The Urbane Urbanite

Eighty-five miles west of New York City, tucked away in the hills of Bangor, Pennsylvania, just beyond a winding road that runs adjacent to the Delaware River, you'll find the Franklin Hill Vineyard. This secluded gem is home to several prizewinning wines. When I arrived at the wine shop for the tasting, the pleasant women working behind the counter gave me a wine list. I was allowed to make six selections to taste. The list was broken up into four categories: White wines, red wines, rose wines and specialty wines.

There was no way I was going to let the one-year anniversary of Michael Jackson's death pass without paying tribute to him in some way. Like many of you, I have that where-were-you-when-you-found-out memory. I was sitting Indian style in front of my TV, clenching my jaws and biting my nails, trying to ignore the indelible song in my heart that told me the King of Pop was indeed gone. When the news was officially announced, I shed a few tears and pissed off more than a few of my neighbors by blasting my favorite MJ cuts until the wee hours of the morning. To celebrate his music on the one-year anniversary of his death, I present to you my favorite 12 Michael Jackson songs of all time. Putting this list together was no small feat. Asking me to name my favorite Michael Jackson songs is like asking Claire Huxtable which Cosby kid she liked the best. But after several days of deliberation and many hours of head nodding and toe tapping, I was able to come up with a list I...

I joined Twitter kicking and screaming. There was a time when I wanted no parts of the 140-character, nonstop stream of consciousness phenomenon that has taken over the internets. Mostly because I just didn’t get it. At the time, it didn’t make any sense. I was just fine in Facebook Land where pieces of flair, Farmville and party promotion wall posts run rampant. By the way, I've never played Farmville, I hate flair and despise party promotion junk mail. Please stop sending me that crap. Kthx. But in March of last year, on a whim, I buckled and joined Twitter - and it changed my life.

By the time my father was 22-years-old, he was married with a three-year-old son and facing 25 years in jail for armed robbery. With most of his decisions marred by drug use, his life quickly spiraled out of control and we never got a chance to develop a real father/son relationship. Now, after 23 months (and one day) of sobriety, Vincent "Butchie" Conover has a new lease on life and appears to have left his demons behind. What's more, the two of us have started to communicate on a regular basis. I've spoken to him more in the last six months than I have my entire life. But with 30 years of catching up to do, I feel like there's still so much I don't know about my father. In an attempt to get to know him better and subsequently give him a chance to tell his side of the story, I asked him a series of questions. We talk about everything from what he likes to eat and what his favorite colors are to his sexuality and why he chose drugs over being a fa...

On my way home from work last week, I saw two white stretch limosuines cruising down the street carrying kids on their way to the prom. A couple of guys were hanging out of one sunroof, profiling and flashing peace signs at us common folk. And hanging out of the other sunroof, were their dates screaming yeah baby and drinking what I hope was sparkling cider out of champagne flutes. As they sped by me on their way to enjoy a night they won't soon forget, I couldn't help but think back to my prom nights. I can remember it like it was yesterday: Finding a date, choosing colors, getting fitted for a tuxedo, buying the corsage, taking pictures, running for prom king, not winning prom king and trying to find something fun, grown and legal to get into afterwards. Yep. Those were the good ol' days. And by the grace of my bootleg scrapbooking skills and trusty scanner, those days are back, baby! Here's a look back at my prom fashion: The good, the bad and the gaudy...

From the moment Christina Aguilera declared herself a genie in a bottle, on the single of the same name from her 1999 self-titled debut, I was a believer. Her powerhouse voice soared leaps and bounds above that of her Mickey Mouse Club counterpart Britney Spears, who also burst onto the scene at the same time. Aguilera went on to win the Grammy for Best New Artist in 2000, beating out Spears, Kid Rock and Macy Gray.

On the top floor of a four-story walkup in the Prospect Heights section of Brooklyn is one eclectic apartment. Robert Fuller, a visual merchandising director in the fragrance and beauty industry has thrown all inhibitions to the wind, turning his one-bedroom apartment into a chic, bohemian wonderland full of crisp, white linens and eye-popping puppets. Fuller invites me into his home to talk about the agony of choosing paint colors, his love of nostalgic pieces and his obsession with a 5-foot pig on Ninth Avenue.

Last weekend, somehow, I managed to break free from my Snuggie and get off the couch long enough to hit up a hood club in Brooklyn. A quick primer on me and the club: Those days are over. All of that getting dressed, standing in line (I haven't reached "baller status" where I get to cut the line to gain immediate access to the other side of the velvet rope), paying an expensive cover, buying overpriced drinks and dancing to only half of the songs the DJ plays week after week is just no longer appealing to me.