I was a nervous wreck. A white flower came into my house, and whispered in my ear: ‘They’re here.’ I took a deep breath. And prepared to tell my son that I’ve been lying to him his entire life. Jack comes in wearing my old leather jacket. And Tabatha’s red scarf. I say: ‘Hello, Merry Christmas.’ And right away, he knows. He says: ‘What the hell, Dad?’ I pat the bench next to me, and motion for him to sit down. I say: ‘Hey buddy, what’s up?’ He’s just looking at me. I show him the Lego Santa on the shelf. I say: ‘I want you to know that I haven’t been working in men’s shoes these last ten years.’ And he goes: ‘Really?’ And I see it. I see it starting to click. ‘You’re right,’ I tell him. ‘It’s impossible for Santa to do what he does in one night. But he did exist. His name was St. Nicholas. And he was so kind, and so giving, that his legend grew over hundreds of years. And now during Christmas, we keep his spirit alive by becoming Santa Claus. Not only am I Santa Claus, but Mommy is Santa Claus. And Nonna is Santa Claus. And Uncle Steve is Santa Claus. And Uncle Anthony is Santa Claus. And now, because you’re of age, I’ve brought you here. To bestow the power of Santa Claus onto you.’ He started to cry. And I started to cry. And the elves started crying, and the white flower, and the straw boss. Then I looked up. It couldn’t be. A Christmas miracle. I said: ‘Tabatha, babe. Are you cwying?’”
Updated: 2022-12-12 23:23:22
(12/15) “He was just a man. St. Nicholas was just a man in a village, who gave presents to children. But he was so kind that people remembered his story. They called him Santa. And in 1862 RH Macy put an ad in the paper, saying that Santa had come to his store. That’s how it all began: one man, one chair. Since that day only 275 men have worn this suit. And not to toot my own horn; but what I do, as this man, I take it very, very seriously. Every time you put on your suit, you get ‘fluffed’ by the make-up people. Some guys need 5 or 10 minutes, something is always off. But not me. When I stand in front of them, they don’t touch me. They say: ‘Thank you.’ I take a moment to myself. I picture all the people I’m going to see that night, and I make it my business. For every single one of them to believe. I muster up all the joy and hope and wonder that I have in my being. All of my Christmas, I pour into this man. And I dupe them all: the kids, the adults. Especially the adults. Kids believe automatically. It’s the adults that need it; they need to believe. Sometimes I’ll get a call from a friend. They’ll say: ‘Johnny, my daughter is eleven. She’s on the fence. Can I bring her in?’ And when she comes to see Santa, I know her name, where she lives, how she’s doing in school. And my friend has their beautiful little child believing for one more year. Just one more year. It’s such a short time. From one to five you have them. In all their innocence. Before it starts to click in: the real life, the adulthood. First it’s only a glimpse; and it clicks back. You get them back. But each year it clicks back less and less. Until it doesn’t click back. Until your baby boy, the only one you’ve got, comes home from school and says: ‘Dad, my friends and I have been talking. And it’s logistically impossible for Santa to do all of that in a single night.’ And I knew. I knew I couldn’t hold him any longer. I went into the bedroom. Tabatha took one look at my face, and said ‘What’s up?’ I said: ‘I think our son just told me he doesn’t believe in Santa.’ And she said: ‘Thank God.’ And we laughed for a second. Then I said: ‘It’s over. This year, when he comes to Santa, he comes to me.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 23:09:49
(11/15) “When I was a kid the saddest day of the year was during the second week of January. When one day I’d come home from school, and shout: ‘I’m home!’ And my voice would echo through the house. It meant the decorations had been taken down. And Christmas was gone for another year. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have a problem with nostalgia. It’s hard to explain; it’s like I base my whole life on the past. I have this longing and this need for how things used to be. I want it back. All of it: every parade, every Miracle on 34th, every Feast of The Seven Fishes, every Wouldn’t it Be Amazing. I don’t want to get old. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want anyone leaving me. Tabatha tells me: think about all the good stuff that’s still going to happen. We get to watch him graduate high school. And college. He’s going to meet someone. We get to see all that. And it does help me, when I focus on the future. But it hurts a little too. Because Jack is almost the same age as I was when my father passed away. And that makes me sad. Sad and scared. But then the end of November rolls around again. Time for my first shift. I’ll jump on the N-Train. I’ll listen to my playlist of 1140 Christmas songs. And here comes the euphoria. The right hand running up the keys. Up, up, up, until the stairs turn to wood. And poof. It’s a time machine. Suddenly it’s all in front of me again. It’s a magic trick, a dupe. I know what it is, but I never want it to end. I asked the real Santa for advice one time. We met for coffee at the Times Square McDonald’s, and I asked him: ‘How do you handle it? How do you handle when it all comes to an end?’ And you know what he told me? He said that Christmas Eve is the hardest day of the year for him. His final shift at Macy’s ends at 5:30. He goes to mass, and then he goes home. And he spends the evening alone. I never imagined. I thought I loved Christmas. But it’s so much bigger for him. He has a real beard. I never imagined what it must be like for Santa himself. “It’s hard for me too,” he said. “But I’ve never had a beautiful family like you.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 22:21:37
(10/15) “They don’t give you a pamphlet for it. When they start to click over into adulthood; it’s like a little death. I’ll never forget the day I brought home a Star Wars Lego set. I poured it out on the table, and started to organize the pieces. Jack was maybe five. He pushed my hand away, and said: ‘No Daddy, I do it.’ Oh man. There should be a pamphlet for that. Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing to watch them grow up. Every few months you get to say ‘hello’ to a new person. But you have to say goodbye too. I remember dropping Jack off for his first piano lesson. I printed out the sheet music for Summer, Highland Falls. I slipped it into his binder, and said: ‘This is Daddy’s favorite song. Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could learn it?’ He rolled his eyes. I said: ‘C’mon, just one song.’ And he’s like: ‘Dad, please stop.’ I said: ‘OK, OK. Just keep it in your binder. In case you change your mind.’ He never changed his mind. But he did start writing his own music. He’d hear a song that he liked, on YouTube, or one of his video games, and he’d lock himself in his room for hours. When he came back out he’d have a written a whole new version. With different chords. It was like: ‘Wow!’ I was proud of him, yes. Of course I was proud of him. Did I wish it had been both of us in that room, singing Summer, Highland Falls?’ Also yes. But no matter how far he clicked over into adulthood, I’d get him back for five glorious weeks a year. We didn’t have a fireplace in our apartment. We’d put the Christmas tree next to a window, and leave the window open. Jack would decorate a plate. Then on that plate we’d put out Santa’s favorite cookie, a big Linzer tart. Also happens to be my favorite cookie. I’d take a big bite of the tart and make some crumbs, and I’d drink the milk. Then the next morning he’d knock on our door at six o’clock, screaming: ‘He came! He came!’ It drove Tabatha crazy. Every Christmas, she’d say: ‘It’s out of control. You’re out of control. This is the year we have to tell him.’ Second grade, third grade, fourth grade. Every time: ‘This is the year.’ But I’d always say: ‘Not yet. When it’s time, it’s time. But one more year. Just give me one more year.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 21:51:18
(9/15) “Every Santa gets a handler: to walk him to his chair, to bring him water, to give him Tic Tacs. But nothing in Santaland is called by its actual name. Santa handlers are called straw bosses. It’s an old circus term, for people who handle the elephants. I made sure that my straw boss knew: when the Tammaro family arrives, bring them straight to my house. My son came bounding in first. He was four years old. He jumped in my lap and started telling me his list. But in the middle he stops, and says: ‘Hey! You sound like my Daddy!’ I started to panic. That’s when my brother Steve stepped in. He said: ‘It doesn’t sound like your Daddy, Jack.’ And I made it through the rest of the visit. But I never risked it again. I didn’t want to ruin the magic. Jack would write these letters to Santa. He never went straight to the toys. He’d write things like: ‘How is your wife? Are the reindeer OK? Did you go on vacation?’ Only then would he get to the list. He had such empathy. I like to think we had something to do with it. The way we are at home. We don’t like to argue. We keep it calm, cool, and collected. We have this thing called ‘Family Sandwich.’ One day Tabatha and I were hugging in the kitchen, and Jack came running up behind us, and hugged us both. He screamed ‘family sandwich!’ And it stuck. We still do it today. I was never a sports dad. But that’s ok, because he wasn’t a sports kid. We loved doing legos. In the beginning he’d just watch me do them. But as he got a little older, we started doing them together. The holidays were always rough for me. It was the busiest time a year at both my jobs, so I’d barely be home. Jack and I would be watching a holiday movie on the couch, his head on my chest, and I’d have to get up to go to work. He’d pull me down by the shirt and say: ‘Don’t go.’ He knew that I worked at Macy’s during Christmastime. But I told him that I worked in Men’s shoes. I told him that I needed the extra money to buy everyone presents. Every day when I started my shift at Santaland, I’d take a little lego Santa that we’d built together, and I’d place it on the shelf. All the elves knew. The lego Santa, that was Jack. It was to remind me of my boy.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 21:14:27
(8/15) “In late November, all the Santas gather in a meeting room for breakfast and coffee. Twenty-five to thirty guys. All different races, religions, orientations. Most empathetic group of men I’ve ever met. It’s an emotional mess. We talk about why we’re there. We swap stories of special visits from the past. That first year I was the youngest one, by a lot. Everyone was grayer than me. Chubbier than me. ‘Bigger than life’ than me. All of us were given a big, huge Santa Guide. Inside it tells you everything. The history of the real St. Nicholas. How to say Merry Christmas in every language. All the ‘Do’s’ and ‘Don’ts.’ Santa doesn’t actually say ‘Ho, Ho, Ho.’ It’s a laugh. It’s how he laughs. He doesn’t sing songs. He never asks a child’s name. And Santa never, ever promises a gift. That’s a big one. One year Santa accidentally promised an iPad. And Macy’s had to buy the kid an iPad. During my training I got to observe visits from veteran Santas. I tried to pull something from each guy: a laugh from this one, a look from that one. Then finally the day came when it was my turn to put on the suit. There’s a whole Santa dressing room. All the coats are on racks. All the wigs above them. There’s a big, long make-up table. The make-up department is world class. When I put everything on for the first time, and looked into the mirror, I saw Santa. It was like: ‘Holy shit, I can do this.’ There was one other Santa in the room with me. I couldn’t see his face. The whole time his back was turned. Someone was helping him with his coat. He was being so meticulous, smoothing every wrinkle. His beard was real, but he was shaping it so carefully. Everything had to be perfect. Finally he finishes; he turns around to face me, and poof. I’m seven years old again: ‘Here he comes! Here he comes!’ It’s him. The real Santa. The one from the parade. He says: ‘Oh, hello! Are you one of my new colleagues?’ And I say: ‘Yes, are you Santa Claus?’ He says ‘I am.’ Then he says: ‘What a nice head of hair you have,’ and he walks away. My confidence disappeared. Talk about imposter syndrome. I look back in the mirror, and all I see is an Italian kid from Brooklyn. Wearing a beard.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 20:17:07
(7/15) “Summer, Highland Falls. One of, if not the best, Billy Joel songs. Lyrically and musically. The left hand goes down the keys, playing the sad notes. The right hand goes up, playing the happy notes. There’s a point in the song where he says: ‘It’s either sadness or euphoria.’ And that’s me. That’s always been me. Tabatha calls me the sad clown. I hit a rough patch after Jack was born. Here was the thing that I’d always wanted; and there’s a cloud over me. I was filled with anxiety; I couldn’t shake it. At work I’d crawl into the closet with my walkie talkie, just to be alone. On the subway ride home I’d pull my hat over my eyes. As soon as I walked in the apartment I’d head straight to Jack’s room. I’d lay on the floor while he was napping. It calmed me down. Just to be near him. My beautiful, baby boy. He couldn’t sleep at night unless I was in the crib with him. After thirty minutes I’d try to sneak out. But his little hand would come up, and tug on my shirt. And it was back in the crib for me. Tabatha would come in at 4 AM to wake me up for work. I never wanted to miss a single moment. I’d take him to get the oil changed. I’d bundle him up, just to take him down the block. We still gathered at my mother’s house every Thanksgiving, Anthony, Steve, all the nieces and nephews, and we’d choose a day to see Santa. Same thing every year. We’d always meet at the top of the escalators. But the year that Jack turned three, something strange happened. We were winding through the maze when an elf came bounding up to us. I recognized her; she worked with me at the toy store. She leaned in close, and said: ‘Hi Johnny! Come work with us.’ I laughed. I was thirty-eight at the time. Way too old to be an elf. But too young to be Santa. I didn’t even consider it. But six months later Tony and Tina’s Wedding gets cancelled. And the very same week I get an email from Macy’s, requesting applications for the holiday season. I’m thinking: this is crazy. I’m too young. Too skinny. And way to Italian. But when they called me in for an interview, the first question they asked was: ‘Why do you love Christmas?’ I looked down at my watch, and said: ‘How much time do you have?’”
Updated: 2022-12-12 19:40:00
(6/15) “It was a theater guild that saved my life. It was a small guild; twice a year they’d perform musicals at a local community theater. First they brought me on as a magic consultant, but soon they were giving me roles. I fell in love with it. It was a way to keep performing. And the guild gave me a sense of community. One night a big group of us went to see a Broadway show. Tabatha was a friend of a friend. That first night I barely spoke to her. She was way out of my league. Took me three months to finally muster the courage to ask for a date. She was the funniest woman I’ve ever met. Right away she’s making fun of me. Every time we got in the car, she’d say: ‘What’s it going to be this time: ‘Showtunes, Christmas Music, or Billy Joel?’ Tabatha is tough. She does karate. Never once have I seen her cry. But I’m a sentimental guy. I cry at commercials. We’d be out at a movie together, and she’d look over, and she’d say: ‘Are you crying?’ Except she never said ‘crying.’ She’d say ‘cwying.’ With a ‘w.’ It was horrible. We were completely opposite in so many ways. But we both lost our fathers when we were nineteen. And we both loved each other, a lot. More than that. We liked each other, a lot. And we still do. In 2001 we got married. Things were going pretty good for awhile. During the day I was managing a toy store. And at night I was working as an actor off-Broadway. I had a steady role in a show called Tony and Tina’s Wedding. I played Donny Dulce, the wedding band singer. The cast of that show became like my family. One night we’re doing a performance. Audience full of people. I’m in the middle of a scene with Vinny The Caterer. And suddenly he breaks character. He looks right at me, and says: ‘Have you seen my friend Johnny?’ I’m thinking: ‘Oh my God. He just used my real name.’ I’m starting to panic. I’m shaking my head ‘no.’ And he says: ‘Well, if you see my friend Johnny, will you tell him that he’s going to be a Daddy?’ Then I look to my left, and there’s Tabatha, coming down the stairs by the bar. She’s holding three roses. And a positive pregnancy test.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 19:08:03
(5/15) “It was never supposed to happen. It was summertime. He was tan. He was only forty-six. He had a heart attack at work. The policemen on our doorstep said by the time they got to him, it was too late. I’d never even been to a funeral before. First funeral I ever went to, and it’s for my own father. That was when real life started happening. My mother went to work. She got two jobs: one at the Board of Education, and another at a dentist’s office. I was the oldest son, so I figured I should take over something. To help mom figure out this road. I landed on three things: driving people everywhere, fixing things around the house, and Christmas. I wanted to do it bigger than ever. We’d never had outdoor decorations before, so I went to the discount store and got some outdoor decorations: toy soldiers for the front steps. A star for the porch. Big, chunky lights for the front gates. I hauled the boxes out of the basement and filled our living room with the usual tchotchkes. Then up went the banner, with all the pictures from Macy’s. There’s a couple photos where it’s just me and my mom. My brothers were getting a little old for it. But every year, when she asked if we were going to see Santa, I’d say: ‘Yes. Yes we are.’ Grown woman. Husband dead. And she would still speak to this man like he was real: ‘Santa, it’s been such a tough year. But we’re so happy to see you.’ I’m smiling in the photos. But things got pretty dark for me after my father’s death. I tried to keep doing magic, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. The last show I did was at a big camp. The kids were talking through the whole show. I couldn’t amaze them. At one point I was making a ball float in the air, and this little girl yelled out: ‘You suck.’ All the kids started laughing. I said: ‘Please take a seat. That’s not very nice.’ And this girl, all of eleven years old, screamed something so graphic that it sunk into my soul. I packed up my things and walked off the stage. I’m hysterical crying. The camp director is begging me to go back out there, but I couldn’t do it. I decided right then to put the magic away. I thought that maybe children are different now. Maybe the wonder is gone for good.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 18:44:24
(4/15) “There’s a Christopher Reeve movie, called Somewhere In Time. About a playwright who time travels. He goes back to 1912, and meets this girl, and falls in love. I watched it as a little kid. And when it was over I ran straight to my mom; I’m in tears. I said: ‘What if the girl I’m supposed to meet lives in another time?’ It really scared me. Because my biggest dream was to become a father. Not just a father; a dad, a daddy. There’s a difference. My father was a father: he’d go to work, come home, watch tv. On Saturday if the weather was warm he’d hose the sidewalk in his shorts. Just a regular Italian guy. Life is different when you have aspirations, and he didn’t have aspirations. But he was nice. That’s one thing he always told me: Life is easier when you’re nice. My father was always the first person I showed my magic tricks. I wanted to mess them up with him, so they’d be absolutely perfect when I showed my mom. My mom Stella. Now there was a person with aspirations. Her whole life she’d wanted to be a mother. It’s all she cared about. And all I cared about was making her say: ‘Wow.’ There was one trick she absolutely loved. Each person starts with a deck of cards. Choose a card from your deck, put it back, shuffle, and switch decks. Then each person finds their card. I’d always say the same thing: ‘Wouldn’t it be amazing if we had the same card?’ And we always did. Stupidest trick anyone can do. But it absolutely floored her. She gave the trick a name: ‘Wouldn’t it be Amazing?’’ And at every family gathering, there’d always be a point where she’d say: ‘Johnny, Johnny, do Wouldn’t It Be Amazing!’ She was the perfect spectator. Never wanted to know the secret. Only wanted to be amazed. Eventually my tricks got good enough that I started doing birthday parties. My first car had a personalized plate that said: ‘MAJICK.’ I put a whole show together; I’d do the first half as Bruce Wayne, and the second half as Batman. One afternoon I’m in my bedroom, getting ready for a party. Taking my box apart, organizing my silks. When suddenly I hear a knock on the door. Not the side door. The front door, which was very strange. Because we never used the front door.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 17:50:26
(3/15) “We lived in a house that my great grandfather bought in the 1930’s. My mother was in charge of decorating. Every room she’d fill with little tchotchkes: santa on a ladder, santa on the beach, santa on skis. There was a banner in the living room with every photo we’d taken at Macy’s. And below that we’d lean my grandfather’s cane against the wall. It was our own little homage to Miracle on 34th Street. We’d watch it every year on Channel 11. My mother cried through the whole thing. But the final scene we loved most of all. When the little girl, the one who never believed, finally gets her house. And Kris Kringle’s cane is leaning against the fireplace. The movie ends with a question: Was he real? Or was he not? We didn’t have a fireplace in our house. So we set our milk and cookies by a pipe in the kitchen. Christmas Eve in an Italian family. It’s very big. We call it The Feast of The Seven Fishes. We never had exactly seven, but we’d cook Scungilli, Whiting, Calamari. After dinner my mother would set aside time for me to do my magic. Back then it was simple stuff: card tricks, silk scarves, sponge rabbits. But not for long, not for long. That night I was too excited to sleep. I could see myself on the stage of my school’s auditorium. I could picture the faces of my classmates: everyone cheering, everyone amazed. Look at Johnny! Real parlor tricks! A professional magician! All of a sudden I’m snapped back to real life by a ruckus in the hallway. It’s coming from the front door. Very strange, because we only use the side door. I crawl out of bed and peek into the hallway. Could it be? The Big Man himself? With a bulging sack of magic tricks? No, no. It’s my mother and father. With Mary and Joe from next door, and they’re carrying bags. Big bags, full of stuff. And it begins to click. The whole thing is a dupe! A parlor trick! Just then my youngest brother Anthony wakes up. He says: ‘Johnny, Johnny, is it Santa?’ I’m about to tell him. But that’s when I see it. This little blue and white bike, with training wheels, and a six on the front. I pull the door shut, and say: ‘Not yet, Anthony. It’s just Mary and Joe, coming to visit. Let’s go back to sleep.’”
Updated: 2022-12-12 17:05:36
(2/15) “Christmas, 1983. The year I learned it was all a dupe. I was twelve years old. And the holiday season began like any other. With my mother sitting me in front of the TV to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. Every five minutes I’d run into the kitchen with updates: Mickey Mouse! Yogi Bear! But she just kept on cooking. ‘Tell me when he comes,’ she’d say. Then after what seemed like eternity, after the Pink Panther, after the Giant Turkey, after the mayor, the marching bands, the baton twirlers, after everything that wasn’t Christmas. Poof! There he’d be. Waving down from his plastic sleigh. I’d yell into the kitchen: ‘Here he comes! Here he comes!’ And my mother would come running in, wearing her schmock, her ‘schmata,’ a wooden spoon in one hand. And her eyes would fill with tears. Santa! The real Santa. This wasn’t the Bloomingdale’s Santa. This wasn’t the Santa from King’s Plaza Mall. Those were Santa’s helpers. Santa needs helpers, he can’t be everywhere at once. Because after the parade he goes to the eighth floor of the 34th Street Macy’s. Where for five glorious weeks he collects the wishes of children. After Thanksgiving dinner we’d gather around the calendar and choose a night to go. Every single year; since I was a newborn. When the night arrived we’d pile onto the N-Train, the Brooklyn Polar Express. Drops you right across the street from Macy’s. Then it’s onto the escalators: up, up, up, until the stairs turn wooden. Santa looked a little different back then. They weren’t exactly going for authenticity. But that made no difference to my mother. She’d speak to this man like he was real: ‘Oh Santa, you look so nice. Oh Santa, we come every year.’ My two younger brothers went next. Steve asked for a baseball glove. Anthony asked for his first ever bicycle, with a basket on the front. Then it was my turn. That year I knew exactly what I wanted. I’d been seeing the commercials on TV for weeks. A full set of Tannen’s magic tricks: color-changing rabbits, disappearing coke bottles. These weren’t close-up kiddie tricks. These were real parlor tricks. Stuff that you could do on a stage. This was the year I’d finally become a real magician.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 16:39:31
(1/15) “It’s a magic trick, a dupe. Nothing but an illusion. And it starts the moment you walk in the door. Biggest store in the world. Eight full floors of shopping. And Santaland is at the very top. You can take the elevators. Or you can do what I did when I was a kid, and what I still do today: you take the escalators. Up, up, up. Through make-up. Through linens. Through housewares. Around the third floor, something happens. The escalators change to wood. They’re over one hundred years old, these escalators. From the original Macy’s. When you see them, you know: very soon. You’re about to see Santa. Your heart starts racing. Up, up, up. Until finally you see it: the back of the line. A line like you wouldn’t believe. Real life is happening in that line. Somebody pooped their diaper. Somebody needs to be breastfed. If anyone tries to smuggle in a pet, a white flower will step in. White flowers are managers. But nothing in Santaland is called by its actual name. The line goes past windows featuring scenes from Miracle on 34th Street. Then it spits you out at The North Pole. There’s a little kiosk with an elf. Full-grown adult, but the floor is dug out. So it looks like an elf. They’ll ask you Christmas questions: How many reindeer? How many lords a leaping? Doesn’t matter if you know the answer, because it’s all a mind game. To make you forget how long you’ve been waiting. In the business we call it ‘resetting the clock.’ After the elf you’re into the final maze. Everything covered in snow. Everything lit to the nines: the rainbow bridge, the animatronic penguins, the Lionel train. All of it setting up the final trick. You’ll come to a giant toy soldier made of candy. And that’s when you know you’ve arrived. A final elf will whisper those magic words: ‘Follow me.’ They’re walking backwards. They’re waving their hands. Keep looking at the hands. Don’t look at the other children, following other elves, to other doors. Just follow your elf to your door. Then walk right in. Turn that final corner, and poof. Real life disappears. All the waiting, all the crying, all the pooping, just melts away. And you’re face-to-face with the grandest illusion of all: Me.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 16:30:21
“I haven’t been seventeen for very long. But I will say, aside from the schoolwork, it’s really a wonderful time. I have the freedom to go wherever I want to go, but not a ton of responsibility. I can walk out of my house with my dog, and go for this walk, and not worry about much more than getting back home. I do need to finish a 650-word personal statement for my college applications. It’s not an easy thing to describe yourself in 650 words. I don’t really know who I am yet, though I am growing more comfortable with not knowing. At least that means other people aren’t defining me either. When I look at older people I admire, to be honest, I do define them a bit, by their careers, and accomplishments. I guess it’s just the easiest way to understand them, because I haven’t experienced much of being older. When you’re seventeen you haven’t done much. But there’s also freedom to that. Because there’s not much to define you by, other than the moment.”
Updated: 2022-12-12 16:00:55
“Grown-ups get the worst mail. It all comes in the same long, white envelope and inside is boring stuff that you have to do.
Updated: 2022-12-12 15:00:08
“To be honest I didn’t think I’d make it past twenty-one. I was living day-to-day. Thinking I knew everything, thinking I was an adult. And I was angry. About a lot, like a lot. I was fifteen when I had my daughter. And she was four when I went to prison for the first time. I came out for a little while. My girlfriend and I had another child, then I went in again. But this time my daughter was grown enough to understand where I was going. And that hurt. That’s one of the reasons I never went back. That, and the conversations I had with older men. A lot of them made one mistake and were never getting out. I ‘d messed up twice, and I was getting one more chance. I served 4.5 years. The mother of my children never left my side. She’s a great woman. We met in foster care; we have similar stories. And I came home to a stable home. For a little while I didn’t have to worry about bills. I could just focus on being a father: taking the kids to school every day, making dinner some nights, cooking breakfast on Sunday. I ended up getting a job at a homeless shelter; and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. I fell in love with it. The people, mainly. Their stories align with mine. When my mother brought us to the shelter, it was the first time I ever felt poor. I was only eight or nine, but I said: ‘I’m always going to have money of my own.’ And that’s what led me to the streets. My daughters are on a different path. The oldest is a junior in high school now. Her grades are excellent, better than mine ever were. She’s got a little baby sister, so we’ve got three girls now. And I’m just a great dad, honestly. A really great dad. Just, I love my kids. And they love me. I can see it. And that’s what I’m proudest of. Because growing up I never had a father; he did 27 years in prison. I never even knew him. So for me to be a great father, that’s a thing.”
Updated: 2022-12-09 16:00:00
Coronavirus COVID-19 Information and Resources for Travelers Coronavirus COVID-19 Information and Resources for Travelers Read More Close Sign Up For Our Newsletter NEWSLETTER Receive emails and newsletters to keep in touch with I LOVE . NY NEXT SEARCH Â CLOSE Â Accessibility search Places to Go Adirondacks Adirondack Attractions Spotlight : Adirondacks Spotlight : Lake George Family Guide Lake Placid City Guide Central New York Central NY Attractions Spotlight : Cooperstown Greater Niagara Greater Niagara Attractions Spotlight : Buffalo Niagara Falls New York City New York City Attractions Capital-Saratoga Capital Saratoga Attractions Spotlight : Albany Chautauqua-Allegheny Chautauqua-Allegheny Attractions Spotlight : Jamestown and Chautauqua-Allegheny Hudson Valley Hudson Valley
Updated: 2022-12-08 16:00:00
It’s time to celebrate New Year’s in New York State! Welcome 2023 with a First Day hike at a state park or trail, explore a wildlife refuge, or drive through an amazing light display. Want to stay home while you toast to the new year? Enjoy virtual ball drops, and home-based family-friendly activities courtesy of New York attractions.
Updated: 2022-12-07 19:00:00
Coronavirus COVID-19 Information and Resources for Travelers Coronavirus COVID-19 Information and Resources for Travelers Read More Close Sign Up For Our Newsletter NEWSLETTER Receive emails and newsletters to keep in touch with I LOVE . NY NEXT SEARCH Â CLOSE Â Accessibility search Places to Go Adirondacks Adirondack Attractions Spotlight : Adirondacks Spotlight : Lake George Family Guide Lake Placid City Guide Central New York Central NY Attractions Spotlight : Cooperstown Greater Niagara Greater Niagara Attractions Spotlight : Buffalo Niagara Falls New York City New York City Attractions Capital-Saratoga Capital Saratoga Attractions Spotlight : Albany Chautauqua-Allegheny Chautauqua-Allegheny Attractions Spotlight : Jamestown and Chautauqua-Allegheny Hudson Valley Hudson Valley
